The iCandidate

by Mikael Carlson

  Winston seizes the phone and hurls it against the wall, shattering it. “Everyone out. Except you, Blake, you stay right here.” Madison and Deena hurry out, and Roger closes the door behind them after they leave.

  Winston goes into his desk and pours himself a tumbler of scotch. He replaces the bottle in the drawer without offering any and takes a long sip of the amber liquid. He swirls the whiskey in the glass, watching it intently before looking up at me.

  “I expected so much more from you, Blake,” he says, keenly watching my body language. I don’t flinch. The bastard doesn’t deserve the satisfaction. “I hope you know, you were one of the rare ones. A generous mix of ambition, loyalty and political know-how, but you threw it all away. I find myself wanting to know why, but in the end I don’t really care. And do you know why, Blake?” he asks, moving around the desk and sitting on the edge in front of me. With the same hand holding his glass, he jabs a finger a mere inch from my face. “Because you don’t matter. What you did no longer matters.”

  “Do you even believe that yourself, Winston?” I ask. “Because what’s left of your phone may have a different opinion.”

  Winston lets out a little laugh and removes his finger from my face. I’m not sure if his amusement is fueled by my comment or use of his first name.

  “You think Bennit was right?”

  “I think people have seen you for what you are. You claim to be a champion of the people, but we all know you’re more concerned with power and lining your own pockets. The people you surround yourself with are lemmings. I know, because I was one. I have seen what you are capable of, what you’ve done, and once everyone else has, Bennit will be right. You’ll be finished in politics.”

  “You think you know where all the skeletons are buried?” Roger asks from behind me, anger in his voice. “You don’t know anything, and if you did, it’s not like people would listen to you. A disgraced staffer bent on revenge against his former employer won’t play well in the respected media. I’ve already seen to that.”

  I knew it was coming, but my face still registers shock at the notion that I was no longer in the employment of Winston Beaumont, representative from the Connecticut Sixth District.

  “You can’t hurt me again, son,” Beaumont concludes. “Not on Lexington, or Bennit, or anything else for that matter. You are finished in politics forever, Blake, so you’d best find another line of work. As of this instant, you’re officially no longer a member of my staff. You’re dismissed.”

  I glare at him for a moment and start to leave, but stop as I reach the door. I need to say something to save face. Some pearl of wisdom, or a warning that I, too, am not one to be trifled with. When I turn back I am cut off by Roger. Once again, he’s a step ahead of me.

  “Don’t bother, Blake. You can lash out all you want to some drunks in whatever crappy bar you find yourself drowning your sorrows at. But don’t waste our time with the empty threats you’re about to spew. You made your decision, now live with it.”

  The revelry of Beaumont’s victory devolves into hushed whispers and snickering as I do the walk of shame through the war room towards the front door. Marcus almost looks sad to see me go, but it may be the comparison against the backdrop of Madison and Deena who are delirious with joy.

  Roger may not know it now, but the final piece of sage advice he offered saved me from myself. I almost tipped my hand about what I am thinking about doing. After all, I hold a trump card I have been saving for a day just like this one, and I now have to wonder if it is time to play it. You can discredit me as a witness, but it’s much harder to dismiss your own paper trail.

  I leave the office behind and walk through the cold November night to my car. Big decisions lie ahead of me, and once again, I am unsure which path to take.

  .

  -SIXTY-THREE-

  MICHAEL

  “Feel like you’re harboring a fugitive?” I ask after knocking on her open door. Department chairs may be a step up in Millfield High, but the measly salary increase, cramped office, and weighty burden of responsibilities hardly makes the next rung on the ladder satisfying. Chalice looks up from her computer, a warm smile creeping across her face as she gets up and moves around her desk.

  “I am surprised they even let you in the building. How was the body cavity search?” she says, giving me a tight hug.

  “Pleasant. Howell used gloves this time,” I respond sarcastically.

  “I’ve missed you,” she laughs, shaking her head. “This place is just not the same without you.”

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it.”

  “And Jessica?”

  I shake my head. I do miss her, but maybe not as much as I thought. I loved her, and asked if she would spend the rest of her life with me. Then the going got tough, and she ran instead of standing by me. In the end, I couldn’t offer her the simple, uncomplicated life she wanted. She said I had to live with the consequences of my actions. Our impending marriage turned out to be one of them. In some respects, my not being here made our split easier, but not much.

  “How are my kids?” I ask, changing the subject. Chalice thinks the world of Jessica, and I really don’t want to listen to her pleading for our future.

  “If they were peachy, I wouldn’t have asked you to come. It’s only been a few days, but they lost the enthusiasm and zeal you used to bring out of them.”

  “They’re moping.” It was a statement more than a question, though Chalice confirms it with a nod of her head.

  “That’s because you destroyed their self-confidence just like I warned you would,” a voice behind me says.

  “Guess that body search isn’t over after all,” I whisper to Chalice as the bell rings indicating time to change classes.

  I turn to find Principal Howell standing in the entrance to the department workroom, a closet-like chamber you must walk through to get to Chalice’s office. His rumpled brown suit, hideous tie, and oversize glasses make him something out of an early ‘70’s episode of Starsky and Hutch.

  “What is he doing in the building, Chalice? He’s not allowed to be here.”

  “He is here as a guest speaker. An appropriate one for a contemporary issues class, wouldn’t you say?” Chalice replies sweetly. She can really lay it on thick.

  “Why didn’t you clear it through me?” Howell responds, getting annoyed at the challenge to his authority.

  “Because as department chair, I’m granted authority to approve all guest speakers for the teachers in my charge,” Chalice replies, not backing down for an instant. “You made that rule, remember, Robinson?”

  Howell gets red in the face, but says nothing, instead locking his eyes on me.

  “I have to run to class,” Chalice says, wanting to be safe in a different port when this storm brewing between Howell and I hits. “Don’t be late Michael. You know how I hate tardiness,” she says with a wink before excusing herself.

  “The school board is going to decide whether or not your suspension will be permanent,” Howell fires out to start the fun. “Even though the charges leveled against you turned out to be false, or so it is claimed, they feel the disruption you caused may be enough to warrant your termination.”

  When someone thinks they have the upper hand and sets out to push your buttons, there are only three real responses. You can get angry, which is exactly what they want. You can try to reason with them, which will never have any effect. Or you can remain silent, which will frustrate them until they get angry. When dealing with Robinson Howell, the choice is easy.

  “You probably know where I stand on the issue.”

  I just continue to stare at him blankly.

  “If I get my way, I will make sure you never teach again, not in this building, not anywhere,” he exclaims, getting angrier and even pointing a finger at my chest.

  Good attempt at provoking me, but not going to work.

  “I warned you this would happen, remember? You should have listened to me. But no, you need
ed to be a maverick.”

  I think he forgets I spent a long time on active duty. I have been chewed out by men far better than him and still used the same thousand yard stare I am giving him now.

  “Was it worth it, Michael? I mean, was it really worth it?” he asks, exasperated and at his wit’s end. Now.

  “Absolutely,” I say, catching him by surprise. “It was a rollercoaster ride, but I wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything.”

  “I will never understand you,” he replies in utter disgust.

  “I would never expect you to. Of our many differences, there is one particularly important one,” I say getting closer to him than I ever wanted to be. “You’d never challenge yourself, or take that extra step to do something important. It’s way outside of your comfort zone.

  “You’re content being the big fish in a small pond. And no matter how big of a man you think you are right now, at the end of the day, this building will always just be a small pond. I may have gotten eaten by sharks, but least I swam in the ocean. If people followed me, it’s because they wanted to, not because I made them.”

  Robinson scoffs at my rebuttal. I don’t expect him to listen, much less understand what I’m trying to tell him. A thirsty horse wouldn’t follow this guy to water, and the only thing this sorry excuse for an educator inspires in others is a gag reflex.

  “It’s not that you will never understand me, Robinson, it’s that you can’t. You only know how to play it safe and do what you’re told. I challenged a small group of students, and together we inspired a nation. You challenge and inspire nothing, including yourself. So you can stand here and gloat all you want about taking my job, but always remember that I have experienced more in the past three months than you will for the rest of your miserable, pathetic life.”

  Howell is speechless, his mouth agape in shock. Time for the parting words I have long wanted to say.

  “Now get out of my way, you arrogant, little prick,” I threaten, physically brushing him aside as I move past him. That display will officially end my teaching career at Millfield High School, but damn it felt good.

  * * *

  “Now that the election is over, I thought I would bring in a special Friday guest speaker who wants to get your thoughts on it,” I listen to Chalice say from outside the classroom, along with a groan from the class. “Hey, it’s not every day students play such an active role in an election. So without any further ado …”

  I have no idea how she knew I was waiting. I guess all the best teachers have a sixth sense about such things. And despite being my former boss, I can say without hesitation, she is one of the best ever.

  I am not sure exactly what they were expecting, but from the collective gasp that sucked most of the oxygen out of the room, it certainly wasn’t me. The room is arranged exactly as I left it, from the horseshoe of desks to the décor on the walls. I take up my familiar place on ‘the stage’ and look at the faces staring back at me. Chelsea, Brian, Vince, and all the primary campaign staff are there. I have also seen each and every other student in the room working on the campaign in one capacity or another. That says a lot about just how many lives we touched this fall.

  “Mister Bennit, before you start, I want to say something,” Chelsea says, with both confidence and remorse. The shy girl who wandered into my classroom her freshman year has definitely grown up. She never would have started this conversation six months ago. “On behalf of the class, I want to say we're sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Sorry we failed,” Xavier says despondently. I was wrong, they aren’t moping at all. They’re depressed, and I feel like I need a Zoloft just talking to them.

  “Isn’t failure relative to how you measure success?” School is back in session for me. Chalice gives me a quick knowing smile and retreats to sit at my old desk in the corner. As a veteran of several evaluations, she has never been shy about how much she enjoys watching me teach. Or in this case, be a ‘guest speaker.’

  “You didn't win. That's how we measure success,” Amanda says.

  I close my eyes and sigh theatrically. “This campaign was never about me winning a seat in Congress, guys.”

  “Wait, what?” Peyton articulates as only she can. The class trades confused glances with each other.

  “You know, I didn't sleep much last night. In fact, I really haven’t slept well since the election. Too much adrenaline running through my system, and probably too much caffeine.”

  “Big surprise there,” Vince adds with a smile. That causes a little chuckle with the class, providing a much needed tension breaker.

  “At first I thought it was post-election letdown,” I continue. “Then I realized that I’m not sleeping because I was afraid you missed the point of all this.”

  “What point?” Brian asks directly.

  “Look around you. History is easy to study because you know what’s going to happen. The outcome has already been decided, and based on that outcome, you can speculate on which decisions should and should not have been made.”

  I stare up at images of the great men and women who have played such a pivotal role in the direction of our country. I never fully appreciated what many of them went through to earn their place in history. Washington, Lincoln, Susan B. Anthony, Martin Luther King Jr., FDR … the drama, strife and uneasiness that tormented them are never captured by textbooks or scholarly works. Now I get it, even if my own experience pales by comparison.

  “Life isn’t like that. How things turn out is not predetermined. If you truly want to make a difference in this world, you have to make decisions under pressure and hope the outcome is what you wanted.”

  “The outcome we wanted is you winning,” Peyton exclaims, still not getting my point.

  “Your winning would have been our legacy,” Chelsea adds immediately.

  “Seriously guys, when we started this back in the summer, did any of you really think we would win? No, you stood in the middle of Briar Point and wondered what we could do to not get killed.”

  “But that changed,” Vince says from the back of the room.

  “It did change, Vince. You guys changed it. You involved yourselves in the political process and managed to somehow get other teenagers to put down their video game controllers and follow. In the process, you inspired America. Making a difference happens through action and sacrifice, not just talk. You guys proved that. That was the point I needed you to understand.”

  The students are quiet. Many are looking down at the ground but it is apparent that they are letting my words sink in.

  “Kylie blasted you in her article. She criticized everything we did in this campaign. She called using social media to pick a representative a ‘joke’ and our failure to talk about issues damaging to the political process. I thought she was an ally. Why would she do that?” Emilee asks with fire in her voice. She liked Kylie a lot, so I’m not surprised she was angry and hurt by what was written. Considering I had to make her promise to even write it, she didn’t hold back.

  “Because she’s a lying bitch, that’s why,” Vanessa blurts out in disgust. V doesn’t mince her words.

  “Typical reporter. Always looking for the next story,” Vince adds.

  “Guys, I hate to break this to you, but Kylie wrote exactly what I wanted her to.”

  “What? Why?” Vanessa asks, astonished. From the looks on the faces in the room, everyone shares that sentiment.

  “Do you really want to live in a world where you select your leaders based solely on what they post on Facebook and Twitter?”

  “We almost won that way,” Chelsea concludes.

  “Precisely my point. And it’s exactly what I wanted America to see. I wanted her to write that article regardless of what happened in the election to show how ridiculous the notion is.”

  “That’s why you never talked about issues,” Amanda realizes. “You didn’t care about winning. You wanted to teach America a lesson using social media as your classro
om.”

  I nod. “Something like that, yeah.”

  “Always the teacher,” I hear Chelsea mumble.

  “I don’t get it,” Peyton responds, the confusion written all over her face. Many others in the class are pleading for an explanation as well.

  “After getting back from my last tour in Afghanistan, I made a promise to dedicate my life to making a difference in this world. It started with teaching you. It ended with trying to teach something to all Americans. Elections have become nothing more than a popularity contest in this country. Look at who we elect. Thieves and crooks who abuse their power and make a living taking our freedoms and wasting our tax dollars. Our good buddy Winston Beaumont is the perfect exemplar of that.

  “We don’t demand enough from those who represent us. I tried to make a mockery out of the process by not going out and meeting people. Refusing to address the issues punctuated my point. Social media is an effective way to communicate and stay informed, but we cannot afford to rely on those means as a society. Choosing those who lead us is serious business. Americans need to start taking it more seriously. I thought I could help them reach that conclusion.

  “And that’s why Kylie wrote the article?” Emilee asks, realizing the woman she looked up to didn’t betray us after all.

  “The message was lost after election day. The media didn’t connect the dots. I needed Kylie to explain it to the public so they’d understand, and now it’s all anyone in the news is talking about. It will create a national debate for years to come on how we measure those running for office.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Xavier asks.

  “Would you have understood if I did?”

  “Wait, so you planned all this?”

  “Not exactly, Peyton. I never dreamed this campaign of ours would go so far. I never imagined Beaumont would feel threatened enough to go after you guys. When he did, it made it personal for me, and I wanted to win as bad as you did. But what surprised me the most is through it all, you never gave up. You made a promise to stick with it, and you did. That took incredible courage and character. You just can’t teach that in school.”