he sits uncomfortably in his faux leather desk chair, his right ankle propped under his left thigh, his hangs ringing in trepidation, his brow peppered with a few beads of perspiration – which were as stale as his glass of cheap Scotch positioned beside him was strong.
ahead of him, the financial charts on his 24-inch computer monitor took on a life of their own. tickers flashed, and the price lines bounced up and down, painting colorful green and red candlestick patterns with broad and daring brushstrokes to tell a story which he still does not understand. he never does.
so there are countless times when he enters a trade, with all the economic fundamentals, news and expensive charting software telling him whatever he was doing was right. he just, nevertheless, could never get enough assurances. he would see the prices fluctuate up and down as it responds to market reaction here or that occasional downward spike, he would become fixated with the open positions and whatever may be going wrong with them, and then he would, finally, in trying to preserve a semblance of his sanity, close out and close the window, cutting his “losses” or happily – at that time – settle for a small profit. of course when this happens, he misses out on the huge rallies and spikes which would have delivered upon the big victories everything else told him was eventually going to happen.
and of course there were all the other times when his faith became untouchable, when he had that unassailable belief in all his avenues of analysis. and he would weather the inevitable opening fluctuations with a calm assurance. it remains inexplicable, as if there were some larger force in the air which served to pacify his tremendous desire to get his feet wet. on these occasions he is almost invariably wrong.
so today, he stands on the cusp of something – exactly what he does not know. perhaps he was simply buoyed by his doctor’s suggestion that he quit immediately. he has one last shot to make it right, or he will die. not emotionally, but clinically rather. as he sat in the doctor’s lab, he clearly remembers being told how those doctors’ charts clearly indicate that he cannot possibly humanly survive one more setback. he will cease to be. or not.
so here he is dressed up today, sitting in his room in a crisp suit and well-ironed shirt, all the more determined in an untouchable part of himself to make this work. he approaches the trading platform. and begins to feel his sanity slipping away as the charts once more vomited countless amounts of information onto his limited screen. his cursor hovers towards the ‘BUY’ button, but he does not click. his hands go numb, his eyes get bewildered by the green candlesticks which signal positive and vigorous upward price motion. his mouse runs out of batteries. his fingers begin to break and lose function. he tries clicking the mouse with his tongue, but recoils at the taste of the two-year old instrument. he could have tried again, because by this stage his tongue had begun to fail as well, but he was not to know that.
and all this while she was already running away.
