Power poses

His eyes flicked away from the screen and he pushed his chair away from the desk. Raising his arms and bending his elbows, he placed his hands on the back of his head and interlocked his fingers, leaning back in the chair a bit. He had read somewhere that this was a kind of ‘power pose’ – but he felt anything but powerful. He wondered if people who felt the need to learn about ‘power poses’ tended to be frauds; those who needed to feign false power, instead of just projecting it naturally. Instead of just commanding respect.

He did have power, technically, he thought. But it all had come from betrayal. Somehow he had ended up weaving a web of lies that began years ago; a habit he had picked up as a kid. It had started just by lying to make Dad proud – all he’d ever wanted. And so he had gotten better and better at lying, over time. He had lied about nearly everything in his life – small lies, big lies. He had lied about his college grades to land his very first job; grades, plus an internship he hadn’t actually had. Then about prior work experience. It became easier and easier to lie; and then to manipulate more and more. And then later, to participate in betrayal – but only when necessary, in the name of self-preservation. If not for the betrayal, he would have lost his job; and along with it, his life, he thought. His kids would have looked down on him. His wife probably would have left him for someone who wasn’t a lying coward.

But there it was now, starting to unravel in front of his eyes, on his desktop screen. He wanted to crawl under his desk and hide, as though it were a bunker. As though he was five years old again, playing hide and seek. Could he just stay a small child, hidden forever? Hidden from his father’s growing disappointment, year after year. Hidden from his past loves. Hidden from his boss. He remembered their family’s little fluffy white dog wriggling around furniture to find him and giving away his hiding position to his brother. He would cuddle the dog, and the dog would lick his face, and in that small nook or cranny, behind a wardrobe or underneath a bed, he didn’t have to worry about anyone’s judgment or disappointment.

He suddenly caught a glimpse of orange, underneath his desk – only visible from his power-posing vantage point. He knelt down and found it was a small clementine orange. His wife was fond of packing them in his briefcase, often without asking – just taking care of him. This one must have fallen out at some stage. He examined a bit of mold starting to grow on its skin. It must have been from sometime last week.

He picked at the orange peel, trying to peel it off in one long, curly strip, as he and his brother had always done. The skin pulled away easily, gradually revealing the fleshy orange that was soft – some parts, TOO soft, spoiled, inedible. But a few sections were firm enough to be okay. Underneath the moldy orange peel, there was still a little bit that was good.

*This character is an amalgamation of past inspirations; both men and women, young and old. The product of a 20-minute first (and only) draft, it isn’t intended to represent any one person. But if you’ve made your way here and you’re resonating with this character, then maybe that’s for a reason.

Or, if you’re resonating with the unseen, caretaking soul – the one who faithfully packs oranges and always strives to see that lingering little bit of good, even in a story – then it might be time to stop over-empathizing with others and start empathizing more with yourself. That orange will go straight into the trash, including the salvageable bit. The power posing will continue, as it always does. And rather than owning up to their mistakes or lies or betrayals, this character will do everything they can to take it all to the grave – because being revealed as a fraud is, for this sort of character, a fate far worse than any other.