Page 69 of Caught A Vibe

“We’ve got this!” Voices clamor out of my screen as everyone chimes in. I’m the luckiest CEO in the world.

I drop off the call and begin drafting the notice to the leasing agent.Two steps forward, one step back. This is just a step back.So why does it feel like I stepped back to the edge of a cliff?

Luckily, Dash is there to break my free fall into disillusionment.

“You finish your work?” he asks, his hands kneading my shoulders.

“Just. Give me ten minutes to get ready, and we’ll celebrate.”

Chapter19

Dash

She comes out wearing a pretty, flowing wrap dress that clings to her frame in all the right places, makeup done and hair styled…and wearing shoes. I thought we might order in for a nice meal, but Penny has other plans.

“Follow me, good sir. Adventure awaits!” She tucks her hand in my elbow and leads me to the door, so I can add shoes to my outfit of slacks and a button-down. “Tell me more about this new job!” she prompts as we climb into her car.

“It’s a great opportunity. More stability, benefits, a chance to move up in the company. And all I have to do is keep writing articles about how the pandemic is affecting tech usage and making a fool of myself. Easy-peasy.” I lean back in the seat, trying to project a nonchalant joy I do not feel.

“Do I detect a hint of resignation in there?”

I can’t hide my grimace. My earlier euphoria evaporated with the steam in the shower, leaving behind some serious reservations.

“It’s great. Really. I just…” I run my hand over my head and grip the back of my neck tightly, as if that might ease the strain from the boulder balanced between my shoulder blades. “All my life I’ve disappointed people. My parents, teachers, employers, lovers… My ADHD is great sometimes, but other times it makes me look lazy or late or not reaching my potential. I had a great gig reviewing video games. It played to all my strengths and paid my bills. The deadlines were motivating, and concentrating on a game was super easy. Games are literally built to deliver dopamine and keep you engaged. Now? Writing all this stuff about the pandemic? It’s depressing. I’m having to bribe myself to get the articles in on time. And now it’s going to be a full-time gig? I just…yeah. I’m worried.”

As my rant winds down and my words slow, I realize that I just spewed words for an entire mile without a filter. God, she must be bored to tears. I brace myself for disdain or chiding about being grateful.

“It can be hard to embrace risk when you don’t want to let people down. It’s a lot of pressure,” she says, eyes on the road. Every vulnerability is sitting just under my skin, waiting for a punch. “This is a big shift, and change can be scary.”

Now I feel ridiculous for having worried and for spilling out my trivial anxieties. I know this is nothing compared to the pressure she faces every day as CEO. Why am I bringing us down when we should be celebrating?

“I’m sure the pressure you’re under is a hundred times worse, starting your own company from scratch,” I say.

“It’s not a competition, and me being stressed doesn’t mean that you can’t also be feeling pressed.”

Her soft words hit me in the solar plexus, stealing my breath. I have no idea what to say to that. I’ve gotten so used to minimizing my reactions so they don’t become problems for everyone else that I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel entitled to my feelings too.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks as she flicks on her blinker to turn left.

“We’re on a date. I believe conversation is customary. Ask away,” I tease.

“You said that your degree program was in computer science. How did you end up in journalism?”

I take a deep breath and settle lower in the passenger seat. “That’s a long story.”

“You said that before. I’ve got time.”

I take one look at the honest interest in her face and decide to trust her with my deepest failure. I want to trust her, and be worthy of her trust in return. I want to open up my entire life for her to browse. I just pray she likes what she finds.

My mind is spinning, unraveling the threads of the tale, trying to decide where to start. If she wants this story, I will find the courage to tell it. And somehow it’s easier with her focus on the road and not my face.

“Just remember when I’m still rambling in an hour that you asked for it.”

She chuckles, as I hoped, breaking the tension.

“When I was a kid I always had trouble at school. My behavior was all over the place. Impulsive, couldn’t sit still, disrupting other students…but my grades were solid, so they never had me tested for anything. Just the class clown. The screw-up. When middle school knocked me on my ass, my counselor had his suspicions and asked my parents to do the assessment. ADHD. Four big letters that broke my parents. I wasn’t put in special ed. They wouldn’t even consider it. See, when they thought I was just goofing around, they could punish me and think they were fixing it. When I had those letters attached to me, I was confirmed broken. They couldn’t have that, so they ignored it and kept punishing me, because that’s what they knew.”

“Dash, you aren’t broken.”

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