“Hey, I don’t wanna seem ungrateful. I don’t wanna seem like I don’t need anyone’s help, to get me through the rainy days, to push through the haze, so I can get on my feet and I can stand up and do what it takes”-Streetlight Manifesto

The holiday of Thanksgiving is a very peculiar one. As children, we are told that it was born of Native Americans and the Pilgrims that landed at Plymouth coming together to eat. However, growing up and reading history books this idea of coming together regardless of our differences starts to get dismantled.

Stories of genocide, enslavement, and indiscriminate killings slowly come forward as the narrative of American history. You do not have to look far today to see these elements that plague our history manifested. Indiscriminate killings to Afro-Americans at the hands of the police, and the violence that Native Americans face in North Dakota in order to protect their sacred land are just two of many instances where our history, once again, comes to life.

Even still, with all of these horrible and brutal events going on coupled with the uncertainty that our future holds, I would like to redefine or re-craft the idea of this holiday.

Recently a friend of mine wrote me a letter telling me exactly what many of us need to hear, which is: “you matter.” After reading the letter and wiping tears from my eyes, I began to think about how we could all make this world a better place by just saying those two words.

Because to be blunt: life can be a real asshole. Full of pain, hardship and tragedy, but if you surround yourself with the right people and tell them how you feel, you can make grey clouds turn white.

Far too often, at least in my experience, we’re led to believe that we’re just bricks in wall, stacked on top of each other in order to stabilize the foundation. In reality, we’re puzzle pieces, relying on another piece–multiple pieces, in fact–to come together and make something beautiful.

Metaphors aside, what I’m trying to say is: during this holiday, come together and tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. Time moves too fast and is too unforgiving for us to keep our love for one another under-wraps. Laugh, eat, and enjoy today because while it may look bleak, and it may seem like there is no light at the end of the tunnel, there are bright faces and warm hearts all around us.

With much love,

Mitchell Timmerman

We walked in silence down the block. Under a streetlight, I realized that our hands were still clasped together. I didn’t make a move to do anything about it. Instead, I stared ahead, lo0king at the ivy covered brick wall that was hosting a sign for some local deli, advertising fresh vegetables on their sandwiches. Mia hummed, and gripped my hand a little tighter. Her hands, so slender and smooth, fit nicely interlocked in my own, larger and wrapping around her hand. My thumb subconsciously kept moving in reassuring circles along the back of her hand. She squeezed a little harder.

“I suppose you would want to hear the reason why I didn’t show up yesterday?” she broke through the silence and my thoughts.

“Honestly Mia, this is nice. I really don’t want to hear why. It would only make me sad, yea? And I’m not a huge fan of being sad. I don’t like that. I’d much rather be happy and enjoy the moment,” I countered.

“But” Mia began, stretching out her words, as she turned to face me, the floral skirt gently rolling in the light breeze that came rolling down along the city avenue. “You still ought to know.”

Ok, fine. If she felt so strongly that she should tell me, I would let her. So I turned to face her as well.  I stared into her eyes, using my slight height differential to the most of its advantage. She looked back up at me.

“I got caught in a meeting with the worst person in the world,” she said, in the most conversational tone you would ever hear from a girl who stood you up, despite 4 weeks of flirting across public transit and local watering holes.

“That’s it?” I was pretty damned confused. “You brought me out of Harry’s where I got a free drink, which never happens, to say that you missed our date because you got, and I quote: ‘caught up,’” dropping my air quotations, ‘in a meeting’ I hissed, dropping the register of my voice to a frighteningly low level. “You will just have to do better than that Mia,” I began.

She cut me off there, her willingness to argue coming through, her eyes sharpening towards me. “Understand this, Jay, that I did want to come. I tried to get there on time. But by the time I got to Harry’s at 8:45, you were gone. Now you can listen to why I got caught or you can leave,” she retorted.

I grunted in acknowledgement of her statement, but didn’t make a move to leave.

“That’s what I thought,” Mia replied smugly, tightening her intertwining grip in my hands. “This man was simply awful. He would catch me and just wouldn’t let me escape. Then, he would put his hand on my shoulder to refuse to let me move at all,” I frowned. This sounded vaguely rapey

‘He did what?” I cut in

“Don’t worry too much, it happens a lot,” she said nonchalant.

“But it’s not ok! He was harassing you! That isn’t appropriate at all!” I sputtered.  And she damn laughed at me.

“That’s one more thing I like about you, you get all passionate and incoherent. It looks good on you,” she chimed. And with that she moved closer to me, right in my side, smiling, closing her eyes gently. It felt rather nice.

“Well that’s one thing. So this guy is the reason that you couldn’t show up?” I questioned. “Well, it only added to the terror that was my daily existence.” I added in.

“You need to relax. You sound like some emo kid who has just discovered the works of Tim Burton and Edgar Allen Poe,” Mia scoffed attractively. I didn’t even know you could do that, scoffing attractively. This girl was unbelievable. “But I doubt it was that bad. I mean, you got to work in a fancy building in the middle of the city. If you could ever escape from your cubicle, I bet you have a great view of the entire city. Imagine that, the whole city right there,” she threw her hand not attaché to mine out in front of her. “Right at your fingertips,”a smile tugged at my lips but was quickly shot down.

“I suppose. But it really isn’t that interesting. Corporate life is rather dull. Money is average. Hours are rather boring. It’s a job, which I’m glad to have in this economy, but it’s not the thing that keeps me motivated to get out of bed in the morning,” She grinned.

“I hope that the reason is me,” cheeky girl. I couldn’t help my smile here.

“Dunno, I was pretty sad yesterday, but things are looking better now,” I nudged her in the shoulder. In return, she squeezed my hand tightly, in an attempt to crush it. It wasn’t working, but it certainly was cute to watch. Each action she took drew me in a little deeper into her.

“You hush. But it seems so interesting. You do fancy corporate stuff. I don’t get to do that in my job, not at all,” she said, still leading me down the concrete jungle.

“You never told me,” I interjected in a hope to shape the conversation, “where it is you work. Or what you even do for that matter.”

“Oh, it’s nothing super cool like yours, I just work in a book store. Its right by the park’s main entrance,” she said, quickly. “It’s a nice, peaceful job.”

“So what’s the endgame for that?”

“Why does there need to be an endgame? Can’t something be done, just to be done?”

“Makes it rather pointless then, huh?”

“You always have an endgame?” Mia asked of me, spinning to face me. She stopped and put her hand in front of her to stop me as well.

“It’s what I do, darling. I work to the endgame. Each thing I do builds to the final goal.”

“So what’s the so called ‘final goal’ then?”

“I don’t know if you are ready to find that out darling,” I drawled out.

“Cheeky, but you don’t get to call me darling.”

“Why not?”

“Haven’t earned it.”

“How do I do that?”

“Figure it out. Though, telling me that endgame of yours might help.”

“Maybe, but you have to earn that,” I responded. Mia, pulled the still intertwined hands up, drawing us close together. She wrapped her free hand above my neck, and moved her head forward. Her hair fell over her face. I moved a delicate strand to display her face, which glowed. She leaned in. I reciprocated. My eyes fluttered shut. I felt Mia move her delicate lips right up to the shell of my ear and whisper

“This a good way to start?”

Suddenly, her warmth was ripped away from me. I jerked open my eyes. And Mia was out 2 meters in front of me, staring at me as I tried to regain my bearings.

“Yea, that was a good way to start. Care to finish it?” I quipped. Mia just laughed that god damn sexy laugh and ran away, her hair bouncing over her shoulder.

I couldn’t help it.  I grinned and chased after her.

I was standing outside Harry’s at 7:15 that night. Pacing nervously along the sidewalk, I kept smoothing out my jacket. It was 7:30. She still wasn’t there. By 8, I had a beer in my hand, a courtesy of Harry, who handed it to me with what might have been a glance of pity. I left at 8:30.

I got a text the next day. It was from her. I ignored it. I got another. I ignored that one. I got a phone call from her. I ignored that one too. I got two more that night. I ignored them as well.

I was in Harry’s two nights later. The boys were joking around, but it wasn’t hard to sense the change in the attitude between us. I was being handled. I didn’t like it. It made me feel weak. Rather than join in, I stared sullenly into my half empty glass. Suddenly the gentle joking stopped abruptly. The bar echoed with the sharp clacking noise of shoes on the hard floor.

“Mate, you are right fucked now,” Roman muttered, his eyes gazing at the approaching person.

“Shut up you nitwit,” Sam replied, though his voice also housed the level of shock Roman’s had. Nik didn’t speak. I still stared at my glass.

“OK, that is it. You need to talk to me,” I looked up. Mia stood above me, her hand rested on her hips, her lips pursed, and her face was scrunched together as she glared at me. Even now, she looked absolutely stunning. I swallowed what was left of my drink, stood up, and moved towards the bar. She quickly moved to get in my way.

“You are in my way. I need a new drink.”

“You are being an asshole,” she snapped back.

“That is a well known fact.”

“It’s true. He is like a cactus. Not for everyone, but some people like to look at him. Don’t get too close though,” Roman interjected, his amusement not even trying to be hidden “He gets a little prickly.”

“Shut up,” Mia snapped.

“She is defending you man, that’s good right?” Roman asked. He was promptly slapped upside the head.

“Look Jay, I know I mess-” she began, but I quickly cut her off, trying not to betray how much her using my name affected my stomach. Digest those butterflies!

“Mia, the thing is I really don’t care. I spent all day in that god awful job waiting for you to show up, and you didn’t. It hurt, and I got burned. The thing is, I don’t get burned twice. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get myself a new drink,” I said, making my voice as steely as possible, hoping that no emotion creeped through. Even now, I could hear the old voice of my grandfather rasping out to me that emotions are a weakness just waiting to be exploited.

Mia stood there, transfixed. I pushed past her and headed to the bar, keeping my hands firmly in my pockets.

As I approached the bar, I listened as Sam moved towards Mia and mutter something quietly to her.

She made her move towards the bar and me.

“I want a do over,” she demanded.

“I’m not sure it works like that,” I replied, a small smile playing on my lips.  She took the smile on my face as a good sign. She leaned in very close to me.

“Are you sure?” She whispered. This wasn’t her usual comfortable purring, dripping with self confidence. Instead, it was laced with bashfulness and the easily identifiable worry of being rejected.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE MAN, JUST KISS HER AND TAKE HER OUT!” Roman boomed out from our corner table.

“Your friend is an absolute moron, but I like that idea,” Mia quipped. She held her hand for me to take.

I stared at it. “I don’t know Mia,” I started.

But this time, she is the one who cut me off:“I have a really good reason why, I Promise!” her voice filled with so much down pleading, that I cannot even manage to find a single reason to say no. So I took her hand and moved out towards the door with her.  Meanwhile, the boys whistling and hollering at us, and Roman loudly making crude suggestions.

To my family and friends who voted for Donald J. Trump,

Let me begin by saying that I still love you. I do not hate you. I am, however, hurt, scared, and angry. We could debate policy all day, every day, and still not agree. And that is okay. We could talk about proper diplomatic rhetoric, foreign relations, the economy, and the merits of small versus big government, but that is not what I’m trying to discuss. I’ve been struggling to write this for months now, always starting and then deleting the whole thing. But I can’t remain silent any longer.

To introduce myself, since I intend to remain anonymous: I am a twenty-something year old college student. I work full time, attend classes full time, and maintain a high GPA at a diverse university in the midwest. I am a diehard feminist, like my momma. I have many near and dear friends who are hispanic, black, Muslim, transgender, gay, disabled, and any combination of those. I am bipolar.

My friends are afraid for their lives. But you already know that. I’ve shared countless articles detailing why, I’ve repeated anecdotal stories to you, I’ve made my own opinions and fears for them clear. As incredibly important as that is to me, that is also not what I wish to discuss in this letter. It has not been enough to get through to you.

You say that you’re disappointed in me for taking politics too personally. But for me, the events of the past few months have transcended a simple political discourse. It is personal for me.

A year and a half into my college career, I became the victim of a violent sexual assault. I was intimidated into taking no legal action, and humiliated to the point where I did not make my  own family aware of what had happened to me. Imagine my surprise, disgust, and relief at not disclosing my trauma when I learned that half of my family had voted Donald Trump for President.

I am angry. Angry that you saw something presidential in a man who has been on trial for rape, and has been accused of sexual assault by twelve women. Twelve. I know that you’ll jump to saying :“they’re just accusations.” But before you go to say that, do you believe that I’m just “making accusations” when I say I was raped? What makes me more or less believable than those women?

I am hurt that you voted for him. I am a woman who thought I could always seek support from my family when I needed it. The past year, I’ve bitten my tongue countless times when I’ve wanted to reach out for help and love. Knowing that you supported a man who said:“when you’re a star, they [women] let you do it. You can do anything…Grab ‘em by the pussy, you can do anything,” I no longer feel comfortable with the idea of bringing up my sexual assault to you. The man that raped me believed he could get away with grabbing my pussy, and doing worse, all because he had money. Because he had power. He made me feel so small. I’ve been hurting, and now I’m hurting even more.

Lastly, I am terrified of what the next four years will bring. Any time that Donald Trump speaks out against women or trivializes sexual assault, it tears off scabs that I’ve been working so hard to form. Any healing, any progress that I have made, is gone in an instant. The knowledge that you excused this rhetoric is acid poured directly in those wounds.

I would apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable, except for the fact that I am not sorry. I have been uncomfortable for the past year, and even more so the past few days. I need you to hear my voice.

So while some of you gloat as if the election was a football game that your team won, know that there are some of us out there who are afraid for our lives. In my case, my sanity. Panic attacks aren’t fun (something I’ve learned in the year). Know that while you call your own family and friends crybabies, sore losers, and flip us off for being upset with you for voting for Trump, there’s often good reasoning behind why we’re upset. You do not always know the whole story. If this were a normal election, with normal candidates, I would have no problem “just getting over it.” But as I said before, this election has gone beyond politics. I cannot “just get over” what happened to me, or how Donald Trump’s words and attitude tie into it.

One last time, I will reiterate that I do not hate you. I still love you, but I hope that you’ll understand why I am distancing myself from you. I need time to regroup myself, process my emotions, try to heal new and old wounds, and make a plan for how to survive the next four years with my mind and self still intact. I don’t expect you to understand the trauma caused by rape, or the triggers that can send a woman spiraling into the darkest place in her past. I don’t have any desire for you (or anyone) to understand it, ever.

All I ask is that you respect my request for distance and try to realize that I have been through something that you have most likely never had to deal with, and that it is shaping my experiences and emotions every day. Right now, I need to surround myself with those who will support me and the 20 million other survivors of sexual assault currently living in the United States. I wish I felt as if I could count you amongst those who would support me, but at this time I do not feel that way.

This election has been divisive and dirty on both sides. Unfortunately, I feel you picked the side that will most hurt me and those I care about. I hope to reconnect and reunite with you eventually, but for now, I need to cut the cord. Once again, I hope you can understand.

Love,

xxxxx

Recently there have been posts on social media, mainly from those aligned with the left, calling for the abolition of the electoral college. This, in my own opinion, is not accepting the election result that was given on November 8th. By doing this it is becoming exactly what we are fighting against.

6 months ago if anyone had suggested that we should have a president elected by popular vote they would have been laughed at. After the laughter had subsided, they would have been told that they were crazy and should go read a civics book. Whether the president should be elected by popular vote is up in the air, and should be an argument for the future, but currently in the state that our country is in it would be a bad idea.

Doing such a thing now would only play into Donald Trump’s platitude that the election is ‘rigged.’ As of right now he has been chosen to be the next president-elect, and Hillary Clinton has already conceded. Paul Ryan, Barack Obama, and countless other governmental officials have already promised a peaceful transition of power for the president elect. To flip it all on its head now would be to incite unrest among those who voted for Trump, or worse.

Secondly, to make the presidency a direct election is to invite more populism and shatter political strategy. Campaigns for president, and the strategy involved, revolve around the golden number: 270. They plan and execute their strategies around states, which would otherwise not be bothered with, that they believe would give them enough electoral votes. Not to mention, if it was switched to popular vote then states with smaller populations would not get any attention, people in rural areas’ votes would not matter to politicians running to be elected for president.

Making it a direct election will incentivize a more populist approach to presidential elections, and this is precisely why the electoral college was create-granted we just saw that get obliterated, but this election cycle is an anomaly and I don’t think we will see one like it again. Candidates will continue to radicalize and say and do things that are detrimental to society-again this election is an anomaly…I hope.

Malcolm X said in his Autobiography:  “…choose, which one to be eaten by, the ‘liberal’ fox or the ‘conservative’ wolf – because both of them would eat him. [At least] in a wolf’s den, I’d always known exactly where I stood; I’d watch the dangerous wolf closer than I would the smooth, sly fox. The wolf’s very growling would keep me alert and fighting him to survive, whereas I might be lulled and fooled by the tricky fox.”(Autobiography of Malcolm X pg. 380). The way I see the result of the election is that we have an opportunity. We now have a “wolf” in office that arrived there based off of blatant racism, sexism and xenophobia. The curtain has been raised and we can now see in plain view America’s true colors. A structural revision to our nations way of electing the president is not going to fix the issues that got Donald Trump to where he is today. Instead, we can now identify and actively fight, out in the open the racism, sexism, and xenophobia that for far too long has been swept under the rug.

No longer covert, it is now overt, and we now can attach a face and a name to the arch-enemy of progressivism and liberty and justice for all-a tenant that at a young age I was force to stand and recite daily. Our work is cut out for us, so let us start the fight for a free world a decent world.

“To those who can hear me, I say – do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed – the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish.”-Charlie Chaplin in The Dictator

Signed,

V

I climbed up the metal staircase to the platform where the metro cars were coming to a stop. As the doors hissed open, Mia sat in her usual spot in her usual car on her usual train. She looked as she always did, her hair was curled again and her eyes were alert and roving. I broke out in a grin when I saw her. Mia matched it as her eyes locked in on me. She bobbed her head along to her music, pumping out of her floral printed headphones. I approached her. It had become our little habit. I headed to work at just the right time to catch her on the train. I talked to her, till I was dragged to work. I worked all day, felt bored at my job, then left at just the right time to catch her as she headed home. I’d smile when she got off the metro, then head over to Harry’s for a drink with the boys. Today, though, she waited for me to approach.

“Hey,” I began, but she quickly cut me off.

“When are you planning on taking me out on a proper date?” she asked, in a very flat tone. Her eyes bore into me.

“Wha, I mean, I was planning…” I sputtered

“Never mind that now. Ask me now,” she said, pausing from scrolling through her phone, looking up right into my eyes.

“Well then: Do you wanna go out on a date with me?” I asked, attempting a cocky grin. My hand went to my hair, ruffling it. My attempt at suaveness and debonair attitude was wrecked by the train jerking to a stop, forcing me to grab wildly for something to stabilize me. Not the best way to convince her of my ability to look like a functioning adult.

“Maybe, maybe not Danny Zuko,” she deadpanned, but her eyes were filled with mirth. Her lips curled up into a smile: “If you really want to take me out on a proper date, you have my number.”

“I have no idea what is going on,” I muttered, frozen in absolute confusion. She laughed.

“Obviously. Now why don’t you go spend your work hour trying to figure that out, hmm?” she purred out to me. Suddenly, she stood up and grabbed me by the tie, pulling down quickly, and capturing my lips in a kiss. I was too shocked to react at all, and stood openmouthed and wide-eyed.  She pulled away with a grin on her face that framed her thousand-watt smile. “And think about this as an incentive to actually go through with it,” she looked past my face, still frozen in shock.  “I think this is your stop,”  she said, and pushed me away. I stumbled backwards. “You better call me,” she said, suddenly becoming serious. But before I could respond, the doors began to close, and we were separated by the two metal doors.

“No way I won’t,” I said. But she didn’t hear. The train had sped further into the city, and I just stood on the platform dazed.

 

I spent all day thinking about what she said. It was closing time by the time I was able to actually call her.

“Hey Mia,” I stuttered out.

“Danny Zuko as I live in breathe.” Her voice rasped through the phone speaker.

“You know, you really ought to start calling me by my real name. I’m beginning to think that you actually have a Travolta obsession. I can excuse a lot of things, but there isn’t anyone in the world attractive enough to make that okay,” I said. “Shit shit shit, now I said she wasn’t attractive,” I thought panicking.

“Are you saying I’m not attractive?” she questioned, her tone lifting up questioningly.

This girl is a bloody mind-reader and it is attractive as hell. I tell her that.

“By far the second oddest thing a boy has ever said to me.”

“What was the first?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“Fine, tomorrow at 7:30? I’ll pick you up.”

“7:30 sure, but I’ll meet you outside of Harry’s.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

“Yea, I figured you did,” I hummed in agreement. We lapsed into a comfortable silence.

“I’d certainly prefer if you kept talking to me,” she said, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her ever-confident tone. “I like the sound of your voice.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear that,” I replied, my grin overpowering the tone in my response.

“My train is here, I’ll see you soon?”

“Yea Mia, you will.”

On November 8th America witnessed a moment of history that will be remembered until the end of time. We, millennials, will tell our children and grand-children about the 2016 election, and its outcome.

However, this writing is not about that. This writing is about moving forward. Moving on from an election cycle that completely split the country into two polarizing factions, with each side hating the guts of the other. In fact, you can find a post on this very blog stating disdain for Trump and his supporters, so I am no saint as well.

I’m not here to spread more hate or continue to be divisive, I think that we have had enough of that for the past year and a half. Instead, I’m here to tell you to look for the WILBs today. Look for those keeping their head high, seek out those who continue to laugh and smile in the face of uncertainty and cruelty. WILBs will continue to find the beauty and joy in what can only be classified as: a fucked up and bleak future. WILBs will offer a helping hand to anyone that needs it, and spread love wherever they go.

We cannot continue down this path of vitriol and bile. No one will survive it, and nothing will get accomplished.

To those who feel threatened and scared by what has happened know that WILBs stand by you and will not falter in their support. Looking out for one another is inherent in the creed of WILB. This path that we walk is not traveled alone. WILBs are all around us, we just have to find them.

Signed,

The Master Wilbologist

I didn’t have to scroll very far to find the contact I was looking for. I hit the screen twice before a very familiar voice crackled through the phone.

“Whaddoyouwant?” drowsily slurred out from the phones’ speaker. It was evident that I had woken him up.

“Oi, asshat wake up I got big news, it’s life changing,” I barked into the phone, completely disregarding the tone in my voice. After all, I had been friends with Roman since I bumped into him in the line to get pizza after school one day in the 3rd grade. In response, all I heard was grumbling and the sound of sheets moving around on the bed. It was 1 in the afternoon and my friend had just woken up.

“Where are you anyway? Must be somewhere nice given you are bloody talking without a care in the world,” Roman was now starting to shed the dreamy tone in his words.

“This place? It’s a fucking dump mate,” and with that I kicked the door to his bedroom open. “But you can see that first hand can’t you?” I asked, grinning over the sprawled body of my best friend, who only gave me a very rude gesture in return.

Roman glared as he stood up, stretching out his 6’3” frame. He looked, even in his disheveled state, like a wealthy bachelor. His hair fell down to his eyes in a casual elegance I could only have ever hoped for, while his face had just the right amount of stubble.

“I knew giving you a key was a bad idea,” he muttered. With that, he hopped off the mattress on the ground he was using as his bed, and began to pick up the least smelly clothes from the piles that lay around his room.

“So what is this big life changing news that you have for me?” Roman asked, his tone so level I could balance a book on it.

“I met a girl.”

“Asshole, you woke me up for that?”he grumbled, “You meet a new girl every day. And it’s always the same damn routine. You meet her, you flirt, she makes a move, you get too attached, and then she runs away. You mope about, we get super shitty, you puke, you tell me that you love her and then you are fine in a few days.”

Ok, so he might have had a point but still, this girl was special. For real. And so I told him about the girl and the newsstand.

“You said the same thing about the last girl, and the one before that, and the one before that,” he moved into his kitchen. For a man living alone, he certainly had a really nice apartment. The benefits of having money were bountiful I suppose. “So anyway, what makes this one special, and what’s her name?” he asked as he poured corn flakes into a cereal bowl. Roman was probably the only reason Corn Flakes were still made at all. He was also the only person I know that eats them and was born after 1965.  “So ignoring the fact that you rudely woke me without any true reason to do so, what do you have planned for today? Another day at the rat race? And why aren’t you there now?”

“Go to hell, old man, not all of us were gifted a massive inheritance by our rich grandparents. Also, I took a half day,” I chided him, though thoroughly good natured.

Roman grinned wolfishly: “I’ll have you know that I earned that inheritance. How many 12 year olds went to the Met Gala? I was used as a prop by my old, loony family to show that they were not insane,” He professed dramatically. Roman may have had odd mannerisms but it was definitely the product of his upbringing. His parents died when he was young, so he was raised by his grandparents, a slightly odd old couple. They were old-school in every sense of the word. Roman once told me that he learned how to tie a bow tie before he learned how to tie his shoes. I scoffed at that though. I had never seen him with a tie on in my entire life at that point. The Met thing was true, though he was never invited back. Apparently, placing a whoopee cushion on the chair of the Chairman of the Board for the Met was not a good idea, making him one of the few individuals who have received a lifelong ban from the Met. When his grandparents died, he inherited the whole family estate. But he was a good friend and chose to slum it with me in a public college (gasp!) insistent on leaving his own luxurious past lifestyle behind him. Roman never managed to shake off certain aspects of what he was brought up like however. Rather than find a normal job, he was now a “writer,” meaning he wrote stories that no one would read, drink too much alcohol, smoke pot, and partied when he felt like it. In short the best friend I could ask for.

“But yes, the rat race is where I am off to. Nothing equals the celebration of falling in love as corporate America,” I deadpanned. Everything is better than corporate America.

“Before you go, are we still on for tonight? Cause otherwise Sam and Nik will be pissed if you cancel again,” Roman asked, keeping a spoon of peanut butter hovering in front of his mouth, his eyes glinting with legitimate curiosity about my plans, eyebrow thoughtfully cocked up.  

“Yea, I’ll be there, where are we even going anyway?” I responded.

“The same spot as usual, and it’s your turn to buy drinks, so you kind of have to turn up.”

“Yea, I know. I’ll be there,” and with that, I turned the knob, and left the room.

By the time I got out of the office and to the bar the sun was scorching the sky as it set, staining it pink and orange. I pulled my earbuds out of my ear, cutting off the chorus of the Kanye song as I pushed open the wooden door of the bar. I quickly scanned the scene in front of me. At the large wooden counter in the center of the bar, Harry, the grizzled old bartender was pouring out a shot of whiskey for an equally grizzled man sitting on one of the barstools. The tables that were spread out around the room were sparsely occupied, occasionally, a few older gents sat nursing a pint of beer, and talking in small muted discussions amongst one another. The back shelf carried a large spread of liquors, though the bottles all looked to be half empty. Along the back wall, booths were laid out, their linoleum seats empty exposing their upholstery. That is except a corner booth, which was occupied by the only people young enough to not have fought in Vietnam. I smiled, somethings never change.

I walked over towards our usual spot and gave my customary greeting and wave to Harry. Harry gave his customary grunt in acknowledgement and turned to prepare my customary rum and coke, and Roman was customarily talking the ear off of  Sam and Nik

“What’s he going on about?” I asked as I slipped into the booth next to Nik. Sam was looking like he was about to pass out. Nik kept nudging him in the side to keep him from nodding off. All of us learned that the worst thing to do when Roman talked was to fall asleep. He would wake you up, often for a convoluted plan that would result in being banned from an establishment. It was the aftermath of one of Roman’s elaborate ‘wake up methods’ that we found Harry’s in the first place.  In a sense of acceptance completely unexpected, Harry had allowed us in at 9:30 on a Wednesday, despite that all 4 of us were covered in ash, glitter in our hair, and feathers sticking out of Nik’s ear and a feather boa tied around Sammy’s neck like a leash.

“Ted Cruz as the Zodiac Killer,” Sammy barked, taking a long yawn and a longer sip of his Old-Fashioned.

“Ah yes, a classic theory. Thanks Harry,” I replied, as Harry slid my drink along the length of the table.

“It’s more than just theory! It can be proven. What’s his alibi?” Roman exclaimed. He was far more awake than he was when I saw him this morning. “I’m glad you could finally join us. You weren’t going to be entranced by the trap of corporate greed?”

“For fucks sake Caligula, it was one day I missed. One.”

“Wow, resorting to name calling, are you? I see how it is Gordon Gekko.”

“Real clever you are huh? Well tell me-”

“Both of you shut the fuck up” Sam growled. We did in fact ‘shut the fuck up.’ It was silent for a few minutes, the only sound was the clinking of glasses on the tables, the muted conversations of the old men and the shuffle of Harry’s feet from behind the bar. I reveled in the silence. It felt like a cocoon that kept me all wrapped up, safe from the world moving around me. Until Roman broke it.

“So Jay,” he asked wolfishly, demanding the attention of our quartet, “What about this girl you are in love with?”

Sammy and Nik groaned, Nik even banging his head on the table muttering about how this escapade better go over better than the last time.

“Oh fuck off mate, I had coffee with her. I had a good time. I only slightly exaggerated the extent of my emotional attachment to this girl,” I said, trying to keep my face neutral. Though I had a distinct feeling I was not successful. As I thought about her, I could feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards.

“So what does she look like?” Sam asked, tone neutral. But his eyes were gleaming with interest which only could spell trouble.

“Pretty fantastic, think toned down Sandra Dee,” I said, smirking at the visual recall. The bell chimed from the door of the bar. None of us looked up, except Roman. What he saw must have excited him, because he bounded up to the bar. Only one thing could have attracted Roman like that. We turned to face the bar. Roman was suavely walking up to where a girl stood, waiting for Harry to return from wherever he went. My ears were tuned into hear what this would end up being. The entire bar seemed focused in on the situation at hand. Harry’s didn’t see many non-regulars enter, and it generally wasn’t a girl. The most you saw of a woman in Harry’s was when Harry’s redheaded wife came in and lectured him for not taking enough time to relax from his work schedule. He growled, she stared back at him, and he broke and said he would ease up. The next day, Harry would be back, and his schedule wouldn’t change at all.

Roman had approached the bar. Sam and Nik stayed behind at the booth, but I was too interested in how this would  play out, so I moved to one of the unoccupied tables closer to the bar and took a seat.

“So, what does a pretty thing like you do that makes you venture into a place like this?” Roman asked, smoothly, shooting the girl a wolfish grin.

“Well I was hoping to just get a drink. But you certainly seem to be just as good of an option,” the girl stated, facing Roman and smiling a thousand-watt smile back at him. She leaned forward, and flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. As she placed her hand on his bicep, I quickly lost interest and started to head back to the table. Roman sealing the deal was far too regular to be interesting any more. I heard the door open again, but it swung shut quickly. It must have been another person who entered unwittingly. I headed back to the booth.

“Em, we have to go: now!” another voice had entered Harry’s. Another female voice, and it certainly wasn’t Harry’s wife. This was really becoming quite the day. I turned, and the girl Roman was talking to, Emmy, apparently had turned to face her friend, who had her back to the booth.

“But I’m talking to Roman here,” Emmy whined, stressing Roman’s name, hoping that her friend would relent in her efforts to what appeared to drag Emmy out of the bar.

“Roman huh? Unfortunately, your night is now going much like your namesake empire. It is now collapsing before you,” this girl was witty, I liked that.

Roman laughed. “Oi sellout,” he shouted to the booth, calling me. “This girl made a joke as shitty as yours!” he chuckled.

“Fuck off, my jokes are funny!” I claimed, turning  to face Roman and the two girls.

“To be honest, if all your jokes are like that, I wouldn’t say you were funny at all. I am in poor form currently,” the new girl claimed, turning her head towards me.

I froze the moment I got a glance of her entire profile. I saw her eyes widen in recognition.

“Danny Zuko,” she said, curtly.

“Sandra Dee,” I responded, smiling.

“Mia?” Emmy questioned.

Roman was too busy howling in laughter as he quickly became aware of what had just occurred.

“What the fuck is going on?” I heard Nik ask Sam. But it was Roman who responded.

“This is the girl he met!” he choked out in between his fit of giggles.

“Telling your friends about me?” Mia questioned, eyebrow raised, her mouth in a thin line, though one side looked like it was beginning to turn up.

“I don’t think you did,” I shot back, still grinning. Emmy looked confused at what was going on, shooting glances between Mia and I, as well as Roman, who had now fallen to the ground in laughter, and Sam and Nik had started to laugh as well.

“Ok, that’s it!” Emmy remarked. She grabbed Mia’s forearm, and started to pull her towards the door, the whole way muttering darkly under her breath: “Honestly Mia, you drag me away from what might have been the hottest man I have ever seen before, but the moment you see some guy, you get stuck in place. I mean honestly Roman, Mia. His name was Roman!” Mia just mumbled inaudibly in agreement, gave me a fleeting wave and headed out behind her friend.

I turned back to my friends. I couldn’t shake the smile off my face.

“She is pretty,” Roman said, wiping away tears from his face, a tad dramatically. Though his whole life was lived dramatically.

“Go to hell” I responded good-naturedly.

“You haven’t stopped smiling,” Sam remarked, evenly, looking at me calculatingly. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and turned to Nik. Nik looked back with equal horror.

“Oh god!” Sammy remarked, “Oh god no!”

“What?” Roman demanded, “Whats going on?”

“He really likes her,” Nik said quietly. Roman’s eyes opened wide, and matched the look of horror that apparently was in fashion for our little quartet.

“Guys, you all need to relax,” I said turning to the bar to get my drink refilled. From the bar, I could hear them whisper, glance at me, and whisper some more, obviously planning on how to handle this new ‘crisis.’ I heard someone thump their head on the table, and in a carrying whisper remark:

“Well, we are in for some shit now, aren’t we?”

I’m writing this right after leaving a protest against Donald Trump Jr. at the MSU Union, so I apologize if things seem a little disjointed in this writing. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more discouraged about American politics than I do right now, and frankly, have for this entire election cycle. There was a literal chasm– a figurative wall, if you will, though that is a word I have come to hate. I stood with so many other protestors, chanting, asserting our humanity, refusing to accept the terror that is the Republican presidential nominee. And on the other side of the chasm stood a moderate-sized, persistent group of men– all men– wearing “Make America Great Again” hats and buttons, holding up signs, laughing at us, taking pictures of and with us, mocking us. I almost started crying at least five times during the course of the protest. Maybe I’m naïve for it, but I have always deeply loved this country. It has given my family and I so many opportunities– I am the daughter of immigrants who came here to ensure that my sisters and I would have a better life than they did growing up. I knew my whole life that I wanted to grow up and serve this country in whatever capacity I could, and I have been forging my path forward by deciding to study public affairs. I know our country is not perfect, in ANY way, shape, or form, but it is home, and I love it. The love that I have is what makes this election so scary for me. Particularly after this protest, I fear so deeply for our future. Our nation has worked to right many of the wrongs of our contentious history, and we toil onward eternally; however, I don’t know what we will be able to do to move past this, even if Hillary Clinton wins, but ESPECIALLY if Donald Trump becomes our next president. I fear, seeing so many students at my university who are unafraid to openly belittle and mock students of color– students who have genuine reason to fear a Trump presidency. I fear, reading articles about children, the most impressionable among us, reciting Trump’s racist mantras and threatening students who are different from them. I fear, thinking about if this is merely the beginning of a new era of US politics, where racism, sexism, homophobia, and xenophobia are as legitimized and blatant as they have been in previous eras of US politics. I fear that this is the new normal. I don’t have solutions to offer, and I do not know that anyone does. Oppressive structures are so deeply embedded in our country’s roots– so inextricably connected with every aspect of US society, that it would be absolutely ridiculous to assume that one candidate or one president can make a dent in them in one or two terms (a task which, absurdly, Barack Obama has been charged with doing, as the first black president). I don’t know where we will go from here. All I can do is hope and pray that the naïve ones will continue the eternal struggle to make our country great, in whatever capacity they are capable of, and through inclusivity, not exclusion. I can hope that we never lose hope, and that we don’t abandon the dreams that we have for our country, and the dreams of all those, like my parents, who moved here to make a better life for the next generation. I know that I owe it to my parents to never lose hope, and we all owe it to each other, if we want to see our country be the place we can love unabashedly.

Signed,

Ewurama Appiagyei-Dankah