“Wade already had a bunch of ranch hands, and it didn’t take Will and me long to figure out we weren’t welcome. We were young, weak, and inexperienced. The other hands knew it and reminded us of it every day. They’d give us the chores that no one else wanted, serve us scraps from the lunch table, treat us like dogs any chance they got. If we made a mistake, they wouldn’t say a word. Just hit us. With their fists or anything they had in their hands: a rope, reins, a canteen, whatever.
“Poor Will was always so scared, always wettin’ his bed, even after he turned fifteen. I always did what I could to protect him. I’d work longer hours so he wouldn’t have to. I’d eat less at the lunch table if they underserved us. I’d take the blame for any of his mistakes. I’d raise my hand to volunteer for the tough jobs whenever someone was eyeing him.
“All we ever wanted was to fit in, to be accepted. So we did everything we could to live up to the ranch hands’ expectations. We followed their rules. We tried to impress them. We worked harder than anyone would ever expect, hoping for a kernel of recognition. We’d clean up after them at lunch and dinner. We’d tend to their horses. That was our whole life, trying to become one of them and trying to impress them. But the alienation and abuse continued.
“Will and I talked about leaving all the time. But where would we go? What would we do? We were just two dumb kids. So we stayed. And suffered.
“Then one day, on Will’s eighteenth birthday, we decided we were fed up and would leave the next day. We were just going to walk out and venture into the world. We didn’t know what we were going to do, but it sure wasn’t going to be ranching. That night, to celebrate, I stole a jug of whiskey and got my brother drunk. We talked about all the things we might discover out there in the big world. We drank and danced and sang. At one point, Will was so happy that he spontaneously leaped off the loft into a wagon full of hay below. He did an amazing front flip. He probably wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t gotten him drunk.”
Henry paused and stared down into the pens.
“Will rotated too far . . . broke his neck on the wagon . . .”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Oh, no . . .”
“. . . After his death, I just . . .”
Henry seemed to be reliving the scene in his mind. He cleared his throat. “After my brother’s death, I left Wade’s ranch. I decided to strike out on my own.” He shook his head. “You know where I ended up? On another damn ranch! Somehow I’d convinced myself it was all I could do. I only knew one thing: ranching. I let my one talent box me in. Deep skills sometimes mean deep ruts. The pattern continued. I worked my ass off to fit in and impress people. And you know somethin’? At that second ranch it worked. People took notice—so much so that after a year one of the head guys asked me if I wanted to follow him to another ranch for more money. I said, sure, why not? Over the next fifteen years, same thing. I busted my hump to live up to other people’s expectations and rules so I could fit in and impress them. Then, whenever someone accepted me, I’d follow them wherever they went. I followed other people’s dreams. I went where I knew I might have a chance at belonging and being recognized.
“The tragedy of it all was, I didn’t even like ranching! I’d wake up every morning, stare in the mirror, and see a person looking back who was miserable. The eyes always give it away. It was obvious to anyone who looked at me that I was living life at a low level of despair. Eventually I got out, but that’s a whole ’nother story.” He turned toward me. “But you know why I’m telling you this story? Because I saw exactly that same look on your face in the image in the Hall of Mirrors—mildly miserable. Your eyes spoke volumes. You’ve been living your life at a low level of despair because you’re spending your days doing something you honestly could not care less about.”
We sat in silence until Henry sat up abruptly and smiled. He pointed down to the exhibition circle.
“You see that calf there? The one standing alone?”
A man on a horse was corralling all the cows and calves to one side of the circle. One calf stood still.
“Yeah. I see him.”
“Look at the little guy! Look at his legs.”
They were shaking.
“Listen to him.”
The calf was making a bawling, helpless noise.
“Look!”
Then the calf trotted clumsily toward the other cows and calves, pushing his way into the middle.
Henry laughed wildly. “Now, that’s timing. That’s what happens to us. We’re scared to death to be alone or unattended, so we follow the herd—either doing what we’re told or what everyone else is doing.”
I got the point but wasn’t biting.
“But wait a second,” I scoffed. “If that calf didn’t stay with the herd, he wouldn’t survive.”
“Perhaps,” Henry said. He turned to me with a grin. “Good thing we’re not cows.”
We left the pavilion to escape the noise of the animals. When we were a few yards outside the building, Henry asked me to sit on a park bench. “Listen,” he said, “you know where I’ve been going with this. Your career is making you miserable. I have no doubt that you’re busy. But you’re not fulfilled, and your busy work isn’t your life’s work. Am I right?”
I stared back into the pavilion. “So this is about getting me to quit my job?”
“No,” Henry shot back quickly. “This is about getting you to question why you have the job you have. Is your career what you dreamed of, or what you fell into? You and I both know that you haven’t stayed in this career because it makes you get up every morning and sing in the shower.
“My guess is, you were like that calf. Someone told you where to go, or you went there so you didn’t have to stand alone. I think you were trying to be accepted by someone, so you tried to live up to their expectations and impress them by taking that job.”
Henry looked at me intently. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”
I looked to the ground and nodded.
“Mary,” I whispered.
Henry stood up. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
14
THE BUMPER BOATS
A s we walked from the livestock building back toward the Hall of Mirrors and the merry-go-round, Henry grilled me with questions.
“So you took your job—the one you admittedly don’t exactly love—because of Mary?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“What do you mean, ‘basically’?”
“I mean, she wanted me to have a steady job . . . so we could have a good future together. She was always talking about having a nice home together. So when this job came up, I knew she wanted me to take it.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“More or less.”
“What do you mean, ‘more or less’? Did she say, ‘I want you to take that job,’ or not?”
“She never verbalized it. She didn’t have to.”
“So Mary never actually came right out and said she wanted you to take the job?”
“Why are you stuck on that?” I said with some frustration. “No, she didn’t exactly say it. But again, I knew she wanted me to. Here’s the situation: I was laid off from my previous job at the worst possible time. I had just proposed to Mary the month before. And in three weeks I was going to surprise Mary with a trip to the Virgin Islands. Her parents were going to be down there for their thirtieth wedding anniversary. I was going to take her and meet up with them to celebrate our engagement and their anniversary.”
Henry sighed. “Ouch. That is bad timing. So you were laid off? And you canceled the trip?”
“No, I had already planned and paid for the whole thing, so going was a given. But I’ll tell you what, I didn’t want to go hang out with her parents as the unemployed fiancé. So I hustled for those three weeks to find another job. By the time we got down there, I had several offers.”
“Good for you,” Henry said. “That showed some gumption. Were all the offers in the same line of work?”
> “No,” I said. “Two actually surprised me. They were in public relations, not sales. I had asked my headhunter to see if there were any PR jobs out there, and he found some interest. Anyway, I took the sales gig.”
“But you had asked for the PR jobs. Why didn’t you take those?”
“Because they didn’t pay as much—I just didn’t have the skills or experience. And like I said, Mary was always talking about having a house and living the good life together.”
“Did you ever talk with Mary about the PR jobs, about what you really wanted to do?”
“No.”
“I see,” Henry said. “Have you ever wondered what would have happened if you had taken one of the PR jobs?”
“Sure. Every time I’m bored stiff at work. But a man has to make sacrifices to provide for his family.”
Henry curled his brow in confusion. “So let me see if I get this right. You assumed what Mary wanted without asking her. You gave up your ambitions and hopes for a more exciting career in order to please her. And in the last four years you’ve suffered in your job and family because you never spoke up for what you really wanted? Is that about right?”
“No. I don’t think it is. I think you’re putting too much of a bad spin on it. Look, I had just bought a house and I had just got engaged. Sometimes you have to compromise in order to have a good life with someone else. I don’t think anyone would disagree with that.”
Henry didn’t respond.
We came upon a hip-high metal fence that surrounded a giant round pool. Kids were lined up all around the fence, and you could hear them screaming and splashing inside.
Henry smiled. “I love the bumper boats.”
We followed the line until we reached the entrance. A short, wavy-haired man stood at the stairway leading up to the deck around the pool. He spotted Henry immediately.
“Henry!” he squealed in a high voice. “Henry! Is that you? I heard you were back—get over here!”
The two men embraced.
“Squirt,” Henry called out. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course, Henry, what’s up?” he replied with enthusiasm.
“I need to go do some detective work about a woman,” he said. “Her name is Mary Higgins. You know of her?”
The little guy shrugged. “Never heard of her.”
Henry looked at me, then back at Squirt. “Well, could you take care of my friend here for a while? He’s been steering his boat by the wrong stars for a while. Actually, he’s never really steered it at all. Could you help him out?”
Henry’s candid description of me caught me off guard; I felt embarrassment mixed with anger.
“You bet, Henry.”
“Thanks, Squirt. See you in a bit.”
Henry walked away without saying a word to me. A few yards away he started coughing forcefully again.
Squirt and I circled the platform of the pool and watched the kids spin and slam into one another in their bumper boats.
“There are two kinds of kids,” Squirt said. He rubbed his chin pensively, as if this had just occurred to him for the first time. “There are the spinners and the sailors. The sailors are the kids who hop into the boat and head for open water—they’re the explorers. They have a dream and they set out for it. Yeah, they’re dreamers and doers. They know exactly where they want to go. And no matter what bumps into them, they get there, because they keep steering in that direction. They’re the ones you’ll hear screaming, ‘Get out of my way!’ The sailors are vocal about what they want. Once they get to the other side, they’ll come back and bump everyone. When I blow my whistle letting everyone know time is up, sailors always end up on the other side of the pool from where they started. They gladly hop out of their boats, because they got what they wanted. They got their goal and they got to have fun bumping other boats.”
Squirt stopped and scanned the pool. He pointed out a little boy spinning in a circle. “Then you’ve got the spinners. The spinners . . . well, actually, they start just like the sailors. They also want to head for open water. But as soon as everyone gets going, the spinners quickly realize there are a lot of other people in the pool. They realize how hard it is to steer. So the spinner does something unique. The spinner makes an assumption: it’s hard to steer my boat without bumping into other people, so I won’t be able to make it to the other side. Spinners give up quickly. They say, ‘Well, I guess I can’t make it to the other side, so I’ll just have fun here by myself and spin.’ They might even bump a few people. They do something that is entirely unhelpful to their original goal, and everyone else’s goal: they spin in one place, bumping and blocking everyone from getting to the other side, without even knowing it. Most of the time spinners spin quietly. When I blow the whistle for everyone to stop, they’re the last ones to dock, and they’re almost always disappointed in their ride.”
When he finished speaking, Squirt blew his whistle. The kids started coming in. I noticed how many spinners took longer to come to the platform. Squirt started going from boat to boat, fastening each rope to the dock. Once he did that for each boat, the kid would jump out and head for the exit.
“A little help?” he said, motioning to the boats across the pool.
I walked to the other end and helped kids out of their boats and then tied the boats to the platform.
Squirt and I met back in the middle; then he walked around the platform again, making sure each boat was securely moored.
“You know, my friend,” he said condescendingly while walking between two boats, “you are a classic friggin’ spinner.”
Something about his tone infuriated me. “What?” I said. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough. I’ve heard about you. And I heard what Henry said.” He bent down to double-check one of the boats I had moored. “You’re a spinner. It’s like a billboard on your forehead, buddy.”
“Oh, c’mon, that’s not fair—you don’t know a damn thing about me.”
Squirt stood upright. “Yeah? Well, I know a spinner when I see one.”
I felt like lashing out with some childish I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I sort of retort. “Listen, I’m not going to argue about—”
“I know you won’t argue. That’s why you’re a spinner, you moron. You don’t want to make waves. Now, just admit it—you’re a spinner.”
“What?”
“Admit it!” he said, stepping toward me. “Right here and now. Admit it!”
“What? This is stupid. I’m not going to—”
Squirt lunged at me. “Spinner!” he cried accusingly.
He grabbed me by the shirt.
We struggled.
We both fell into the pool.
All went black.
I gulped water, panicking and thrashing frantically toward the surface. When I broke through, a bright sun blinded me. I looked around me for Squirt. He was gone. The bumper boats were gone. I felt my feet touch the bottom. I stood and squinted. In front of me lay a sandy beach. The taste of saltwater was in my mouth. What the . . . ?
I suddenly recognized the beach in front of me: a secluded shore in the Virgin Islands. Where I took Mary to celebrate our engagement.
I heard a familiar laugh . . . Mary. Looking up the beach, I could see her walking with her mother, Linda. I waded through the water, staring in confusion. “Mary?” I called out. Neither she nor Linda gave me the slightest notice.
But they were talking about me.
Linda said, “So what is he going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. “He told me this morning he had a great job offer as a sales account manager. I guess it’s similar to the job he was laid off from, but a move up in pay and prestige. The only thing is, if he takes it, he’d be stuck in an office all day and have to deal with budgetary issues, which he hates. He said it was really good money, though.”
“Oh, good,” Linda said. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and stared happily at the engagement ring. “He’s got to start thinking
about your future together. I know he just bought a house a while ago, but maybe he’ll want a bigger one once you two are married and move in together. Maybe then you’ll give me some grandkids?” She smiled. “He should take it. You two need stability and security.”
“Yeah,” Mary said, staring out into the ocean. “The job definitely pays well. We’d be set. We could have a great house. But no, Mom, no grandkids yet,” she said, returning the smile. “We want to wait so we can enjoy our marriage first. You know, do things together. Travel and enjoy life.”
Linda said, “Just another reason he should take the job. You two will need money for those travels. Right now you’re both barely making it. He’s been unemployed for a month. . . . Your job pays okay, but you’ll never get rich doing social work. This job sounds like a good thing for both of you. I’m excited to hear about it.”
“Yeah, I was really excited too this morning when he told me about it. I was thrilled. He looked so happy about it. He needed that offer, for his own pride.” Mary looked off into the bright blue ocean. “I just worry about it.”
“Worry about what?” Linda asked.
“I know the money would be good, but I worry he wouldn’t like it. I want him to be happy.”
“Oh, hon, he’s a big boy. He’s not going to take a job he doesn’t like. He’s a smart guy and can do anything he wants. I’m sure he’s excited about this job because it’ll really set you two up to have a good life together. Like I said: a house, some kids, stability.”
“Yeah, but what’s all that if he’s not happy? I don’t want him coming home from work every day miserable like Dad used to. Remember? Remember how miserable Dad was at the bank? Remember how happy he was when he started his own business? I just don’t want my husband to ever have to go through that. I don’t care if he makes a dollar.”