Ideally, Part II

The cellphone made my boss sound like a geriatric woman with emphysema, his sentences coming in bursts, starting strong but then getting washed away by waves of static. Either the connection was fine on his end, or he simply didn’t care, because he continued to talk, even as I yelled through the snow that I could not hear a damn thing.

“Boss!” I shouted. “You’re cutting out!”

“Ge… m-t… ide…,” the phone crackled. Then, weirdly, it repeated itself, louder. “Ge… m-t… idee..!”

“Yeah, Yeah,” I said idly, pulling the crumpled directions out of my pocket. He was still talking. “Sure thing, chief,” I said, glancing at the street sign above me and then back to the page. “I’m here, I think. I’ll call you back when I can get a better connection.”

“Ge… m-t… ide…!!” he came again. I signed and closed the cellphone. Taking one last look at the directions, I began walking towards the train station building. It was an old-style building with an elaborate brick archway over the entrance. I walked slowly through the revolving door. People streamed by both ways as I entered the station. I stopped in the middle and stood on my tip toes, scanning the crowded room for a single person. And, somehow, I found her.

She sat in a far corner, alone on a bench. Dressed in a pink sun dress with her blonde hair in pig tails, she held her head down, staring intently at a handheld videogame the buttons of which she franticly jabbed with her fingers. She was surrounded by shopping bags.

I turned and pushed by way past people going the other way, mumbling ‘excuse me’ and trying to watch where my hands went. “Hey,” I stammered, as I approached the girl on the bench. “Hey.”

She didn’t look up from her game. As I got closer, I could see the look of pure determination on her face, the kind of look that says hey, leave me alone because this is IMPORTANT. I stood in front of her for a while, trying not to cast so much of a shadow over her face, as she furiously pounded the buttons. Finally she stopped, groaned, and set the game down beside her.

“I hate this game!” she exclaimed. “I hate it! It is ridiculous!”

I wasn’t sure if she knew I was there, so I stammered again. Her eyes met mine and she quickly grinned, then stopped, then grinned again.

“A soccer game,” she said increduously. “Can you believe that? Soccer! Have you ever heard of a more ridiculous game? Because I haven’t!”

“Uh, well…” I started.

“You should try it!” she chirped. “You get to kick things like a ball and also goals and it is soooo much fun.”

“But, uh you hate it,” I offered.

She sighed and glanced at her discarded game. “Yes!” she agreed. “Because it is RIDICULOUS.”

There was an awkward pause.

“So who are you!” She demanded an answer, but did so in a way that was so cheerful, so positive, that it took me a long time to muster up any words.

“Um,” I said again. “I got your name from… uh, my boss. My boss gave me your name. He said you’re the person to go for for ideas…”

I don’t think she was listening. Her eyes were dating around the station, moving from person to person. Just then, the sound of a train squealing against its rails rolled over the station and echoed off the high ceiling and she gave a delighted shriek.

“I love TRAINS!” she said suddenly, absolutely. “I love trains! I spend a lot of time here and do you know why? Because I love trains!”

Her green eyes were focused on me again. She looked at me intently, as if it was finally my turn to say something. I still kept stammering, unable to keep my focus.

“So, you… well, like trains,” I ventured, stupidly.

“Yes!” she chirped again. “Know why? Because they are amazing! They are so fast! Someone could call me from anywhere in the city and ask me to be there and I could be there in like ten minutes! Thanks to the train!”

It’s not often you meet someone so overly impressed by decades-old technology, and I think that was what was unnerving me now. Nevertheless, I decided to press on, so I could let this person get back to her videogames and trains.

“Ideas,” I said again.

“Oh yes, ideas!” she pointed to herself. “You have come to the right person!”

I waited.

“What kind of ideas do you want?” she asked. “I have lots. Dozens! Hundreds! It’s like my head is an aquarium and it is filled with fish and each fish is an idea and the water is coooold.” She shivered for some reason.

“Um, I need…” I thought for a second. “Any kind, really. Any kind of ideas. I am pretty sure there are no more ideas out there, so I am looking everywhere I can.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “No more ideas? That’s ridiculous! You’re ridiculous! As ridiculous as this soccer game!” At this, she broke into bales of laughter, that lasted only a few seconds. Then she got completely serious. “I have ideas. I will give you some.”

I prepared for the worst, pulling out my notebook and pencil. She rubbed her temple for a second, shut her eyes, and then let the words start.

“How about… this: a 1940s detective.”

“Okay…” I said.

She opened one eye and gave a half-smile. “Do you like it?” she asked, hopefully.

“Like what?”

“The idea!”

“What idea?”

She opened both eyes and rolled her eyes at me. “The one I just gave you! 1940s Detective!”

“Um,” I said, wondering where to begin. “That’s not really an idea… I mean, it was, at one time, an idea. But now it’s been done so much it’s like its own genre. There are literally a thousand films about detectives from that era.”

“Oh,” she said simply. “I don’t really watch very many movies.”

“Soooo,” I started. “I guess I’ll go…”

“No, wait!” she demaned. “I have a lot more!”

“Okay,” I agreed. “A few more.”

“How about a hero standing alone against some evil guys, fighting his way through them, trying to rescue someone from something!” She sat back, triumphant.

“Um, like Die Hard?”

“Like WHAT?”

“Die Hard,” I repeated, exhausted. “You know, Bruce Willis.”

“Ummmmmmm,” she drawled. “The guy from Disney’s The Kid?”

I blinked, hard. “The guy from Die Hard!”

“So you don’t like it?’ she asked innocently.

“What else do you have?”

She shut her eyes again. “Ahh,” she said. “This one is good! This one is GREAT! How about hitmen with hearts of gold!”

I didn’t have to say anything. She read it on my face.

“Okay,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be hitmen. It could be strippers!”

“Jesus Christ,” I whispered.

“You’re difficult!” she whined. “Most people aren’t so difficult!”

“Look, you know,” I said. “Thanks for your time…”

“What about love!” she interrupted.

“Love,” I repeated.

“Yes,” she demanded. “What about love!”

“As an idea?” I asked quietly.

“Yes! As a GREAT idea!”

I looked over my shoulder at the crowd of people. “It’s been done,” I said. “It’s done. Love is done.”

She mumbled, beneath her breath. “Not for me,” she whispered.

“Look,” I said sternly. “Thanks for your time. And good luck with your ridiculous soccer game,” I added, gesturing at the handheld beside her.

Her eyes lit up a little. “Yes,” she squealed. “It is ridiculous!”

She picked up the game again. Her eyes left me and she was once again absorbed in what was, apparently, ridiculous virtual soccer.

As I left the train station, my cell phone rang again. I answered reluctantly, knowing it would be my boss. “Yes,” I said, and was greeted with a monsoon of static.

“Did yo–.. g-t… anyt–g…?” came my boss’ emphysema voice.

“No, chief. I didn’t get anything.”

A barrage of static assaulted my ears.

“Unless you want a hooker with a heart of gold who is a hero alone against an evil plot and also somehow finds love.”

More static, crashing against my brain likes waves on rocks.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too, chief. But whatever, you know. It’s to be expected.”

“We’ll… tr–… –gain… row.”

“Yeah, okay.” I agreed, to whatever. “I’m going home now. I really just want to go home.”