“Rest?” her eyes bulged. “I thought you kidding?”
I laughed. “No! I was serious. Here, this makes five-thousand total.”
I handed it to her. She stared at the crisp bills in the palm of her hand in disbelief.
She wrapped her arms around me again.
“Thank you, thank you so much. You are a great man.”
She squeezed me tight.
“I hope it helps you and your daughter.”
“It help a lot. Very much. Your mother must be proud.”
My mother…
“Thank you. I hope she is, too.”
Laura inspected me. “Owen, you look tired. Go rest.”
“I guess you’re right,” I admitted. “Thank you for all of this.” I grabbed the bags and put them on my arms. I gave her one more hug goodbye.
“No, thank you. I pray for you, Owen. Take care.”
“I will Laura, you do the same.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Remember, teach the people how to swim. Expose their shallow lie…”
“I will remember. Thank you for your advice. Goodnight!”
“Goodnight,” she replied. I walked past the lobby and around the breezeway toward my room. As I neared it Laura’s words echoed in my mind.
“Remember, teach the people how to swim. Expose their shallow lie…”
I rinsed my foamy hair under the hot shower. The chemical smell of the dye filled my nose. I even put some on my eyebrows. In a few minutes, I would no longer be the most wanted Owen Marina. I would be a blond, oddly-dressed version of myself. Hopefully, it would be enough not to get recognized out in the public. As I washed my body the longevity of the day was apparent. My muscles were exhausted and I was becoming sleepy.
I turned off the water and stepped out. I dried off and wrapped the towel around my waist. The mirror was covered in steam. I wiped it off and laughed at myself. I was bleach-blond. It reminded me of when my wrestler friends in high school would make bets if they won a certain match the whole team would have to go blond.
With the towel still around my waist, I walked to the bed where the plastic bags of clothes sat.
“…Breaking news coming in from Georgetown University Hospital tonight…”
I froze. The TV was still on from before my shower. I couldn’t breathe.
“Cole Pavich, co-founder and Chairman of the Convergence Party was pronounced dead moments ago. Doctors say the extent of the damage done to major arteries was too great, and he succumbed to his wounds at 9:20 p.m….”
A tremor arose within me. The hot tears blurred my vision and fell past my lips. I groaned and let out the loudest of guttural cries. I choked, and my lungs burned from coughing. I collapsed to the floor—sobbing violently—hiccupping cries without end. The skin on my forehead and cheeks hurt from being so scrunched up. I felt empty and nauseous inside. Part of me was gone…vanished…dead. I felt alone before today. I’d felt alone for a long time, but now, I was truly alone. That loneliness, that emptiness, was eroding. It dissolved the soul, it chipped away at it. The pain in my chest was unbearable. The tears were endless. With Cole’s death, half of their battle was won. They killed my other half—my teacher, mentor, and closest friend. Half of our party died tonight. I sobbed harder from the thought. In the background of groaning cries the newscast continued.
“…This leaves Owen Marina as the sole founder of the Convergence Party. Although, given his recent terrorist activity, this might very well be the party’s downfall. Analysts are already saying the polls will most likely reflect lower numbers in light of the bombings at Georgetown. What does this mean for the Convergence Party? We don’t yet know. Senator Goodman will remain in the race, but the party’s future looks bleak. Meanwhile, the manhunt for Owen still continues…”
I couldn’t contain my pain. Hearing those words, that reality, was like being shot in the gut and left for dead—bleeding out. My spirit was being sapped from me, my energy, my willpower. I felt like the walls of the room were closing in, and I closed my eyes to avoid the sensation. In two days, they had transformed my party from the undoubted victor to the most questionable choice on the ballot. One founder dead, and the other a wanted terrorist. They had reduced me to this, hiding in a dumpy motel and lying naked on the worn carpet. Whoever they were…they were winning.
“Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.”
- 6 -
“You and I aren’t all that different, you know,” he said, sitting across from me on his bunk.
I looked up at him. His statement was questionable.
“How do you figure that?” I asked. “You’re a rich politician.”
“Not anymore, I already told you. I was a representative for two terms back in Pennsylvania, and then I came here to lobby those bastards into doing the right thing.”
“How did that turn out for you?”
“Bad. I’ve witnessed it countless times. Money is going from one hand to the other, nothing really gets done, it’s all a big show. The lobbyist scratches the politician’s back in the form of financial support, and the politician scratches the lobbyist’s back by including their special interest in the back of some ridiculously long bill. It’s not about the people anymore, it’s about capital. I tried to change things when I was in the House. I tried as a lobbyist, and yet all I did was scratch the surface. How can you affect the direction of a machine that has been on the wrong path for years? How do you stop a train with that much speed, with enough fuel to keep it going for the next century, and with so many people riding it?”
“That’s a damn good question…” I murmured.
“The answer is right in front of us!” he exclaimed, slapping the backside of his hand against his open palm. “This—the Confinement. This is what we needed to be the catalyst for change, something this drastic. Imagine this as a wildfire. Once the ash settles, it will make the ground more fertile, and from that soot-covered ground we will emerge. Something entirely new, a new party, and a new direction for our country.”
His enthusiasm made me crack a smile.
“Cole, with all due respect, I’m a chemist. I don’t know the first thing about what it takes to create a political party.”
“But you understand! You see the flaws in our system just like I do. We both work for the same people—”
“Half of the people who live in this area work for the government,” I interjected.
He shook his head at my sardonic comment.
“Owen, you’re different from them. I can tell.”
“Why me?” I pressed. “What is it about me, Cole, which has you so fixated on the fact that I’m your guy? We’ve talked for weeks about this, and I’m still not sold on the idea that we could create something the whole country would latch on to. People have been bickering red versus blue since before my grandparents’ time. Why should I believe for a second that we could accomplish a feat that ambitious?”
He blinked and remained expressionless.
“Well, if we don’t do it, someone else will. Some group or organization will try to become the diamond in the rough. But, the problem is most people who gain influence and power abuse it. They become greedy and want more. On the contrary, if we were the first ones to rise from the ashes…the first ones with the bright idea…we would have the spotlight. Now here is the kicker. Once we have the spotlight, we focus on the people. We use all of our power and influence to dismantle the current system, and then rebuild it. That way, it keeps greed and corruption out of the equation.”
My eyes darted across the floor. I pondered his statement.
“All right, I’ll throw the ball back in your court. Let’s say we did create a revolutionary political party, and it attracted a mass following. Who would be our candidate? What would be our platform? You saw the numbers after Black Monday. Our economy is toast, dozens of the biggest banks around the country were set afire, and now we are all trapped here for God knows how long. Don’t you figure it will be j
ust as stagnant after all of this is over?”
He revealed a small smile.
“Do you know who Senator John Goodman is?” he asked.
“No. I told you, I’m a chemist.”
“Typical American citizen,” he scoffed. “You know zilch about the people who make your laws.”
“I don’t care,” I retorted.
“Aren’t you mad about being stuck here, behind these fences? Aren’t you tired of eating this shitty food and sleeping in the cold with a hundred other people?”
“Yes,” I answered, shooting him an intense glare.
“Well then, now you care.”
His logic resonated through my mind like a bell ringing.
“Okay. I see your point. This Goodman guy, who is he?”
“He is one of the two senators of Pennsylvania. He is a democrat, but his track record is solid—bipartisan and very independent. I know he must be losing his mind right now with the rest of those idiots on Capitol Hill. I hope they are writing a bill to veto Obama’s executive order. Anyone with half a brain knows that this was a totalitarian move.”
“What if they never let us go?” I asked.
My statement caused Cole to freeze. Behind his green eyes, I saw that my words struck a chord. In his mind, those words were unspeakable.
“You can’t think like that, Owen. You can’t.”
I stayed quiet—just staring back at him.
“Anyway, back to what I was saying…Goodman is a democrat, but, if we gave him a new party to lead, to represent, we might have a ticket to the White House. Think about how angry everyone is. How everybody we’ve run into in the lunch lines says this was the final straw. We can use their anger to fuel the change. We will have the support we need.”
His idea was alluring. I’ve listened to this gray-haired man with a type-A personality rant about this for the past few weeks. Since our bunk beds were side-by-side, I couldn’t avoid him. He kept telling me that maybe we ran into each other for a reason. I remember at one point he called it fate. Regardless, I had nothing but time, and I lent him my ear. Something still didn’t click with me, though, and I couldn’t figure it out. I wasn’t one to go outside of my field of expertise. Last time I checked, politics and chemistry didn’t mix.
“Your idea makes sense,” I acknowledged. “But, I still don’t get it. Why me? I know nothing about politics. I don’t even vote. Why out of the hundreds of thousands of people in our district have you chosen me?”
He shook his head at my persistence and pushed back his hair behind his ear. He started laughing and seemed to be very hesitant.
“Owen, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever looked at yourself in a mirror?”
I stared at him dumbfounded.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
“I am,” he replied firmly. “You look like you belong in some Abercrombie catalog.”
I tried to form words, but air just slipped out.
“You want me just because of my looks? What kind of bullshit is that?”
He leaned in and motioned for me to lower my voice, grabbing my shoulder.
“No, no, no. I told you not to take it the wrong way—”
“How else am I supposed to take it?” I spat. “So I’m useless to you, besides a handsome face.”
“Owen, calm down,” he begged, and his grip on my shoulder tightened. “You’re more than that. That’s what I told you earlier, remember? You’ve got the whole package. You’re smart, witty, and just happen to have good looks, too.”
I exhaled—trying to let his words sink in.
“Every successful organization needs a figurehead, someone the public can immediately recognize as the leader. You’re it, Owen. You will be the face of our party.”
“What if I don’t want to be the face of your party,” I countered.
“It’s not my party, it’s our party. We will be co-founders, fifty-fifty in everything we do.”
I was still heated.
“I don’t know. I’m just not fond of the idea of being known for my looks and earning my living off of that.”
Cole slid his hands up his face, stretching the skin out. He let out an exasperated sigh.
“You said a while back ago you work for who, the EPA?”
“Yes. I’m a field chemist.”
“Do you love it?”
“I like it. I’m good at it,” I answered.
“I asked you if you love it,” he repeated.
His question irritated me.
“I like it most days, and hate it others. I’ve never really loved working.”
Cole grinned from my answer, which kind of freaked me out.
“How old are you?”
“Are we playing twenty questions?” I joked.
“Just answer the damn question.”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“And I am a couple years from sixty,” he announced.
“You don’t look like almost-sixty.”
“Thank you, but anyway, take a lesson from me, kid. Time is going to fly by so fast you won’t know what happened to it all. Look at me, Owen. I tried to do things the old-school way. I got a couple degrees and with all my hard work I became a representative in the House. I could hardly put a dent in the system. Those fuckers filibustered me until they were blue in the face. I’ve been Washington’s bitch, as have oh so many before me that have failed at fixing the system. What I realized, though, is you can’t fix something that no one is admitting is broken. Those politicians who just want to keep themselves rich, hold those broken pieces together to make it seem like everything is fine, just long enough to make it to election time. Do you really want to waste your youth climbing the corporate ladder?”
“No,” I mumbled. Honesty had slipped out.
“Exactly. We have a chance to create something monumental here, something that could change the course of American History. In the wake of one of the worst terrorist attacks in our nation’s history, and in the wake of the worst stock market crash since the twenties, we will emerge. I’m getting old, Owen. I’ve already passed my prime. You’ve just barely taken a peek at yours. That is something special. Together we can go down in history as the founders of the party that changed the face of American Politics. Articles will be written about us in textbooks one day. That could be ours, all while simultaneously leveling the playing field…giving the power back to the people…back to the voters—the way it should be.”
“Your idea…it makes sense,” I admitted.
“See! Now you’re coming around!” he hollered, roughhousing me.
“All right, all right—relax,” I laughed.
“One day Owen, I’ll be gone,” he began, his tone serious. “The real question for you is, once you’ve left this world…how do you want to be remembered?”
- 7 -
I awoke in tears. When I slipped away from the dream, the crying had begun. Hearing Cole’s voice, even in a dream, was enough to make me hysterical.
He’s gone.
Hearing those words in my head made me blubber.
I was still naked. The towel hung loosely at my waist, and I had somehow managed to make my way onto the bed in the middle of the night. I shivered; cold air sneaked in through the cracks in the door. The weather stripping was gone. Angrily, I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat up. In the mirror on the dresser, I stared back at my new appearance. Bleach-blond Owen Marina. I hoped this would help conceal my identity. The chase I endured yesterday was exhausting. If I could, I’d stop running from them. But what else could I do?
I couldn’t run forever, though. I needed a plan. I needed answers.
My dream felt so real, so vivid. Our conversation that day was when I finally agreed to go along with his plan. It took him weeks to convince me. The last words he said before I woke up still echoed in my mind.
“One day Owen, I’ll be gone. The real question for you is, once you’ve left this world…how do you want to be remembered?”
His voice caused me to cry again. I never imagined he would be gone so soon.
That question—how did I want to be remembered? It was what sold me, that day. It made me realize that my effort could go towards a cause that was bigger than myself…something that could potentially change the course of history. In the months following the Confinement, after our party’s inception, he was right. It did spread like wildfire. From the soot-covered ground, we emerged.
Now, though, the words which Cole said the most often during our time in the Confinement plagued me. That we being assigned bunks side-by-side was fate. I sat here, on this creaky old bed, all alone, naked and depressed. How could this have been our fate? It didn’t add up. Everything we had worked for was in the shitter. I was boxed in and had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. I just hoped that fate had something else up its sleeve. Something that would save me from this situation—a miracle.
“Have a good one,” I said as I tipped the taxi driver. He pulled off and I turned around to face the coffee shop. It was in a long strip mall. I left my bike in the bushes back at the hotel, it wasn’t worth the risk being seen on it. I would ride it during the night.
From the outside, this coffee shop appeared typical to the South. It was in a strip mall, with a catchy name to stand out. The weather was overcast, and as I walked in the warmth relieved me from the cold.
Ahh, that smell. Coffee overwhelmed my senses. It was my life-blood.
As the door closed behind me, I walked into line. Behind my sunglasses I was glancing around at everyone, and not a single person seemed to have noticed my entrance. Or, at least, they didn’t know who I really was.
More people came into the shop and stood behind me. The baristas were swamped, and the line was kind of misshapen and awkward. The woman in front of me stepped forward. When I followed, I caught the sweet smell of coconut and a light perfume.
A guy walked from behind and cut in front of the woman ahead of me. He patted the guy’s back and they began conversing. The woman took a step back to give him room, as did I.
The Gambit Page 11
