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Sprezzatura
Dec. 6th, 2018 12:41 pmMeanwhile, down the hall from Emilio and Joe...
Patrick Murphy leaned in to peer closely into the large crystalline globe in front of him. The damp odors around him faded from his mind as he focused past the glinting sparkles in the glass. What began as swirling clouds settled into a happy scene, a little girl’s birthday party.
Clare took in her surroundings. Red, yellow, and blue balloons were afterthoughts hovering up near the ceiling. The gleeful shouts of her friends had quieted in anticipation. The lights were off, the better to appreciate the ten glowing candles on the festive chocolate birthday cake which had just been set down before her. Clare inhaled a prodigious lungful of air and pursed her lips. “Make a wish!” her friends urged.
Clare glanced from one happy face to another. She knew Elizabeth would wish for a puppy and Margo would hope for a pretty dress. But she had a more desperate need. If only she could manage her math homework! With this final thought flitting through her mind, she released the pent-up exhalation in one mighty blast.
“You did it, Clare!” someone shouted.
Patrick leaned away from the crystal ball. His colleague, Arturo, turned to him and said, “Well, now you have your marching orders, Patrick. The little girl needs help with her math. What will you do about that? Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to work to save this child from dire situations like accident or illness, loneliness or social failings.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll get right on it. Math is the devil. I’d love to help her out. I hope I don’t screw this one up.” Patrick reflected back on his own tribulations wrestling with tricky math word problems.
He got up, went directly into the Wish Fulfillment Lab, and began to tinker with Clare’s wish. He filled vials with mysterious liquids and weighed out little piles of reagents. At one point he dropped some green fluid on the lab bench and later, he accidentally scattered some newly weighed powder. But, after an hour, it had all come together. He wiped his hands on the back pockets of his jeans as he left the lab. “Whew. That’s that,” he said under his breath as he turned the key in the lock and turned to leave.
Clare sat at her desk in the classroom. She pulled the math review worksheet close in front of her with trepidation. Here we go again, she thought. And there’s a test tomorrow. How bad is it going to be? She looked for her favorite pencil. It was nowhere to be found. Ugh, not this again, she thought. I guess I’ll have to use a pen.
With surprise, Clare found that the worksheet seemed easy. Why, she knew the answer easily to Number 1, as well as Number 2. By Number 7, Clare was positively beaming. So easy! She gloated.
Suddenly, Clare realized her hand was feeling wet. She gave it a quick glance and was dismayed to see that her hand was coated with blue ink. Even worse, she had already managed to make a fist print on her paper. Worse even than that, her print had obscured the answer to Number 5! She was able to get up and get a tissue to clean her hand somewhat, though this prompted the very strict teacher to scold her for using a pen and for being careless. While rebelling internally, Clare managed to complete her classwork. The answers all were right, but the paper now sadly sported blue blotches and smears. It would be hard for anyone to proudly display her most successful work.
“Hi Honey! How was school today?” Clare’s mom called out to her upon her arrival home.
“Um, pretty good. I did well with my math today.”
“So, why aren’t you smiling then,” her mother asked.
“Uh, I had a few other problems. And the teacher yelled at me again. I think I’ll do my math homework right now. At least at home I’ll be able to find my favorite homework pencil."
Armed with her lucky pencil, a fat eraser, and a glass of milk with three brownies, (couldn’t be too careful, after all), Clare sat down at the Formica kitchen table to do the homework.
She hummed happily as she worked. This stuff was easy too! Drat! The tip of the pencil broke off for the third time, requiring a third trip through the sharpener. Finally, Clare completed the last problem. It had seemed so easy that she suspiciously checked all her work. Whew, it still seemed right. With a relieved sigh, Clare leaned back in the kitchen chair and ate the last brownie. She reached for her glass of milk. DRAT! She knocked it over. The milk flowed all over her completed homework, soaking it completely. Clare stared at the soggy mess. She got up to get a kitchen towel to blot up the lake. “Mom! I need help!” After her mother had helped her to lay the homework out on a thick towel to air dry, Clare, with growing concern, begged her mom, “Could you copy the homework page for me Mom? I’m getting a little nervous about going anywhere near it.”
Several days later, Clare received her test paper back. A big red A- graced the top of the page. In smaller red script Clare red, “Points lost due to multiple holes in paper and huge rip through the middle.” Clare remembered with a sinking feeling how she had struggled to complete the test without incident. Somehow the pencil had been slippery (slippery!) and the paper just wouldn’t lie flat. But she had known the answers. This alone was enough to buoy her spirits.
Patrick Murphy strode down the hall through the miasma toward the Project Review room. As he entered, Arturo slipped in right behind him. “How’s it going, Bro?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Patrick responded.
They sat down again in front of the spherical glass that connected them to the lives of their clients. With growing dismay, Arturo watched Clare struggle with her math over the last few days. “Patrick, you’re going to have to make this right! I’m not sure she’s any better off than before! Nobody wants to be a slob.”
“That’s true, that’s always been some trouble for me,” Patrick mumbled. “I’ll go back to the lab and tweak things. Heck, maybe I’ll start all over from scratch.”
As he remeasured out reagents and liquids, Patrick contemplated his own life. He was here for the long haul, as folks in this business didn’t grow old and retire like they did in Clare’s world. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. There had been other warnings. He had been threatened with being reassigned to custodial duties or pet waste removal if he didn’t perform his tasks correctly. This job was so much more creative! He loved the possibilities! As he worked, Patrick found big fat tears were running down his cheeks and splashing into the beakers he was preparing. He checked all his work twice. Finally, he was done.
Clare got ready for school. She looked for her favorite pair of jeans and discovered they had a large ink stain in the back. She remembered that unfortunate day when her pen blew up. So she couldn’t wear that. She found a dress she could wear. As she pulled it on, she heard a ripping sound as a sleeve tore from the bodice of the dress. Maybe it was all those brownies! Clare felt a lump growing in her throat. This was getting way too frustrating. As she left her room, tears were building in the corners of her eyes. When she saw that her mother had fixed hard-boiled eggs for breakfast, it was just the last straw. She hated warm hard-boiled eggs. She couldn’t help bursting into despondent tears.
As she walked to school, the tears continued to flow. What would go wrong today? She cheered a little when she met her friend Elizabeth.
“Hi Clare!” called out her friend. “How’s it going? Hey, why are you crying?”
Through sniffles and hiccups, as well as almost uncontrollable crying, Clare explained about the stained clothes, the ripped clothes, and for good measure told about her recent experiences with the botched and blotched math assignments.
“You know what that’s called, don’t you?” sympathized Elizabeth.
“No what? Clare stared at her with brimming eyes.
“It’s when whatever could go wrong does go wrong. People call it Murphy’s Law. Sometimes it feels inescapable.”
It felt so true to Clare. But all she could do was cry.
Patrick Murphy leaned in to peer closely into the large crystalline globe in front of him. The damp odors around him faded from his mind as he focused past the glinting sparkles in the glass. What began as swirling clouds settled into a happy scene, a little girl’s birthday party.
***
Clare took in her surroundings. Red, yellow, and blue balloons were afterthoughts hovering up near the ceiling. The gleeful shouts of her friends had quieted in anticipation. The lights were off, the better to appreciate the ten glowing candles on the festive chocolate birthday cake which had just been set down before her. Clare inhaled a prodigious lungful of air and pursed her lips. “Make a wish!” her friends urged.
Clare glanced from one happy face to another. She knew Elizabeth would wish for a puppy and Margo would hope for a pretty dress. But she had a more desperate need. If only she could manage her math homework! With this final thought flitting through her mind, she released the pent-up exhalation in one mighty blast.
“You did it, Clare!” someone shouted.
***
Patrick leaned away from the crystal ball. His colleague, Arturo, turned to him and said, “Well, now you have your marching orders, Patrick. The little girl needs help with her math. What will you do about that? Your job, should you choose to accept it, is to work to save this child from dire situations like accident or illness, loneliness or social failings.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ll get right on it. Math is the devil. I’d love to help her out. I hope I don’t screw this one up.” Patrick reflected back on his own tribulations wrestling with tricky math word problems.
He got up, went directly into the Wish Fulfillment Lab, and began to tinker with Clare’s wish. He filled vials with mysterious liquids and weighed out little piles of reagents. At one point he dropped some green fluid on the lab bench and later, he accidentally scattered some newly weighed powder. But, after an hour, it had all come together. He wiped his hands on the back pockets of his jeans as he left the lab. “Whew. That’s that,” he said under his breath as he turned the key in the lock and turned to leave.
***
Clare sat at her desk in the classroom. She pulled the math review worksheet close in front of her with trepidation. Here we go again, she thought. And there’s a test tomorrow. How bad is it going to be? She looked for her favorite pencil. It was nowhere to be found. Ugh, not this again, she thought. I guess I’ll have to use a pen.
With surprise, Clare found that the worksheet seemed easy. Why, she knew the answer easily to Number 1, as well as Number 2. By Number 7, Clare was positively beaming. So easy! She gloated.
Suddenly, Clare realized her hand was feeling wet. She gave it a quick glance and was dismayed to see that her hand was coated with blue ink. Even worse, she had already managed to make a fist print on her paper. Worse even than that, her print had obscured the answer to Number 5! She was able to get up and get a tissue to clean her hand somewhat, though this prompted the very strict teacher to scold her for using a pen and for being careless. While rebelling internally, Clare managed to complete her classwork. The answers all were right, but the paper now sadly sported blue blotches and smears. It would be hard for anyone to proudly display her most successful work.
“Hi Honey! How was school today?” Clare’s mom called out to her upon her arrival home.
“Um, pretty good. I did well with my math today.”
“So, why aren’t you smiling then,” her mother asked.
“Uh, I had a few other problems. And the teacher yelled at me again. I think I’ll do my math homework right now. At least at home I’ll be able to find my favorite homework pencil."
Armed with her lucky pencil, a fat eraser, and a glass of milk with three brownies, (couldn’t be too careful, after all), Clare sat down at the Formica kitchen table to do the homework.
She hummed happily as she worked. This stuff was easy too! Drat! The tip of the pencil broke off for the third time, requiring a third trip through the sharpener. Finally, Clare completed the last problem. It had seemed so easy that she suspiciously checked all her work. Whew, it still seemed right. With a relieved sigh, Clare leaned back in the kitchen chair and ate the last brownie. She reached for her glass of milk. DRAT! She knocked it over. The milk flowed all over her completed homework, soaking it completely. Clare stared at the soggy mess. She got up to get a kitchen towel to blot up the lake. “Mom! I need help!” After her mother had helped her to lay the homework out on a thick towel to air dry, Clare, with growing concern, begged her mom, “Could you copy the homework page for me Mom? I’m getting a little nervous about going anywhere near it.”
Several days later, Clare received her test paper back. A big red A- graced the top of the page. In smaller red script Clare red, “Points lost due to multiple holes in paper and huge rip through the middle.” Clare remembered with a sinking feeling how she had struggled to complete the test without incident. Somehow the pencil had been slippery (slippery!) and the paper just wouldn’t lie flat. But she had known the answers. This alone was enough to buoy her spirits.
***
Patrick Murphy strode down the hall through the miasma toward the Project Review room. As he entered, Arturo slipped in right behind him. “How’s it going, Bro?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Patrick responded.
They sat down again in front of the spherical glass that connected them to the lives of their clients. With growing dismay, Arturo watched Clare struggle with her math over the last few days. “Patrick, you’re going to have to make this right! I’m not sure she’s any better off than before! Nobody wants to be a slob.”
“That’s true, that’s always been some trouble for me,” Patrick mumbled. “I’ll go back to the lab and tweak things. Heck, maybe I’ll start all over from scratch.”
As he remeasured out reagents and liquids, Patrick contemplated his own life. He was here for the long haul, as folks in this business didn’t grow old and retire like they did in Clare’s world. He couldn’t afford to mess this up. There had been other warnings. He had been threatened with being reassigned to custodial duties or pet waste removal if he didn’t perform his tasks correctly. This job was so much more creative! He loved the possibilities! As he worked, Patrick found big fat tears were running down his cheeks and splashing into the beakers he was preparing. He checked all his work twice. Finally, he was done.
***
Clare got ready for school. She looked for her favorite pair of jeans and discovered they had a large ink stain in the back. She remembered that unfortunate day when her pen blew up. So she couldn’t wear that. She found a dress she could wear. As she pulled it on, she heard a ripping sound as a sleeve tore from the bodice of the dress. Maybe it was all those brownies! Clare felt a lump growing in her throat. This was getting way too frustrating. As she left her room, tears were building in the corners of her eyes. When she saw that her mother had fixed hard-boiled eggs for breakfast, it was just the last straw. She hated warm hard-boiled eggs. She couldn’t help bursting into despondent tears.
As she walked to school, the tears continued to flow. What would go wrong today? She cheered a little when she met her friend Elizabeth.
“Hi Clare!” called out her friend. “How’s it going? Hey, why are you crying?”
Through sniffles and hiccups, as well as almost uncontrollable crying, Clare explained about the stained clothes, the ripped clothes, and for good measure told about her recent experiences with the botched and blotched math assignments.
“You know what that’s called, don’t you?” sympathized Elizabeth.
“No what? Clare stared at her with brimming eyes.
“It’s when whatever could go wrong does go wrong. People call it Murphy’s Law. Sometimes it feels inescapable.”
It felt so true to Clare. But all she could do was cry.
