Wide Awake Page 13

  I couldn’t imagine leaving. Not now, not from this. It would be like leaving the center of the universe. It would be abandoning a chance at being part of something big.

  Nobody wanted to speak first—for fear, I think, of intimidating anyone who wanted to go.

  Finally, it was Elwood who said, “Well, we have to stay, don’t we?”

  Everyone else immediately chimed in. Virgil called Sara, who polled the other people from the bus.

  It was unanimous: We were staying.

  Calls were made to parents. Mine were not happy, to say the least. But they also realized there was no way to make me come back.

  Jimmy’s parents, on the other hand, were thrilled. As we both knew they would be.

  Suddenly I realized what our decision meant: Tomorrow was Jimmy’s birthday, and it was going to be spent here, in Topeka. I wondered if he thought I’d forgotten, since I hadn’t mentioned it all day. I decided not to bring it up and to think of some way to surprise him.

  Virgil asked for volunteers to go back to the bus to retrieve supplies.

  “Why don’t you stay here with Elwood, and I’ll get our stuff,” I offered to Jimmy, thinking this would be the perfect opportunity to concoct a birthday plan.

  Jimmy asked me if I was sure I didn’t want him to come, but then Janna jumped in and said she’d go with me. Mandy made it sound like she really needed Jimmy to stay back and hang with her. So he said he’d stay.

  Mira and Keisha both volunteered to go to the bus. Then, when they realized this, they both backed out.

  “This is silly,” Keisha said.

  “Tell me about it,” Mira replied.

  It was the first time they’d talked to each other since “the incident.” If you could really call it talking.

  “You go,” Keisha offered.

  “No, if you really want to, you do it,” Mira said.

  Finally Flora stepped in and determined that Mira would go and Keisha would stay.

  Then Flora said, “I want you girls to think about working this out, you hear? Because it’s going to feel like a long, long stay in Kansas if you two are going to be like this. The quicker you work through it, the easier it’s going to be for all of us.”

  Sadly, she didn’t explain how they could actually “work through it.” So they were left to their own poutings, which were almost humorously identical.

  As soon as we were far enough away from our group’s new base camp, Janna asked me what the plan was for Jimmy’s birthday.

  “I bought him a pony,” I told her.

  She slapped me on the shoulder. “That’s not fair—I bought him a pony, too!”

  “Did you take the tag off? Can you still return it?”

  “I bought it used.”

  “You bought my boyfriend a used pony?”

  “Yes,” Janna replied, looking skyward. “I bought him a pony that was used by the Lord.”

  “No! You don’t mean—”

  “That’s right.” She smiled. “Straight from the ark itself.”

  “Damn, that’s one old pony.”

  “Only the most special for Jimmy.”

  I liked that Janna could joke about the Lord, even when she was such a firm believer. (“Although it doesn’t really come up much in the Bible,” she once told me, “I happen to think that Jesus had a great sense of humor. He just strikes me as the type.”)

  We got to the corner where the counterprotesters were. Somehow I knew they wouldn’t have gone away. If anything, there were more of them now, shouting at us to go home, then telling us we were going to hell.

  “I wonder if Cathy’s in there somewhere,” Janna said as we passed. “I mean, if Mary Catherine’s in there. Cathy would never be a part of that. But Mary Catherine…I wonder if she’s here, or if she and her family went to Wichita.”

  I scanned the crowd, looked at the faces. So many angry, tired faces. People just like us, but not like us at all. I didn’t see Mary Catherine, but I saw a lot of Mary Catherines—girls and guys our age, shouting as loudly as the rest. Most of the counterprotesters were older, but there were still enough young ones for me to be painfully aware that this was a fight that would follow us into the future.

  Janna shook her head. “I hope they don’t think we’re leaving. I want to tell them we’re coming back. And that we’re not going to hell. I mean, who are they to say? It’s one thing to warn someone out of concern. It’s another to take it upon yourself to make the damnation. The last time I checked, it was the Lord’s call whether or not we go to hell. I hope whenever a person tells another person he or she is going to hell that the Lord notices and decides to hold it against the hell-caller when his or her day of judgment comes. I hope he or she gets up to the gates and the Lord says, It was so easy for you to send people to hell in My name that I’m afraid it’s going to be easy for Me to do the same.”

  When we got to the farther reaches of town, we saw something inspiring: Although there were definitely some cars leaving now that the rally was over, there were still more people pouring into Topeka to join us. One pair of women passed us carrying a lime-green couch, preparing for the long haul. Their young daughter slept on top of it. It took us an hour to get to the bus, but along the way we were greeted by any number of smiles, nods, and determined looks. At the bus, Flora divided us into teams—some carrying sleeping bags and tents, others in charge of food and water.

  Janna, Mira, and I were set to carry some of the boxes of Everything Bars that we’d brought.

  “A full day’s nutrition in just one bar!” Janna chirped, mocking the Everything Bar jingle.

  I tried to sort through the boxes to bring a balance of bars back to our base.

  “Should I bring savory or sweet?” I asked.

  “What do we have?” Mira asked back.

  “A lot of Thanksgiving Dinner, some Cinnamon Goodness, some Fruit Attack.”

  “Ooh—I like Thanksgiving Dinner,” Janna said. “Especially the blueberry dessert.”

  “I guess I’ll just take some of each kind. Leave the rest for later.”

  “Do you think there’s going to be a later?” Janna wondered aloud. “I mean, are we really going to be here for that long?”

  I looked at the food supplies. “Well, it can’t be too long—assuming we want something for the way back, we only have a day or two more for all of us, assuming the Everything Bars are enough to last the whole day.”

  “Are you saying they won’t deliver as advertised?” Janna said, pretending to be shocked.

  Flora came over to check on how we were doing.

  “We got enough?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” Janna said. “Even including the triplets and Sue and Elwood and Mrs. Everett.”

  “Oh, yes,” Flora said. “Mrs. Everett. I tell you, that woman…”

  Janna, Mira, and I were suddenly intrigued.

  “How do you and Virgil know her?” Janna asked, making her voice as wide-eyed and innocent as possible.

  “Hmpf,” Flora said. “I guess you could say she was the one who came before me. Wanted Virgil bad, I tell you. But didn’t catch him, and it’s a good thing she didn’t, ’cause I would’ve got him whether she had him or not, if you know what I mean.”

  I did know what she meant, and I was scandalized. I couldn’t imagine Virgil with anyone besides Flora. They were like roots to the same tree.

  “Are you worried now?” Janna asked. “I mean, now that she’s back.”

  At this, Flora laughed and laughed and laughed—her whole body shaking like jelly in an earthquake.

  “Whew!” she finally said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “That’s a mighty good one. No, Janna, I’m not worried. Virgil liked her back when he was living la vida loca. That wasn’t too long ago, but it’s long enough. He’s still got a streak in him, but it’d never really do him wrong. I’m not really worried about that woman.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mira said quietly.

  “Oh, honey,” Flora consol
ed, “it’s not the same.” She gave Mira a prop-up hug, then continued. “Virgil and I have some years on us now. And I’m going to let you in on a secret: When it all comes down to it, the thing that matters the most in a relationship is principles. Now, I’m not knocking the other stuff—even at our age, Virgil still makes my little red Corvette go much too fast. But what I’m really attracted to are his principles. We have the same idea of what’s right and what’s wrong, and that’s gotten us through any number of things. If you can have that with someone, then you’re most of the way toward love. Not just lover-love. Any kind of love.

  “Plus,” she added, “did you take a good look at that woman? Her booty’s so big now, they should be calling it a boaty. If Virgil wants to dance with somebody who loves him, he’s gonna be dancin’ with me. Now let’s get ourselves all packed up—the walk back’s going to be much heavier than the walk here, so we’d better go while we still have some energy. Each of you might want to have one of those bars before we go.”

  I grabbed a box of Everything Bars and slung a sack of sleeping bags on my back. Janna packed some surprises for Jimmy in her pack, while Mira tried to avoid the inside of the bus altogether.

  We stuck together more as we headed back—Mira, Flora, Clive, Janna, me, Gary, Ross, and the others in a delivery cluster. Aside from the weight of what we were carrying, it was a pleasant walk—the weather hadn’t turned to ice, and the stars were in evidence over us. The closer we got to Topeka, the more we saw the glowing green banners of the Stein supporters. What seemed like a whole squadron of schoolkids had spread out to distribute them, and everyone took them happily. We pinned the pieces of green to our packs and wore them across our shoulders. Just as we’d been a trail of headlights and taillights as we’d driven into town, we were now a hundred-lane highway of human traffic, all heading in the same direction, all looking for the same destination.

  Every now and then, we checked the news to see if anything was happening. Nothing we saw or heard really surprised us—the governor of Kansas, unable to kick us out of his capital city, was now trying to play the fear card in a big way, warning everyone of disasters that could occur if we stayed, saying his troops couldn’t be held responsible if they couldn’t prevent “chaos among so many people who’d refused to leave.” He even mentioned the threat of tornadoes, even though tornado season was long over. Anything to get us to leave.

  Meanwhile, more election officials were coming forward with “irregularities” against Stein. But despite this, the governor’s recount continued.

  (“They’ll take it all the way to the Supreme Court,” one commentator on the green channel said. “And since the opposition party appointed the majority of the judges on the Court, you can imagine what would happen there.”)

  Once again, the counterprotesters jeered us as we walked past.

  “I feel bad for them,” Flora said. “I do. The opposition party is using them just like they use everybody else. The politicians take those people’s votes, saying they’re going to bring back all that Decency. But then what do those politicians do? They just take those votes and convert them into tax breaks for rich people. They don’t even bother with following up on all that Decency talk. They promise anything to get the votes, then go back to ignoring the poor people until they need their votes again. Just goes to show: You can walk like a man or woman of God and talk like a man or woman of God, but that doesn’t make you a man or woman of God unless you’re willing to follow all of the Lord’s teachings.”

  “Hallelujah,” Janna chimed.

  As she said this, we rounded the corner and saw what the park had become. It was as if someone had taken the night sky and mapped it down onto the grass. Green specks glowed everywhere, blinking in the movement of bodies and breeze. The enormity of our gathering—so obvious in daylight—now took on the intimacy of a candlelight vigil, all of us united in an illuminated field. Already, children slept. Already, plans were being made for tomorrow. Voices traveled in long-distance conversations, and murmurs fell softly among couples and friends. We had all quieted into a settled hush. But that hush carried with it the potential of our noise…and the promise of what Flora would no doubt call our principles.

  twenty

  Everyone was happy to see us and the supplies. After we’d all eaten our fill, the sleeping bags were unrolled and the tents unfurled, each with a newly gained green-glowing flag at its height.

  Since there weren’t enough tents for everyone, Jimmy and I decided we’d sleep under the stars, zipping our bags together so we could be each other’s furnace. Gus gave his own tent to Gary, Ross, and Elwood—and then he angled his way into getting our tent for him and Glen.

  “I swear with all my heart and hips that I won’t get him pregnant,” Gus appealed to us (while Glen was out of earshot). “You know I’m saving it for my wedding night. But, oh my la, I’d marry him in a week and a day, if you know what I mean. It’s like the first time we opened our mouths, our hearts just went leap-leap and have been snuggling ever since. That’s got to be worth some tent space, no doubt?”

  We gave him our tent and our blessing and some breath mints for the morning.

  Mrs. Everett made a fuss about sleeping in the open air and seemed to want Virgil to invite her to stay close to him. Flora, however, swooped in and offered her son’s tent…which she then set up herself, as far away from her own tent as possible.

  Keisha came over to ask me quietly if I’d seen Sara by the bus or if I’d noticed whether Sara had taken her gear or not. I pointed out that there’d be no way for Sara to get into the bus without Clive’s keys and said I hadn’t seen her since she’d left. Keisha looked worried. “I’m sure she’s okay,” she insisted, “but I’d still like to know for sure.” I told her to call Sara, and she said that she’d tried but hadn’t received an answer.

  Mira had gained custody of their tent, so Keisha was going to stay with Janna and Mandy. She tried to make it seem like this was okay, but I could tell she was sad about everything. Sad about Sara, sad about Mira. The conflict of her sadnesses made them cut even deeper.

  I was glad that things were simpler with me and Jimmy. He was where I was supposed to be, and he was where I went. We zipped our sleeping bags together and nestled into each other as we grooved ourselves into the ground.

  “Soon it will be your birthday,” I whispered to him as we fell asleep.

  “I hope I get my wish,” he whispered back, then drifted away in my arms.

  The tree Jimmy had planted for me for my last birthday was really a sapling. I’d noticed it immediately when I’d woken up and looked out my bedroom window on that birthday morning, and I’d known without a doubt that it had come from him. It was the best present I’d ever received. I could imagine it growing along with my life, along with our love. At first, it needed a lot of care—Jimmy and I would take out the hose and water it gently, then spray each other until we were all grass stains and laughter. We’d watched as its first leaves turned the yellow of raincoats. Then we’d wrapped its base snugly when the chill set in. We knew that—like ourselves, like our love—it would eventually require less care, less attention. Someday it would be able to take care of itself. It would be so strong, so tall, that its permanence would be irrefutable.

  I couldn’t give him something so permanent. Not here, not now. So I was going to give him something entirely different.

  I was going to give him something momentary.

  Sunrise, heartbeat.

  Sunrise, heartbeat.

  I didn’t wake him, but I was ready when he woke up.

  Sunrise,

  The sky was the color of pink lemonade. I couldn’t see the sun, but I knew it was coming. He squeezed his eyes closed a little tighter before opening them. He blinked away the blur, stretched in the sleeping bag, pressed against me.

  heartbeat.

  I kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheek, his lips, his neck. I held his hand, then pressed it against my chest.

  “H
appy birthday,” I said quietly.

  And we stayed like that. On our backs, looking skyward. Listening as the world woke up. Tents unzipping, people yawning and groaning and saying good morning. Children crying out for breakfast, parents using their placating voices. Birds speaking to one another, wondering what was going on. Green banners rippling in the breeze. Footsteps, music. We couldn’t see any of it—nothing but the blue of the sky emerging from the pink.

  My heartbeat: steady, unrushed.

  The two of us: awake in the pause, enjoying the ordinary within the extraordinary, each moment only slightly different from the last. My thoughts drifting to him. His thoughts drifting to me.

  Momentary, permanent.

  Permanent, momentary.

  My birthday present: the ease of the day. This small stop. The beat that keeps me going.

  We could’ve stayed there for minutes or for hours. The point was: Time didn’t matter. Only our bodies, our breath. Only us.

  And we stayed there, listening.

  twenty-one

  Then, a voice. Stein’s voice.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but I wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate how many of you have stayed and how many of you have joined us over the last twelve hours. Your message is being heard, loud and clear. I hear it, my opponent hears it, and America hears it. There are well over a million of you here and over five million of you at state capitols around the nation. Also, over twenty million of you have posted your name on our site to offer support. We will start showing those names on the screen to my left, just to let you all know that you don’t just stand here in Kansas for yourselves, but you do so on behalf of countless others.