Free I Left My Back Door Open by April Sinclair

hand.
    â€œI don’t serve as a judge or jury,” Skylar explained. “It’s not my job to determine right and wrong or to place blame.”
    I sat up straight. “But don’t you ultimately render a decision?” I asked, confused.
    Skylar shook his head and clasped his fingers. I gazed at his large hands and couldn’t help wondering whether he was well-endowed. I tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but I wished I had X-ray eyes that could see the chest underneath his short-sleeved business shirt and the bulge inside his pants. You have to understand: It had been a long dry season.
    â€œMy role is primarily that of facilitator. My only interest is in helping you to resolve your differences and reach a negotiated settlement based on a ‘win-win’ solution.”
    â€œWell, how do we achieve this negotiated settlement that results in a win-win solution?” I asked.
    Skylar smiled and adjusted his glasses, like he lived to answer such questions. “By my providing you with a forum to see conflict as an opportunity.”
    â€œAn opportunity for what?”
    â€œAn opportunity to acknowledge and appreciate differences.”
    â€œSay what?”
    He glanced down at his clipboard. “I facilitate communication by helping disputants describe their feelings, clarify issues, determine their true interests, identify underlying concerns and, where possible, reach agreement. That’s my role in a nutshell.”
    Well, you must be a nut if you think that I have any wish to determine Bill’s true interests or identify his underlying concerns , I thought. I had absolutely no desire to explore the reasons why Bill was a jerk. “Where are you from?” I asked.
    â€œSanta Cruz, California. Why?”
    No wonder. “With all due respect, I have no interest in acknowledging and appreciating Bill’s differences. As far as I’m concerned he’s a dog, bow, wow, wow. I let him know that I didn’t have any bones for him. And he put his tongue back in his mouth. End of story. So, long as Bill doesn’t interfere with my fifty thousand watts of radio power and stays in his little booth, we’re cool.”
    â€œDaphne. May I call you Daphne?”
    I nodded. “Everyone’s on a first-name basis here. You can even call me Dee Dee.”
    â€œDaphne, may I ask you where you’re from?”
    â€œI hail from Alabama, but I’ve lived most of my life here in Chicago.” I eyed the framed poster on the wall with the famous slogan CHICAGO AIN ’ T READY FOR REFORM !
    Skylar glanced at the poster. “I’ve heard that there is such a thing as a Chicago personality. Do you think that’s true?”
    I nodded. “If you look up ‘real’ in the dictionary, there should be a picture of a Chicagoan.”
    Skylar chuckled. “Is that right?”
    â€œYeah. We tell it like it is. We give it to you straight, no chaser.”
    â€œFunny we should be having this conversation, because on the way over here, a cabbie said to me, ‘You talk to a Chicagoan for five minutes, and you feel like you’ve known him your whole life.’ He said that I’d quickly learn to love it here, despite the weather. I’d told him I was new, that I was still learning my way around.”
    â€œYou told a cab driver that ? I hope he didn’t take you on the scenic route.”
    â€œI hope not, either,” Skylar said sheepishly. “Anyway, the cabbie said some places, you never feel like you ever get to know folks. But here in Chicago, you do.”
    â€œThat’s true,” I agreed. “Chicagoans are easy to get to know. And we’re loyal. You make friends with a Chicagoan, you got a friend for life. ‘Got to Be Real’ is our theme song,” I added.
    â€œWell, tell me straight up, Ms. Windy City, are you open to mediation or not?” Skylar asked with a twinkle in his eye.
    I