the compliment

an anecdote from yesterday, as i was editing "let's caveat this"

He found me in the southeast corner of the atrium. I was on my way to the parking lot but was overcome with the urge to share haiku, and I didn’t feel like I had the time to even look for a chair. I had to stop where I was, perching my laptop on one of a sea of gray fold-out tables staged for a meal-packing event the next day. I bent over at the hip, I kneeled, cycling through whatever un-ergonomic postures I had to so I could avoid losing editorial momentum. 

He approached from my right, saying, “Hi, hello, sorry to interrupt, are you doing something important?” I said, “Hi, no, I can pause, hi, what’s on your mind?”

We had never met, though I was certain I had seen him around. He looked about my age, with kind eyes and a warm, sheepish grin. He said he was leaving the studio in a week (I presume because his run-of-show contract was expiring). He motioned to the central part of the atrium and said, “You sang here.”

I froze. It took me a moment to wrack my brain. “Oh, do you mean karaoke at the holiday party?” He smiled warmly, “Yes, yes, that’s it, I loved your singing.” He recounted how fun it was seeing friendly faces like Bree and Domee do karaoke, how it is always wonderful to hear Nick Pitera sing. How that night felt like a warm, fun, core memory for him, and I was a part of that, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave the studio without having told me that he loved my singing and thought my voice was beautiful. I was beaming. It made me want to cry, and I told him this. 

He was French, had a subtle accent. He had long hair that he kept tousling as he spoke, perhaps a nervous habit. I asked what department he was in. He was an animator, what about me? I said, “You know Maggie? I’m the Maggie, but for Story & Editorial.” He nodded and smiled in recognition, singing her praises and speculating that I too must do oh so much, that he goes to Maggie with all sorts of questions, and that she always helps all the animators feel seen and known. He extrapolates that I must do the same for the story artists and editors, and I nod along quietly, hoping deeply that what he says is true. 

I asked him his name, and he told me. He asked me mine. I told him, and he rolled the syllables around in his mouth, trying to get them right. His sudden seriousness in ensuring the third syllable was an “ayy” instead of an “ahh” made my heart swell. 

I asked what was next for him, was he staying in the area? He said he was, that he feels like his life is here. He’ll stick around because he thinks, hopes, that our next film might need some more animation help, and he wants to be here to heed the call, though he knows he may find opportunities in Vancouver or elsewhere.

He dreams of returning here one day, but he opens his hands in surrender, “I do not want to force it.” He just hopes that he finds joy and fulfillment wherever he goes. I told him I wished that for him, whether here or elsewhere. 

He apologized again for interrupting me, and I said, “No, no worries, truly. You actually caught me at a funny time, I’m not usually here this late, it’s just that I write poetry, and I felt the urge to get a post out, and I just needed to stop and do it.” He widened his eyes in admiration, then motioned like he was plucking something from the air and placing it tenderly aside. 

He gently pointed to this imaginary object and said, “Let’s hold that for later, and pick this conversation up when I see you here again, maybe months, maybe years from now.”

Then, without exchanging contact information, he was gone. 

-

Once he had vanished, I wished I had told him just how much this interaction meant to me. That karaoke was my first time singing in front of a crowd in over six years, that I was so, so scared, that I was literally shaking before and was so sweaty after. That I’m only just now starting to sing again, after years of being afraid and embarrassed of how my voice has disintegrated from my nodules and underuse. That I can’t believe he remembered me for a thing I did six months ago on a whim, that he thinks of me as part of a core memory of this place, that I’m so grateful he made it his mission to tell me before leaving. That I am trying to do the same, that I think life is so painfully short, and I want to spend it telling people that they’ve impacted me, that I’m grateful for them, that I love them. 

It’s easy enough for me to look him up in our directory with just his first name and his department. But I assume that he kept himself mysterious for a reason. Maybe he wants the whimsy and presence of life to take precedence. I’m going to wait to see if he sends a farewell note to the studio next week with his information, and if he does, I’ll drop him a line to express my gratitude. But if he doesn’t, I’ll wait a few months or a few years. Though for the sake of his dreams, I hope it’s sooner rather than later.

One of my favorite mornings at work, around 7am in January of 2023. I hope this is how he remembers the studio.