The Christmas Party: How many special people change? How many lives are living strange? Where were you while we were writing blogs?

Still confused by his conversation with his new employer, Brick sleepwalked through the following days of work until it was 12/21/2012, the office Christmas party. Still uncertain about his role in this strange company that had hired him out of the blue a little while ago, Brick was still working hard on some never ending list of promos that were always due sooner than he would want them to be. After a particularly difficult attempt to blend two very different songs into a smooth transition, brick was startled by a friendly hand o his shoulder. It was the lovely young assistant producer, Amethyst.

Dressed within the parameters of her usual purple palette, Amy (as most people called her) was not gifted height wise, but what she lacked in altitude, she more than made up for with her buoyant spirit and rustic good looks.

"Brick?" she asked our weary protagonist.

"Yes, Amy?" he replied as if his lungs were just freed of lethal sea water.

"Aren't you coming?"

"Hmmm?"

"The Christmas party."

"Oh, right..."

"You forgot, didn't you?'

"Yeah, kinda."

"Well, you should come. Celebrate the end of the world that never came."

"I think I should just..."

With a look of determination Amy interrupted Brick: "There is no way I'm letting you work while everyone else goes down to the bar for the party. No more of this loner BS for you, Brick. You're part of this family now. C'mon."

Presented with an offer he couldn't refuse from a woman he couldn't say no to, Brick reluctantly tossed on his ancient winter coat and hopped on the tiny lift down to the main floor and passed through the glass doors towards the icy streets. His head grew light from the rush of cold vapors being blasted in his face as he struggled to get the hood of his coat to stay on top of his now scruffy hair.

The entrance to the bar was not going to win any awards for creativity or design, but it was a functional wood/glass hybrid and it would live out the rest of its inanimate door life as a sturdy, but boring entrance to a run of the mill sports bar. The company Brick worked for had rented the place out for a few hours to reward its loyal employees with free booze and grub. Having already eaten recently and not being a consumer of alcoholic beverages would come back to haunt our already stressed out hero.

Taking a seat at the closest available table, Brick rested his elbows against the thin tablecloth that resembled the paper in an old brown paper bag. In the distance he saw Slate, Tigre and Ombre squabble over what was the best drink/meal combo. One argued that wine goes with everything, another that Jack Daniels was like kissing god...or the other, cloven-hoofed fellow. Such debates held little interest for the eternally sober Brick. His solitude was his strategy for surviving the holiday party unscathed, but alas it was not meant to be. Soon a couple of his fellow editors sat down across from him. They were, of course, more interested in themselves to pay much notice to Brick, save to chastise him once in a while for not partaking in the art of boozery, at least, that's what Brick would have called it...

Mercifully, some women sat down at the table. A couple were in the I'm-old-enough-to-be-your-mom-but-I'll-treat-you-like-an-adult age range. There was also Amethyst, who sat down next to Brick, which made the table seem ten times more tolerable a place to wait out this end of the world Christmas crossover mash-up remix of a party. While the table continued to order a steady supply of food and refreshments of the 21 and older variety, Brick felt himself slip further away from the group. Far away, Slate was making the case for vodka being the ultimate in holiday-improving beverages. Ombre was not having any of this and was ready to argue for the merits of fruit flavored liqueurs.

"Not drinking?" Amy asked Brick as she took a sip of her beer.

"Nope."

"Why not?" asked a creepy former employee who had relocated to a different department of the same company.

"I just don't."

"But you're a creative person, you should drink."

"I just don't want to, okay?"

"Okay..."

"I'm sorry, I just, I don't have any interest in consuming something that's poisonous to my liver just because everyone else is, ok?

"Fine. Just wanted to help."

The evening continued in that awkward tone as Brick kept sneaking glances at Amethyst. This was, however a party, so of course the drunken broadcasters would get up to propose toasts filed with so many private jokes that it rendered the humor nigh-incomprehensible. The speeches got worse and more jumbled as the hours rolled by. When some of the women were getting ready to go back to the office, Brick saw his escape strategy, joined their extraction team and left the drunk to so be up on their own.

The walk back was brisk but invigorating. Brick was happy just to be near Amethyst, even though she was more preoccupied with her plans for the rest of the evening. Upon reaching the glass doors in front of the studio, Amethyst, noticing that Brick wasn't going back inside and reflecting on his general despair earlier that evening, told him that she would miss him during the holidays and reached out to hug him. He of course welcomed her warm embrace and knew that such a gift would not likely repeat in the foreseeable future. Amethyst went inside after saying a few more pleasantries and Brick was left alone to ponder his changing life as the afterglow of her touch eroded in the cold December night air.

They were talking about the space between us all and the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion...

Brick felt his focus slipping again as he tried balancing his elbow on the armrest, only to have it shift down, away from him. He felt a sharp surge in his chest, like something was trying to pierce it from the inside out. Gripping his left arm close to the firm muscle tissue below his left shoulder. The color drained from his sight for a moment before pouring back.

"Brick Mann. Brick Mann?"

The voice belonged to the ever vigilant secretary that kept the office running tight. She had her hair tied back tight, so as to keep her locks from tearing the world apart.

"Yeah?" Brick asked as he tried to feign normalcy.

 "The boss would like to see you in his office."

"Okay," with slow, careful steps, Brick put his never ending list of promos to rest while he marched down to the opposite end of the room. The pain still lingered inside him and yet it was outside of his consciousness as well. It was as if the whole room were a massive migraine.

Turning the knob, Brick entered the small corner office that distinguished the employer from the employee. An empty symbol of power that was nonetheless  statement of hierarchy and status quo.

The boss, a larger than life presence without so much as a whiff of vulnerability, sat waiting with the patience of the Himalayas. His unbreakable posture and titanium eyes were no joke (not that anyone would joke about the boss.)

"Brick," he says in a bass whisper. "Sit down."

Feeling to drained to stand, brick was only happy to oblige. His mind, feeling squeezed like a citrus fruit on a summer day, was pressured to discover the reason for the impromptu meeting.

"Those promos will be ready by the end of the day."

"Oh, well that's good to hear." The boss was pensive and in no mood for filler chitchat. "Brick..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you happy?"

"Excuse me?"

"I was under the impression that you were getting accustomed to the language."

"Oh, I am."

"Then let me rephrase. Are you happy working here?"

"I guess so, yes."

"You guess?"

"Happiness is an elusive emotion, at least that's how I see it."

"I see. Let me try to explain myself then. I don't know how it was on the other side (he points at the door next to the entrance  to his office which leads to another space entirely, one that brick is all too familiar with, despite the freshness of his current occupation). "The only way that we can get you to enjoy your stay with this company is for you to stop thinking of yourself as a separate unit in this space, building a wall against this reality, and embrace the fact that nobody can change you, except you.."

"I..."

"Can't you see that you're one of them? Until you accept the group with Slate and the rest, you'll never grasp the truth..."

"I wish that I could but..."

"Those buts are stopping you. Everything you need, you already have. Within and without you. The time will come when you'll see it. I know it shall."

Brick just kept staring outside, but all he saw was another soul being dragged toward a large shining tower in the distance, only to be shattered into infinite shards of light.

"I have been here before, but I wasn't myself."

"You have to ask yourself, what's more important: to gain the world or lose the soul?"

"What a choice..."

"Life will flow on, within you or without you."

 

 

The Long and Winding Road to Adulthood Part 5: Steady Employment and the Long Way Back from Hell.

The screen went white again as the program froze for the umpteenth time that day. Brick sack back in his rigid swivel chair and let out a downbeat yawn. He had been working for weeks now and the damned computer kept freezing whenever he loaded his old sequence.

Despite the occasional headache accompanied with an existential crisis, the last few weeks were rather dull and consistent. Brick was working hard for once.  The hiring process was a bit of a blur to him. He vaguely recalled reading words of wisdom by someone he had once respected, but had trouble putting a name or face to the memory.

The row of cubicles where Brick was stationed was soon greeted by its other usual suspects. John D. Slate, the would-be king of promos led the pack. His hair was nestled back in a blonde tail that was about as pretentious as his high-pitched 60 mph rants. Behind him was Señor Tigre, an affable audio expert with a head as shiny as freshly polished boots. Bringing up the rear was Jacques Ombre, dark and mysterious, mostly because of an unhealthy addiction to dark clothing and spray can tanning.

Brick ignored his throbbing head and focused on getting all the promos done on time. The morning dragged and clicked away into afternoon, with pauses for rendering and freezing alike. The typical parade of characters passed through the room at regular intervals, like figurines on a cuckoo clock: the overworked, underpaid secretary who looked mortified 24/7; the jovial lawyer who was both a badass and a mensch; the voluptuous producer/host with eyes like stolen diamonds who could always spare a moment to break your heart and piece it back together for next time; and the creepy soon-to-be-ex-employee who lingered around with unknown agendas and nothing to lose...

The trivial matters of running a rock band had become nothing but a distant memory for the man who now had a steady paycheck and a comfortable shell of a life to call his own. Sure he barely spoke the same language as his new co-workers. Sure he was missing sleep like a blindfolded piñata swing.  And then there was that growing void inside him that grew with every monotonous keystroke and mouse click.

Perhaps his road to adulthood was sacrificing freedom for stability, passion for consistency, love for malaise. The fire that once roared within him, the passion to reach for the unobtainable had been doused and the ashes of his troubled youth were swept aside for the respectable mediocrity of the forty hour work week.

Hell was a distant memory, but Brick was still a long way from paradise. For now, there was only the job and the nagging suspicion that something around him was not as it seemed.