Five Franklins

347.

We both stiffen in contemplation. The air-conditioning, once heard to be humming right along in cavalier and carefree non-attachment, is now silent, leaving the small room suddenly stuffy with the lingering atmosphere of conflict. "Should we discuss it further?" She asks, jarring my attention away from the gaudily painted ceramic pachyderm seemingly guarding one end of a row of leather bound books. "The ticking clock?" I ask, removing all doubt as to the location of my attention.

"Your ascertain that my methods are inferior to yours, remember? We began this dialogue with the implied goal of sharing notes in order to add credible data to the progress of the 'modern' system. And in doing so, of course, save the world from an imminent domestic terror attack on the capitol of California, that same world's sixth largest economy, in the process."

"Quite frankly I am still unconvinced that, on paper or in theory, one is better than the other. With so many variables blowing in the wind, I remain firm in the belief that we do, as we always have done, whatever works best and fastest," I offer meekly.

"All well and good for now, under the gun and against the clock, but you can't argue about the enormous long-term benefits of a grassroots education paradigm with transparent opportunity for everyone, regardless of circumstance."

"I can't, correct. And I won't. In this situation however, I see the fastest route between the dots, flipping either Shoemaker of Sheener to get upstream before another catastrophe explodes in our face, as a present, right here and right now situation, not something done after completing a reading assignment. Sorry."

"OK. I agree. And for the sake of our relationship, I am over it."

"Over what?"

"Over your remarkably crass comparison between the two extremes, that stung a little, but I refuse to take it personally, and I trust that you will let it go as well." She says as a semi plead.

"Outstanding. You got a deal. Let's move on."

"Not so fast Flash, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"I'll bet you five Franklins that my guy flips before yours. I mean, a steak? Really? He is so gaming you."

I laughingly, graciously, accept her offer and look at the painted pachyderm still holding his (or her) side of the books in Sisyphusian stoicism and smile at him (or her) for being the last standing elephant in the room.