A Seat at the Table (A Short Story)

She pulls out a chair, laying her journal down in front of her and her pencil neatly on top of her journal as she scoots closer to the table. She looks around. It seems everyone is occupied with side conversations though all seeming to connect to the project somehow. She decides to observe the room first. She listens to the different conversations being had to find the rhythm of the room. What angle are they approaching this season with? How do they think? What do they value? But from what she overhears, she’s not able to find the answers she’s looking for. She considers outright asking them but then reconsiders worrying that she may come off too strong.

She has a very peculiar energy, she’s learned. People are either very warm or very skeptical of her. Some people even call her weird, but she doesn’t mind that. Having spent so much of life in a frenzy, concerned with things that don’t matter, she no longer feels obligated to do so. She’s found her niche. And she’s learned that it’s one of the main reasons people want her around; because of what happens when she’s loyal to staying in the space that she’s created for herself. The space that works best for her and, typically works best for others as well. And instead of trying to figure it out, it’s easier for others to simply trust her. People’s inability to do so is what separates the warm from the skeptical.

Because of that trust, the warm were able to look past her weird light brown free form locs, wrapped around each other so as to keep from blocking her view. Her odd habit of keeping her pencil in her hair, her strange clothes with prints of elephants, stick people dancing, flowers, and paisley on them that either give people a feeling of nostalgia or make them think of an elegant safari. Instead of mocking the way that she walked, which was with a sort of relaxed certainty, the warm just admired it. They were able to appreciate her bizarre ways rather than constantly calling attention to them.

With this understanding of the ways that people respond to her, she stays quiet a little longer. Her hope is to match the tempo of the room. When all the small conversations merge into a table discussion, she finds her suggestions to be heard but eventually dismissed because of her misunderstanding of some collective knowledge that they all seemed to have. Feeling rejected and slightly frustrated she fights the inclination to give in to her emotion and ask the questions she had previously concluded would come off strong. She brews, studying the room again.

The room, having noticed her suggestive absence, asks her if she has any thoughts about what had just been said. She thinks for a moment as the room patiently waits for her to respond. Finally, she decides to just be honest with her uncertainties. She looks everyone in the eye as she rocks slightly in the back of her chair before answering.

“Y’know, I’m new here.”

She begins as she drops the edges of her hands on the table so her palms are facing each other. Talking with her hands, she continues.

“My work is meant to be read, and I write and think with that expectation. So I’m still adjusting to the rhythm of television. But when I know I want to tell a story… actually I like to think that I’m capturing moments. And then creating stories around that moment, right. So my question is, what do we want the character to feel? How do we want the audience to feel? And once we know that, we can create a moment that we’ll work towards. And from there we create the story around that moment. At least that’s my process and that’s how I know what part of myself to tap into.”

The response of the room was as if her reputation had confirmed itself. She was brilliant. She was honest. She was a little unorthodox in the most necessary ways. When she talked, she was clear even though she relied on anecdotes and metaphors to communicate her ideas. She guided people to very specific feelings then asked them about what that feeling meant to them or about the sensation they felt when thinking of that feeling. She then used this information to make decisions that were seemingly unrelated but always appreciated in the end. She had spirit. She had vision. She had tremendous value. Sometimes she was a writer; Sometimes she was a consultant. Sometimes she placed herself in the room just to absorb other people’s ideas and see how other people thought. Alternatively, the room would be glad to be able to have her perspective and ultimately, she served as the unofficial arbiter of a popular television sitcom series that meticulously captures the moment of their time. So, she was welcomed in all creative deliberations.