Reginald

Reginald.

For the initial meeting, he had decided, or heard somewhere, that body
position was important in terms of dominance, he would stand,
physically trying to demand their attention.

They would be seated and impressed but his feet were nervous and moved
with an un-coordinated syncopation, to a set, if uneasy pattern. He did
not seem to be totally in control.

His shoulders sagged, downwards and slightly forwards, his chin at a
forty degree angle to his body.
The eyes tried to be sincere, forced them to appear wide and upward
looking, trying to gain their respect, but generally failing. The
Pinocchioed grimace, at odds with the direction the rest of his body
suggested nervousness.

His breath was shallow without his knowledge, dilating his nostrils
unsystematically, giving an accidental aura of aggression. He leant
foreword, looked downwards, as if to examine the cleanliness of his
shoes or the staff room carpet His feet still needed to be controlled.
They danced a lack of confidence.

The first time he had addressed the delegates, he was obviously unsure.
He felt they would hold his past against him. His feet were nervous.
They moved with an uncoordinated syncopation, to a set, if uneasy
pattern, of which he seemed oblivious. His feet were placed slightly
apart, to give him stability but they appeared not to understand the
notion of stillness. First rising in unison to their toes, they threw
his body forward into a precarious imbalance, forcing him to thrust his
buttocks backwards to maintain equilibrium.

The left foot suffered a bout of shyness, he was aware of nuances,
tipping awkwardly to its outer edge, in order to leave it less exposed.
After a few seconds, regained its composure, remembered its role,
joining the other. They were partners.

They were aligned again; joining in each other's rhythm, (rocking might
be a comfort to him,) they believed, so they agreed. A heel -toe, quiet
movement would calm him. It seemed to work. Gaining confidence, they
skipped sideways, only three small steps but they enjoyed the
experience and repeated it in the opposite direction.

The rest of him seemed to oppose them and they lost confidence,
shuffling and embarrassing the rest of his body, they hoped their
behaviour had not been noticed.

They shambled nervously, hoping not to attract attention. They failed.
It unnerved the rest of his body, re-activating his other extremities.
His forefinger entered alternate ears, giving the impression of a
slightly schizophrenic, sixties folk singer.

For the next meeting, he would control them. He would find a chair, one
on a podium, to give him authority. Position, he had read was important
for leadership.

The sleeves of his jacket; probably meant to look expensive, were too
short and revealed doubled cuffed shirt sleeves, of a slightly off
white colour with the texture of cereal packet cardboard. The cuffs
were held together by thin, cuff-links which had lost some of their
gilt.

From the on-set of the meeting, he constantly touched his hands against
each other, as though they had never previously met; only recently
become aware of each other's existence. At first he seemed to be almost
in charge of his fingers, in-spite of the fact they tended to tap,
unnecessarily. The gestures far from enhancing his oracy were a
distraction. The control was short lived.

His manual manoeuvrings had been one of the reasons she had become
fascinated. He had her total attention and his gratitude. He hoped she
was his friend because she looked and smiled. He was unaware of her
reasons for apparent concentration... His hands held a morbid
fascination for her. Their contortions were releasing sexual images
which were both ridiculous and fascinating. She became a voyeur.

Like new lovers, his hands explored each other's flesh, with a kind of
urgency stroking his soft skin, patting and probing, exploring the
crevices and at times becoming excited by their own proximity. They
were close.

Under pressure they contorted, seemingly trying new positions, some of
which were probably uncomfortable and certainly not natural.

Their relationship seemed to calm him, for a limited period, a few
minutes of misguided optimism, where they didn't feel the need to hold
each other. They strayed into different areas. One raked his hair,
causing some confusion to his coiffure. The other entered his pocket,
as if looking for something, clutching at straws.

They were a reassurance for him. They could be trusted, he hoped, even
when he did not quite understand what they were doing. He needed
friends They were reassuringly attached. He felt he had them under
control, or at least mostly. They had been with him for fifty years,
even if they occasionally betrayed him and showed his insecurities to
the observant. (Those were the people he was afraid of.)

The hands took on a priest like posture, cupping the palms to support
each other, fingers fixed together, fingers pointing forward to suggest
absolution and the "way forward." He had learned that position from his
parent's Catholicism. He attended Mass.

His index finger pointed the route when he endeavoured to make a point.
His thumbs struggled, physically with their ideas of inclusion, and
vied for position, they felt marginalized. .

When explaining his philosophies, the hands changed shape and
character. For the moment they were brave. They no longer needed to
hold or reassure each other. They were able to be separated, in-spite
of their attraction for each other, they had a modern relationship, At
least this love was assured, they were connected, had an open
relationship.

He had attended seminars on body language and upper palm, submissive
gestures were non- threatening and welcoming and friendly He could not
easily inform his hand's behaviour. They escaped, cavorted without his
permission.

They usually remembered rules, unless under pressure, when they had a
tendency to twist and contort, not supporting his vision but working
against it. He was fortunately unaware.

Sometimes they were loose cannons, which undermined his authority.
(Certain members of staff noticed the waywardness of his appendages and
found them a distraction from the philosophies he expounded.)

Initially the pencil in his right hand appeared to stir a cup of tea,
in a small cup, which wasn't actually there. The circling continued in
ever increasing breadth and became elevated, as specific questions were
asked which he had difficulty in answering. The diameter and frequency
increased with the perceived antagonism. After fifteen minutes his
circles became increasingly large, frequently orbiting the paper and
pausing, to gain time. He needed space. The staff were silently
hostile.

His pencil became a weapon, paused between the thumb and first finger,
fidgeted with, and used as a pointer, not exactly aggressive but used
as a possibility of masculinity.

Like a small "grabber " in a fair-ground, in search of soft toys, both
hands hovered, intermittently taking control, fingers curved, cupped
downwards, neither, really knowing who was dominant, they mirrored each
other.

The two hands worked in harmony, turning upwards, remembering these
were more positive gestures but they were not the advocates he had
hoped for. Rather than promoting his position and emphasising his
charisma, a vehicle for his virility; they looked like dead crabs
collected by children, belly up, stranded and possibly putrid. They
detracted from his intensions.

Most people were confused. The sycophants, readily ignored the signals,
choosing their betterment over instincts, or maybe realising his
insecurities was an opportunity.

He was aware of the staff's initial antagonism, but after the initial,
"small difficulties," It was not, he explained, his fault. The staff he
considered now "on -side" He was convinced that the vast majority were.
He knew their names.

The secretary distributed the first flow chart. It had a central large
blue circle with seven yellow ovals in bright reproduction. Initially
there were no words. He wanted the staff to know that all things
interacted. (He doubted their intellectual capacity to cope with
difficult, innovative concepts.).

The second "model" had words, so he read them to them, to make the
meaning clear. His philosophy was announced but the " particulars," he
refused to discuss. He wanted ideals not specifics. Inaction held up by
rhetoric.

"My vision is for a culture of achievement. A culture where the
acceptance of accolades, is the norm. There is no quick fix solution.
We are looking at a possible decade. You need to understand that
everything is interlinked. Nothing stands alone. There will be no knee
jerk reactions. We have time. I want to share the vision with
you."

No one responded. He tried to remember the, "Rule of three," or the
cadence Luther King had used but realised his rhetoric had failed. He
would reread the manual.

The right hand took control because it was used to it, forgetting the
creativity of the left. Theirs was a divisive relationship, neither
really accepting the other's talents vying for attention and affection.
They flirted with movement and emotion without conviction.

They should have understood each other earlier; after all, they were
attached. They should have complemented or had a belief in mutual
needs.

There was an attempt at intimacy, the thumbs reached for each of their
own fingers in turn, rubbing, contorting and folding them in their
strength but they escaped.

Their distance was a problem. They had no real appreciation of each
other's difficulties or of the effect their errant behaviour had on the
message he was trying to portray. They were mavericks but only
intermittently.

The left one remembered its function as a comforter and rested gently
on its own side of his face.

The right hand felt usurped and took control, placing itself firmly in
his pocket, which was a greater comfort to him. It only emerged when it
felt dominant. They were both fond of him but wished he were more
forceful.

The delegate's body language became increasingly antagonistic, arms
folded across chests, their hands hidden. The action plan had merely
been a computer based; management statement, a flow chart, a model, not
a plan. He had expected support. The sycophants he had to believe they
were genuine fans. There were two of them. It was a good beginning he
believed.

His voice stroked back into activity by a momentary massage of the
larynx, although still monotone began to attempt changes of pace and
emphasis.

"The new status had implications, it could because rough roads, would
not necessarily be popular in some of the more entrenched departments.
Those who see the potential, the future will benefit. Some may be left
behind if they fail to understand and embrace this exciting
opportunity. The initiative is our future."

Even his facial features seemed to conspire against him. The outer
edges of his eyes had a downward slope. However "open" as he wanted to
be perceived, his over hanging brow gave an air of deception. The
thinness of his upper lip made a genuine smile almost impossible to
achieve without a conscious effort. He contemplated collagen.

His complexion did little to assist him, the skin was lumpy, the colour
and texture of hastily made flour and water paste. It was not
attractive. The elasticity of tissue seemed to have evaded him,
overstretched by constant touching. It sagged, belying his relative
youth.

The secretary needed to concentrate and summaries the salient points
but found concentration difficult, the fascination for his unruly
extremities had made it difficult to pay attention to what she hoped
were the salient points.

She was worried that there was a lack of clarity in her notes. The
distraction of his movements had disturbed her. She had observed but
not encapsulated his ideas on paper. She apologised.

She acquiesced. His appendages gave her pleasure. She became a voyeur
of his extremities intimacies and wondered about the rest of his bodily
control was so unusual.

The scandal was short lived.