Strength
| Tommy The Cat | Primus |
At 6 a.m., the boat traffic on the docks of the St. Charles was minimal. Fog crept between the pilings and around the pier like a gray cat. Brad kept his pace even. He'd covered the mile from his brownstone to the US Coast Guard wharf in six minutes. This morning, as he waved to the guys, they waved him in. He ended up helping two lieutenants hoist an anchor into position to be cranked up.
Continuing his circuit around Commercial, following the water, he made a left and veered back up into the city, through the Commons. Coming up the street to his brownstone, he ran up behind Mrs. Cooper struggling under a hefty load of bags. He carried her haul from the mornings farmers market to her door, returning his elderly neighbor's grin.
Brad felt alive, full of mental energy and ready for a day of advocating for his clients interests as he strode in to the firm. Shirley poked her head into his office. "Brad, the clerks aren't here yet and I've got nine boxes of court papers to get from reception to my office." Happy to oblige
"Soldier." Denny gave Brad a punch in the shoulder, trying to illicit a sparring move on him. Brad just chuckled and raised his palms to give Denny a surface to box. "Remember when I kicked your ass at push-ups, soldier? Hell, I do. Fifty-seven in a minute." Brad just nodded, feeling genial at his friends fond memories.
Midday, Alan sauntered in through Brad's open door, looking to kill a random moment. "Do Marines measure their worth in bulk? Because I would think, and I know what a struggle that is for you, that you would take great comfort in your grossly exaggerated build. Perhaps overcompensating?" Brad bobbed his head, more of an 'all right, pal' with a figurative hash mark in Alan's column, and returned to working on his laptop.
Tara walked into the kitchen, joining him at the coffee pot. "Bugger." Brad glanced over. Tara, cup in hand, was staring at the large empty water bottle sitting atop the dispensing cooler. She looked his way, raising her eyebrows in a plea. Brad hefted the 5 gallon replacement container in place, wishing her good health.
"Brad, I need you to do me a favor." Paul's smooth, cultured voice floated through the phone with just the subtlest flavor of condescending attitude. "We need you to accompany Sara Holt to a client meeting. They're rather a dubious set of characters and I know she'd feel safer if a formidable fellow such as yourself were standing nearby." Brad agreed to pose as bodyguard goon for the sake of the firm.
Packing up his briefcase with trial documents, he resigned himself to another night of strategy planning back at his brownstone. Lori wandered in, closed the door and asked him if he knew of a good Jeet Kune Do instructor in Boston. She was hoping to get a good work-out. She squeezed his bicep, making a wry face. "You knocked that courtroom bomber out cold last spring. One shot. Now I know how."
So be it. "Can I ask you something, Lori? Describe me. I mean, who am I to you? In general."
"Well... you're a big guy. Solid."
"No, I mean what do you think I'm made of?"
"Muscles." She covers a smirk with her hand. Brad lets her off the hook with a grin. She asks if he can stop by her office before he leaves. "You willing to help me haul in a new bookcase I'm picking up?" Sure, why not.
Brad closes his door and walks over to his window. The rush hour traffic is jamming Tremont. He props his left foot up on the low window frame, resting his elbows on his bent knee and watches the people walk through the Commons, reflecting on what Lori said. Apparently, his greatest strength was... strength. It was his shield, his patriotism, his camaraderie, his Achilles heel and always a big target for mockery. Sometimes, he thinks being fit is a curse. He had a Math degree, put himself through law school and always worked out the hidden angle to prevail in his cases. But strength subtracted from that in the perceptions of others. Why is that?
And then there it was, nudging into his consciousness before he could steer clear. One person took the effort, for a brief time, to look beyond the physical, told him they got his inner attributes. A small smile settled on the corner of Brad's lips, allowing himself a rare moment remembering a quick trip back from New York. As he stared absently out the window, he saw her crossing the street, holding a coffee. She settled on a bench in the Commons, dark glasses nearly obscuring her face. After a minute, he reached for the blind wand, then whispered in a hoarse voice, "You're my greatest weakness", and closed the blinds.
[Cross posted to Theatrical Muse: "What is your greatest strength?"]