The lady in red is backWell, one guy is standing up there with her; she gives him the microphone....
wearing the same dress and hat
unless she has a whole closet
full of itI start to feel sad for her
alone on the stage, let down
by people who promised they'd cometrash trucks are done
sanitation crews gonesite:zone:lot:camp:cage
empty again.
I AM SEVEN-EIGHTHS CHEROKEE, AND....
Instantly think of my wife, descended from an Irish girl who married a Cherokee seven generations ago in the Georgia mountains. The young white bride was kidnapped back by her parents, who killed her new husband, but....
She was already pregnant with my love's great great great great grandmother; and from mother to daughter, woman to woman, this story, and that blood, passed down to the female who slept two years in my male arms before we....
Before we were such damn fools as to give up the most difficult and most wonderful thing we ever had done - marry.
Well. Two Sundays ago we agreed to try again. Counseling appointment scheduled, communication classes, long talks together every day or two, and dates alone, just the two of us....
AI YA KRANA SHO-LA I can't understand a word he is singing. At least I think it is singing. Obviously yesterday's national anthem woman is not here. Last minute replacement.
I try, honestly I try, to respect, but... well, it's just that the guy sounded pretty drunk when he talked a minute ago, and....
It's only a few minutes after seven in the morning.
One of the cops, sitting with me in the tent, glances over, muttering, "What the fuck is that guy doing?"
"I dunno. Singing in Cherokee?""Doesn't NAME (the lady in red) know how stupid she - and the Democratic party - look, by letting him stand up there like that on their time?"
"Well...."
"Look, Danial, I'm more than half-Indian myself, and this guy really offends me. If he were out on the street I'd bust his ass and haul him off to Detox... well, maybe not." Shakes his head. "There would probably be better things for me to do, if I were out there patrolling."
The 7/8 Indian voice babbles across the empty parking lot. He's speaking slurred English, now. Angry words, that would be more appropriate if only he didn't sound so damn loaded.
Outisde the 9-foot fence behind our backs, a young woman is walking wuickly along K Street sidewalk. Her footsteps change rhythm; I realize she has seen us. He voices lilts at us, "You guys are mentally ill...."
Quick as a serpent I spin on my chair and cry back at her - "Not my cops! I may be ill, that speaker may be ill, but not my cops...."
She laughs and walks on. The officer chuckles beside me.
"Danial, you ever get yourself in trouble with what you say?""Sometimes. Almost."
"Heh. Hey, you still writing, eh?"
"Yeah."
"You going to publish it anywhere? Like... the Reader?"
"No. That rag sucks - if you want my opinion. But I plan to publish, yes. On the internet."
"You have a web page or something?"
"A couple friends of mine and I have a little gallery of writing."
"Have you been... writing down the things we say?"
"Uh... some of it."
"Oh... but...."
I put down my pen. Look him square in the eye. After two days I have developed a fresh respect for the officers I'm working with. This man in particular has been very friendly with me. I feel a troubling sensation of possible betrayal here, and I could be the traitor. "Look," I say carefully, "I enjoy working with you guys, and I want to do it again. So, well, I am going to be very careful about what I actually publish on the web."
He smiles. "Yeah." Stands up, "Well, think I'll go make the rounds."
The lady in red is back at the microphone. A newcomer is up there with her; the 7/8 Cherokee is leaving the stage. Lady Red starts to speak, but the red Bayside/Convention Center trolley rolls by, humming and beeping along its tracks.
THANK YOU TO THE TROLLEY FOR THAT TIMELY APPEARANCE....
Is she being sarcastic? Or is she relieved that the noisy transit cars help scrub away the taste remaining after the "Indian" spoke? (Should I put the quote marks around "spoke" instead of Indian?)
Lady Red introduces the other speaker, who wheels himself forward to the microphone. I am relieved, as he begins talking, to hear that at least this guy sounds sober.
YOU SHOULD PAY ATTENTION TO WHAT'S GOING ON INSIDE THIS CONVENTION. BE AWARE OF WHAT THE REPUBLICANS ARE DOING OVER THERE, ACROSS THE RAILROAD TRACKS....
I paid attention last night, and look what angst it got me....
"Good morning, Danial!"
Ah, it's Bob, the NBC tech I chatted with yesterday, and with whom I saw the false moon balloon.
"Hey! Ready for another day in the blazing sun?""Yes, I suppose so." He sits down in the chair the cop vacated five minutes ago.
"Bob, did you happen to catch any of the Convention on TV last night?"
"Not much. I just wanted to eat dinner, shower, and go to sleep."
"Mmmm. I was really impressed how hard the GOP is working, to make the party look compassionate and moderate."
He laughs. "Danial, Danial, you know how it is: for three years and nine months the two parties sturggle toward the left and the right. Then, between primaries and November, they both race toward the center."
Ah... there still is wisdom, and irony, in this world.
"So, who's speaking now to no one?""Some Democratic club or another - but it's really that woman up there, and her... friends. She's been here every day so far, more or less controlling the different Democratic hours."
"Hmmm. Who is she?"
"I don't know. Some local activist."
"Did you say loco?"
I laugh out loud, "No, local."
"Oh, sorry, I misheard you."
But there is a glimmer in his eye, and the slightest trace of an EFG at the corners of his mouth. "Are you sure you didn't mean...?"
"Hey, don't go reading my mind, now."The Evil F. Grin comes to full birth on his face, "Okay...."
"She's signed in the next group, too. Foothills Democratic Club."
Or, wander back into the "Table" of Contents.