Compositional Defiance

Part 1: Let's Push The Limits II

But there isn't anyone in the entire collection of names and numbers and companies who is associated with GE. Where else would my dad leave a contact? His desk drawers!

I pause just before leaping behind his desk. The chair in the boardroom was just a chair where Dad used to sit, but his office chair, the one I would need to sit in if I wanted to get a Dad's-eye-view of his belongings, means so much more. This was where Mom would sit with me while I colored, where Dad would read me stories between meetings, where they both sat, my mom on the chair's arm, to tell me that they had talked it over and had lifted their art school ban before handing me the coveted acceptance letter from the Art Institute. It had always been Dad's plan for me to one day sit in this chair, its brown leather worn from years of use, and now, despite all the fights that led to my parents' acceptance of my chosen path in life, somehow they got their way.

I take a deep breath, approaching the chair as if sitting in it would mean sitting over Dad's ghost, and finally, lower myself into my dad's spot. I half expect him to somehow leap out of the chair and scold me for not seeing him there, but nothing happens. I inhale deeply once more before I begin to search through his desk drawers.

The top drawer is first, and I have to laugh when I see what's inside. Literally, it is just a drawer full of candy. Chocolate candies, hard candies, gummy candies, you name it. Dad was obsessed, and it's one of the reasons I always loved going to his office: I could sneak all the candy I wanted, and the next day, magically, the drawer would be full again. I steal a piece of hard candy and let it melt it my mouth as I move onto the next drawer.

This middle drawer is more professional. Inside, I find the reading glasses he had to start wearing this year, sticky notes, notepads, pens, a calculator, and then one surprise: A small, framed picture of me from my Art Institute graduation. The walls are covered in pictures of me, there are even a couple on his desk--one from my high school tennis championship game and another one of me and Mom posing on the front lawn--so why would he hide this one away in his drawer? Was he ashamed of my art degree, even after all our talks about my future goals?

I lift the framed picture from the drawer when I hear the sound of something dropping back into the drawer. In place of the picture is a business card. The logo at the top belongs to General Electric. I lay my graduation photo back in the drawer, which I close after picking up the card.

It's a scientist named Dr. Lena Fischer's business card, and she works for something called the General Electric Global Research Center in Munich, Germany. Her phone number and email are listed at the bottom of the card, and when I flip it over, I see there's something on the back too: A handwritten note that reads, "Call if you ever want to push the limits of technology to improve your airline."

I don't know what comes over me, but I'm suddenly possessed by Dr. Fischer's invitation. I lift Dad's office phone and dance my fingers over the number pad to dial the number. This may just be the only hope Intrepid has, and I'd love some help from anyone right about now.

The phone rings once. Twice. A third time before I hear the click of someone picking up on the other end. "Hello?" a woman's voice answers. This must be Dr. Fischer.

"Hi, is this Dr. Lena Fischer?"

"Yes?" Even in her short responses, I can hear her German accent.

"My name is Adalie Beyer, I'm Logan Beyer's daughter from Intrepid Airways."

"Intrepid, yes. I spoke with your father months ago. Has he finally changed his mind about teaming up with GE to push the limits of your company?"

I swallow hard. "He died. I'm in charge now."

"Oh," she says, her voice taking on a much softer tone now. "I'm sorry to hear."

"I'm ready to push the limits," I say. "How can I learn more about how you could help my company? You're not just in lightbulbs and appliances, right?"

She laughs. "No, no, we are so much more. Come to our facility in Munich, Ms. Beyer, and I will show you all that is available to your company."

"Tomorrow?" I ask. A getaway would be the perfect escape right now, literally and figuratively.

"Um, sure, you could come tomorrow, I suppose. It can also wait until a more convenient time, if you'd like."

"No, I need to go now." I must sound insane to this woman, but I don't care. I need a solution before the memory of that awful board meeting drowns me in self-pity.

"Tomorrow it is then." I swear I can hear her smile over the phone. "We are six hours ahead. I'd recommend an early flight so you can see as much of GRC, our Global Research Center, as possible."

"Ok," I say, exhilarated. "See you tomorrow then. Bye."

I hang up the phone, feeling only hope for tomorrow. Maybe by then I'll have some sort of idea how to do everything I can for my family and for the board. Then we'll see who wants to sell, Mr. Stirling.