motivations: perfect me

My first work of fiction in a very long time - enjoy.

There will be four or more parts, fyi. AND, this is all original writing, so please no reproduction/distribution without my permission! Thanks :)

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Perfect Me

Every so often, he would adjust the pencils in his cup. They were all the same type of pencil – number two, Ticonderoga, yellow and sharpened to perfection. But every time he pulled out a pencil to jot something down, there would be this gaping hole to where the pencil should find its way back once he was done. He didn’t like the gaping hole, so he would push around the pencils in the cup so to fill up that space. But it didn’t ever quite work as well as he would have liked, so he would continually adjust the pencils in the cup, spinning them around and around, hoping to fill up that gap.

He couldn’t help but be a little obsessive over things. Things that he could have in his control. He could control his grades in college, he could control his resume’s format and contents, he could control the underlings at work and even control his own work hours. He could control how ironed his shirts were, he could control the temperature of his hot showers, he could control the number of protein servings in his day to ensure his controlling of his fitness. He could even control his emotions and control any straying thoughts, although this he had to learn the hard way because one time, he lost control.

Her name was Natalie. She was nearly as tall as he was, (he liked to think he controlled his height as well, through daily glasses of milk and stretching exercises), and she had rounded hazel eyes and a delicately pointed nose so sharp, she looked like a respectfully timid fox. She said, “Neil, would you pass me a copy of the meeting agenda?” in such a delightfully passive-aggressive way that he couldn’t help but acquiesce instantly.

And she was like that very often. “Neil, would you open the window next to the mirror?” she would ask, sitting with the most perfect posture in his living room. “I can’t focus.” She would pat the tightly wound bun on her head a few times to check that not a single stray hair had fallen out of place. Even when he would come over to check up on her with a steaming cup of coffee and kiss her as a distraction, she would stop prematurely and pat her bun to check that she had not been ruffled by the moment.

They were both not right for each other. He bit his nails. She tapped her right foot incessantly. He liked jazz and running everyday at 5 p.m. before dinner. She only listened to the newest indie music presented by yet another guy with thick-rimmed glasses and a bushy beard that Neil would have never tolerated. And she preferred yoga at 6:30 a.m. before work. He drove at the speed limit. She drove 10 miles per hour above it.

And each absorbed in his or her own perfect schedules and disciplines and rituals, one always secretly hoped that the other would alter her or his lifestyle first.

She was more obstinate.

“There’s this amazing jazz pianist coming this Saturday,” he offered. “Do you have time?”

She looked up from her book and tilted her head to the left. “I’m not sure.”

“It’ll be fun. My roommate from my freshman year in college wants to see me, and it’d be nice for you to meet him too.”
“You know I wouldn’t really feel comfortable.” She was adverse to meeting new people.
“He’s very friendly, I promise. You wouldn’t feel awkward at all.”
“I might have to tend to some last-minute details for the project.”
“We can work on those together beforehand if we need to. Or afterwards – it’ll only take three hours out of Saturday, one-and-a-half for dinner and one-and-a-half for the show.”
“It’s not about the time.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t know, Neil.” And that was that. He went by himself and had a wonderful time.

They were civil with each other when such differences in interest arose, but these differences were inconvenient, if they were willing to admit it to themselves. Perhaps the only thing that truly brought them together and sparked any form of true passion between the two was work.

“Did you schedule the appointment with Mr. Camden?”
“Yeah, he’s good to go for 11:30 next Wednesday. What about Isaac?”
“He’s flying in on Tuesday, and I’ve booked him a room at the Sheraton.”
“Did we pull together the presentation for tomorrow?”
“We just need to add in a couple slides about the survey results that we just got in.”
“Thanks – I’m heading out to Starbucks, do you want anything?”
“A grande latte with soy milk, thanks.”

In those moments, when she would bark out rapid responses to his questions or seamlessly request orders, he felt like their teamwork was enough to sustain the relationship. They complemented each other at work, and work to both of them was essentially the core of their lives. It made them feel productive, efficient – needed. And sometimes they took business trips together, flying to Atlanta and Munich and Sydney, each toting a perfectly packed carry-on that contained exactly what would be needed for the next three to five days.

When they arrived, she would hand him an itinerary of not only what needed to be accomplished business-wise, but also what would be done for pleasure as well. She marked out the necessary quaint coffee shops and locally loved restaurants in the area, and picked out the photo opportunities that he knew she would promptly post online for her family and friends to see when she returned. And though for most people, this sort of obsessive quality would have been a definite turn-off, he felt himself falling for her more and more. She was motivated, with a direction and purpose in life, always punctual and poised. She was his perfect counterpart that pushed him to refine himself everyday so he could catch up to her.

As one month turned into five months, and five months turned into thirteen months, it was hard to think that either could just walk out of the relationship.

But it was easier than he thought it would be. She was getting relocated to their office in New York because a top position had been vacated by a Korean War veteran who had finally decided to retire. They would need someone with the same sort of militaristic drive, but with less cursing and a softer aura. Natalie was perfect for the job.

By then, he had stopped going to jazz clubs on the third Saturday of each month and ceased to bite his nails to stubs. Even though he still ran at 5 p.m. before dinner, he joined her for a 6:30 a.m. yoga session every Wednesday morning at her stark white apartment. He dared to drive 15 miles per hour over the speed limit and he made sure to kiss her cheeks so lightly that there was no chance of her ruining her makeup. But she hadn’t given up much for him, and that was one of the things that made him the most angry when they decided to separate.

“I never measured you by my standards,” he said, looking out the window of his apartment. “I measured myself by your standards. I lost my own standards for myself.”
“Did I ask you to do that?” she asked quietly, gently tapping her coffee mug.
“Well, with our personality clashes, one of us had to change for the other.”
“We are only accountable to ourselves, Neil.”
“That’s not true.” He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. “In a relationship, it’s about giving and taking. Compromising. Making sure the other person is happy.”
“Were you unhappy with me?”

He paused before answering, gritting his teeth. He thought about how she had often overpowered him while acting as if she were weaker, as if she had to submit to his wishes. But in the end, he had given in many more times. She was being relocated because she was more forceful and directive; he had lost that zest, that competitive spirit. He had become a pushover in this relationship without even realizing it.

“Maybe. But I didn’t know.” He turned around to face her. “Until now.”
She peered at him, as if she were observing a museum display. She sipped her coffee and set the cup down. “Why?”
He paused again. Maybe it hadn’t mattered to him that he had changed. Or that neither she nor he was held up to his standards. Maybe he had simply cared for her. “Maybe I wasn’t unhappy.” He took a step toward her. “Were you unhappy?”
“Of course not,” she stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. And then his face. “You were wonderful to me. And I thank you.” She kissed him with the utmost care and grabbed her coffee for one last sip before taking it to the kitchen.

Separating was logical for both of them – there was no point in carrying on the relationship when they would become swept off by their separate schedules that would no longer effortlessly include the other person. He gave her a new pen and told her to spare him some phone calls once she settled in. She gifted him a new watch and told him to work hard.

“Stay sharp,” she said. And with a friendly hug and a sweet smile, she got into her car and drove off.

He missed her, but after a few weeks, he reverted back to his own way of living. He saw his jazz aficionado friends again, who commended him for having such a clean break-up. They had made fun of Natalie when the relationship still existed, surprised that Neil had found someone more particular than himself. But in the end, they were glad that her personality made it so easy for them to return to being casual friends, no strings attached.

But whether it was because he still cared about her or because he had become unsatisfied with his own standards, he felt insecure and unfulfilled in the months that followed her departure. Just like the small gap in his cup of pencils, it was like someone had pulled out a pencil out of his life while he wasn’t looking, and now he was left with this hole he couldn’t fill, least of all with another girl, like his friends suggested. And as he pushed around his schedule and his character disciplines and his daily rituals some more, his life didn’t get any better. He sat in his crisply ironed suit in his appropriately cool office and pushed his pencils around some more, thinking he would get some kind of answer.

And one day, he did.

© 2009. Sarah R.