A Visit With Failure

I was sitting at my computer when Failure came by unannounced and unexpected. I had not intended or planned to see anyone that night: my roommates, young and college age, where out having a night life while I, married and frugal, was spending the evening in the apartment reading and getting ready to write.

I caught a glimpse of blue-while out of the corner of my eye as I heard the creak of the corner of the mattress being sat down on. As I had not expected any visitors, I felt little need to turn and acknowledge her presence.

"You're trying it again, aren't you?" came the voice as the rustling sounds suggested hair being pushed behind ears and shoulders. "It's really hot here. Did we have to do this now?"

"If you don't like it, leave. If you're hot, sit under the fan" I retorted, not dignifying the comment with eye contact.

A soft thwap and the rustling of papers on my desk suggested that a fan had been brought out and was being used. "It's not a question of like, you understand" she purred, banishing annoyance from her tone in an attempted exchange for results. "It 's just that it's my duty to remind you of things you can't do and you're not good at."

I spun around at that and saw the blue-white yukata covered shape hop over on the mattress, afraid I'd take more action that just whirling. The fan had stopped in mid-move; when it was apparent I'd do no more than just glare, it started up again.

Failure pouted. "We always go through this: for a while you're sensible, then you decide you "want" to do something, and then we come back to this. You think you can, but you really can't. Remind me: your writing, it's so good you've managed to complete how many manuscripts?" Her smile was as insincere as her tone, the long sleeve of the yukata trailing the movement of the fan.

I snorted in response. "Doesn't matter how much I haven't done, I only need to keep trying. Dedication, you know. New place, new life, new time. Now off with you." I pointed at the door.

The low sound of her laugh beat a countertempo to the fanning. "Quite brave now, aren't we? Reading always makes this way. It's cute."

Again I pointed. "Off. I've enough of you. Maybe I'll never get beyond the basics, maybe I'll never be good, maybe I'll never be published. But none of that is a reason to accept you. If I fail, I fail - but not because I stopped trying."

The bed creaked as she got up, still fanning herself. "I'll be off then - but I'm pretty sure not for long. Maybe I'll be back for the cool season here." She strolled out of the room, giving the impression that she was leaving of her own accord, not being asked to.

I turned, barely hearing the door shut as I got back to the computer. Note to self: lock the doors of the room and of my mind before I start this next time.