Perfection

He was considered a maverick. Probably because he was one. Not that I actually knew it. He was my husband. Things always look different close up. I only found out about his wild horse tendencies a few months earlier, when the big boss at his engineering firm offered a magnum of champagne to meet the woman who had agreed to marry him.

But this story actually begins when the big boss retired a few months later. It seems he had better things to do with his time than baby-sit phone bills for a bunch of high-powered, big-city engineers.

The retirement left four Sr. VPs to figure out where the firm might be going. Lewis and Clark wanted to press forward. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were afraid of the Jaberwocky.

The maverick had no use for management drama. He continued with his usual routine. He’d go to work for at least 2 hours a day and stay when they needed his process piping. expertise. (Can you say viscous thixotropicity?) Otherwise he would log off and take time without pay. The man didn’t like to be bored. He had a pocket of patents that he bore the firm’s name; so no one questioned his hours or his logic.

To me it made total sense. Why go to work if there’s nothing to do?

In a few months, however, everything changed. My husband’s friend, a Sr. VP decided to start his own business. It appeared a “best of both worlds” opportunity, so Maverick Man went along with him. There were four close collaborators involved. I knew they were friends because they teased Maverick about two kids and a dog. As in any drama there was also the villain, Snydley Beancounter.

Mr. Beancounter had no creativity. His forté was rules, regulations, and policy. For a while, life was fine. Bean stayed out of the way. Then he started acting like he owned the place. I believe that he probably did have some money involved, because the friend who started this venture was beginning to agree with the ruling policymaker.

The details of the story aren't interesting. Who hasn’t seen a movie villain try to break a wild horse? One little exchange does stand out.

I remember that afternoon photographically. I was driving the red Bonneville that had been my mother’s. It was one of the perfect blue sky fall days that makes you fall in love with life again. We were headed south on Clark Street where those lovely brick brownstones are.

Maverick, sitting shotgun and gunning for bear, had turned to face me and was gesturing with his hands as he spoke. He was venting his latest frustration. Rules were getting in the way of getting the work done. He had tried to explain that to Snydley. Obviously the guy was a jerk and an idiot beyond that.

I drove slowly and listened.

We were about two blocks from that corner where Lincoln, Sheridan, and Clark come together, just west of the park. I was driving maybe 10 miles an hour. That’s when my husband reached the peak of his argument, his final remarks defending his creative habits. Without hearing himself, he said loudly and clearly,

“If you want perfection, you’ve got to expect a few flaws.”

I pressed my foot the brake, stopping the car in the middle of the street. I tilted my head to look at him. I had a question.

“Can I make a poster of that?”

It makes perfect sense to me.

—me strauss Letting me be