The Missing Piece (genre reflection #1)

The night is young, and I don’t know where to begin.

The stacks of papers and files on my desk, provided by my MT, infiltrate my mind like an army, each soldier stepping on some part of my brain with steel-toed boots.

Sitting by my desk, I try to solve the case of what I’m going to do for my first lesson. Being a rookie, and having the baby face to prove it, I’ve never tackled something like this before; I’ve never led my own investigation.

Thumbing through my MT’s papers, struggling to make sense of them, I realize I will never get the answers I’m looking for if I keep working my brain into the ground. Standing up from the clutter—my clutter—I grab my trench coat and head for the door. My MT, working hard on her own investigation, asks me where I’m going.

            “Need some fresh air, boss. Be back in a few,” I say.

            Focused, like always, she waves me goodbye with a passive hand.

Walking down the hallway, checking my pockets for my smokes, I wonder if I’ll eventually solve the missing piece; the missing piece that will enable me to move forward with my lesson plan. Reaching the exit, I find my smokes. Before walking out into the city, I toss the cancer sticks into the trash.

No more distractions.

* * *

Passing by the markets on my way to my favorite diner, my brother spots me. He’s selling a comic to an enthralled, youthful kid, which doesn’t surprise me. Ever since we were kids, he always had a knack for spinning and selling a yarn: something which I envy deeply.

I try to keep walking, but, his bombastic voice breaks through the various voices selling cheap rugs, ornate objects, and fake Rolexes.

            “Little Brother!” He calls out, rushing towards me.

            I brace myself for the hug.

            “How’s it going?”

            He stands next to me and stops; my back relaxes.

            “What’s wrong?” He asks, examining my face.

            “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just frustrated, brother. I don’t know where to begin with my investigation.”

            “Your lesson?”

            “Yes,” I respond, putting my hand through my hair: an old tick that won’t die.

            My brother looks off to his stand and notices some children playing with action figures he’s selling. One of them holds a rare Luke Skywalker.

            “Hey!” He shouts, deafening the market.

            The kids, dropping his merchandise, flee into the market zig-zagging like prey. My brother, the predator, walks back to his stand.

            “Come, brother. Let’s talk more about this at my stand.”

            Reluctantly, thinking about my slice of pecan pie at the diner, I follow him.   

“Don’t you have the files?” He asks, picking up his figures from the ground.

            “Yes, I have the files. And stacks of them.”

            “Then what is your problem?”

            “I don’t know,” I say, helping him re-align his figures, “it just feels that every time I look through the files my MT has given me, my head gets overwhelmed and my thought processes just collapse.”

            My brother stops polishing Luke Skywalker’s head for a moment, and looks into my eyes.

            “When you look at your MT’s files, do you notice the small details, or, the big picture?”

            “The small details,” I say, stroking my beard, “but isn’t that the point to this business, brother. Looking at the small details to get the bigger idea?”

            My brother walks over to me. Feeling my back tighten, spinal discs grinding, he places a hand on my shoulder.

            “Brother, you must always start with the big idea for your les—I mean investigation. The investigation must stem from something in order for the smaller details to make sense. If you focus so much on one, small aspect, or one file from that desk, you will be unprepared to take on the rest. Listen to me, brother. You need to go back to the office, think about the whole of your investigation, and come up with a topic or essential question that will guide your planning. From that topic, all your subsidiary investigating will be relevant and cohesive. Don’t you want to be cohesive?

            My hand subconsciously begins to run through my hair, but suddenly, my brother grabs it. Holding my hand in his mitt, he once again looks into me with his storyteller eyes.

            “Let it be told, from this day forth, that you will have the clarity and drive you require on your investigative planning. Remember brother. Think about the big picture.”

            My brother lets go of my hand, letting it fall to my side like a pendulum. He asks me if I’m alright.

            “I’m good,” I say, collecting my thoughts, “thanks for that.”

            “No problem,” he says, “you get back to work now. I think you might be onto something.”

            “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” I say, walking towards the office: the pecan pie can wait for another time. I get a few steps in before my brother stops me.

            “Are you still smoking?” He asks.

            Turning around to face him, I can already feel the grin spreading across his jovial face.

            “I’m quitting, brother.”

            Closing my eyes, I feel the gust of his momentum coming closer. My back fires off its alarm, but I don’t care. His arms, like snakes on a rabbit, wrap around me as I smile.

* * *

Thinking about my brother’s words, and walking off his death grip, realization fully hits me like a wild haymaker. The missing piece I’ve been looking for all this time wasn’t some small, ancillary aspect of the investigation; however, it was the purpose of the investigation itself. By isolating a main topic, or question, to guide my research and planning, I’ll be able to make sense of all of those files—now seemingly not so cluttered—and integrate them cohesively into a whole. Being a rookie, I’ve never tackled the idea of leading my own investigation, but now, I have the clarity to think about the big picture, topic, theme, stance, movement, strategy, etc.

            Walking into the office, my MT notices a change in my demeanor.

            “Well, you seem to be in a better mood. Everything going alright?”

Sitting at my desk, cracking my fingers, I respond to her.

“Oh yes. I’ve found my missing piece.”  

The night is young, and I’m just getting started.