The Party

Eric hears the hum of conversation as he approaches. He can see couples and groups spilling out into the corridor, some subdued, others loud. The room is crammed, bodies everywhere, most well suited and high heeled, confident, brimming with the self-confidence of knowing their place in society. This is not his scene and he wishes he was a thousand miles away – out in the outback. But he can’t let Marjorie down. She has been his loyal support since he joined the organization. The least he can do is show up for her farewell party.

He nudges his way into the room, nodding to acknowledge the few who recognise him. He is already stifled, claustrophobic. The smell of alcohol pervades, punctuated by a whiff of a perfume here and there. He gets a drink and retreats into a corner to observe - his favoured social position. As an aboriginal man he remains deeply diffident about such social situations. Marjorie insists he is brilliant at his work and has earned his way into the organization. But he often asks himself whether this city is the place for him. The men here never fail to rub in his ethnicity with hurtful digs. The women while more accepting are sometimes patently patronizing.  Except Marjorie, bless her. He will miss her sorely.

He often asks –when will I feel accepted in my own country? On the other hand, do I really want to become like these people? And suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spies Mr Denton, the managing director whom Marjorie had persuaded to hire him.  Before he knows it, Mr Denton is making a bee line at him. Oh Christ, does this have to happen, here in front of all and sundry to witness it? He has only met Mr Denton once, at the interview.

A hundred questions and doubts rise in his mind. Is he dressed appropriately? What should he talk about?  Would he even sound sensible? Small conversation is not his best suit. His talent is software and working in front of a computer. His palms are sweating; he is going to completely embarrass himself; he really just wants to disappear into the ground. Mr Denton however, warmly smiles and shakes his hand. Perhaps it’s not going to be so bad, after all.

“Eric, you know I have been waiting for an opportunity to talk with you informally. Just to tell you how happy we are with you in the organization and how you are performing. Are you happy with us?”

Eric feels his ears burn, his face blush - that is if you could call it blushing given his dark skin. He can hardly believe his ears. Perhaps Mr Denton is not an ogre after all. He is certainly warmer and more welcoming that some of his white colleagues.

Mr Denton likes the shy young man. Eric is undoubtedly talented, and Marjorie has done an outstanding job in finding him. Mr Denton looks at Eric now, remembering his own youth. Few people know of his own aboriginal background. His skin colour gives little away. He recollects how he struggled and coped with adjusting and competing in an alien society riven with cliques, prejudices, preconceptions. He has successfully hidden his background and through sheer determination and resolve, has moved ahead, steadily. He wishes he could share this with Eric. But perhaps, it’s best, he thinks, for Eric to find his own way. He seems to be managing well and perhaps, one day, may even fill the shoes of his own current position.