“Amanda Beatty. Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier.”
“It’s fine.” I let go of her hand and nodded to her other hand, where she was pulling her phone out of her purse. “Go ahead and take your video whenever you’re ready.”
Everyone else was still watching us, Kaya in particular, but no one said anything as Amanda set up her phone and Emmet arranged himself on his chair in what I knew was his best Roosevelt Blues Brothers pose. When Amanda gave him the thumbs-up sign, indicating she’d begun filming, Emmet began to speak.
“Hi, Neil. This is Emmet Washington, one of The Roosevelt Blues Brothers. I’m here with your mom, who says you like to watch our videos. She says you’re the same as me, that you have autism.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a little Emmet smile, and he rocked in his chair, humming, and I hid my own grin, because I knew he’d done it on purpose, letting himself rock and hum so Neil could see him doing it. “That’s cool. It means you’re a Roosevelt Blues Brother too. You don’t need to have the sunglasses or the hat or the suit to be one, either, though they’re fun to have, and you can make your own kind at home. They should be clothes you feel good in, that don’t itch or make you feel uncomfortable. So if a suit similar to ours doesn’t feel right, don’t worry. A real Roosevelt Blues Brother finds their own suit. Also a Roosevelt Blues Brother can be a girl. So if you meet a friend who wants to be a Roosevelt Blues Brother with you and she’s a girl, it’s okay. You can call it a different name too.
“What matters is you’re like me and my friends, Neil. You’re special. No matter what anyone at school tells you, no matter what laws anyone passes or doesn’t pass, you’re a superhero. You have superpowers. You can see and hear things other people can’t. Feel things other people can’t. Sometimes other people get jealous of your powers and say mean things. Ignore them. You’re a Roosevelt Blues Brother. Roosevelt Blues Brothers don’t care about that stuff, because we’re cool. We’re better than those people. We don’t let people get us down. We don’t quit. If someone tells us no, we find another way.
“I hope I get to meet you someday, Neil. I bet you’re a super-cool Roosevelt Blues Brother. I’m going to end this video now and have my dinner, but you take good care of your mom and your family, superhero. Don’t forget to try everything, and stay happy.” He paused for a second, then added, “That’s the end of what I want to say.”
Amanda had already stopped the video. She was crying, and so was Kaya, and so was the waitstaff and half our table, to be honest. I was close, but I was so proud of Emmet, so overcome, I couldn’t, not quite. Also I knew it would confuse him if I did right then and there, so I held it together, as best I could anyway.
“Thank you.” Amanda’s voice was a whisper as she put the phone away. She didn’t attempt to wipe her tears, but she also looked as if she wanted to hug Emmet, though she made no effort to do so. “Thank you so much, Mr. Washington.”
“You’re welcome. And you can call me Emmet.” Then he turned around in his chair. “Excuse me. I would like you to go now.”
The woman apologized and rose, and Kaya quickly followed her, going, I knew, to smooth over Emmet’s rough edges. It was funny because you’d think someone who had a son with autism would be accustomed to bluntness, though I also knew from living with both Darren and Emmet that autism came in many shapes and sizes. I also knew Emmet’s bluntness could be tough to take at times no matter how accustomed you were to it.
What I also was aware of, however, was right now the reason Emmet was so curt was he too was overwhelmed. I knew he didn’t want to talk, knew he wasn’t asking anything from me because he was processing the encounter in his own way. That said, as I rubbed my thumb along my engagement ring, I acknowledged I needed a little something from him. Or rather, I needed to tell him something.
Pulling out my own phone, I typed a message on a notepad and set it on the table between us, in the range of his camera vision where I knew he could see it.
I love you.
He didn’t react, not at first. But eventually he picked up my phone, held it for a moment, then put it down. When I glanced at it again, it read:
J: I love you.
E: I love you too.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Emmet
I woke up the morning of Lobby Day and stared at my ceiling, certain we would win.
It felt like my algorithm. Part of my brain had been working on the formula this whole time. It had finally discovered the missing parts, and now it knew. I couldn’t quite work out how I was so sure, but I wasn’t nervous anymore. We were going to get what we needed. The bill wouldn’t pass. Everything would be fine.
Everything would be fine.
I hummed to myself as I showered, shaved, and got dressed. Jeremey met me in the hallway as I went to the kitchen. He was still half asleep, but he smiled at me, his hair all messy and his eyes half closed. I stopped him and kissed him though he hadn’t brushed his teeth yet.
We’re going to win. It’s going to be fine.
We were all nervous as we loaded the van. Kaya kept double-checking things and asking David if his dad had other supplies we’d need. Darren kept looking at his social media sites and rocking in place. Jeremey stroked Mai’s head and put his hand on my leg. David was grumpy and picked fights with Kaya. Everyone was on edge. This wasn’t going to help us with our performance.
I wanted to give a pep talk like in the movies, but I didn’t know any pep talks. I should have thought to memorize one. I looked them up, but the only one that sounded good was the one from Henry V or Independence Day, and we weren’t fighting the French or aliens from space. I thought about the one from Rocky Balboa, but it talked too much about hitting people. So in the end I let them be nervous until we passed the Interstate 80 interchange, when I reminded Kaya to put the music on.
We calmed somewhat as we sang the song a few times, and by the time we got to the parking lot we were laughing and teasing each other again. Bob was already there along with the tech people setting up our stage—my mom was there too, and my dad, and Althea, and Jan, and Darren’s parents and the rest of David’s family. There were all kinds of people there, in fact, and more came every minute. Within an hour of our arrival, the capitol green was full of people, chanting and clapping and dancing to the music coming from the speakers set up on the stage.
We weren’t the only people scheduled to perform, but we were the headliners. While we got into our costumes, local bands played, and Kaya and other members of the foundation spoke to the crowd. We were told the vote would happen in the early afternoon, and the plan was to warm up the crowd and then pack the auditorium and the rotunda and lobby of the building with people to pressure the lawmakers. With this many people, I couldn’t see how they could do anything but vote the bill down. There were more people than could fit in the seats in the chamber, than could safely fit in the lobby.
We’re going to win, I told my octopus.
Once we were dressed, we stood in the wings of the stage, waiting for our turn. A drag queen was on stage now, the Shakira impersonator who would be performing with us this time. She’d come to rehearse with us a few times this week, and it was fun to work with her. Once we were done, I would give my speech, we’d shake hands at the edge of the rope line, and then we’d move inside.
The rally was the biggest crowd we’d performed for yet, and when we came out, I was nervous at first. My octopus went nuts for a few minutes. But I focused on my brothers, on Jeremey, and it was okay.
It was scary, but it was exciting too. We really were rock stars on that stage. Everyone loved us, and we felt like heroes. I understood then how much we were heroes to all those people there. I realized how much good we were about to do, how many people we were about to help by stopping this bill and building The Roosevelt Foundation, and I was proud of myself.
I sang along sometimes instead of lip-syncing—we didn’t have microphones, so no one could hear me, but I could feel the song in my chest, a
nd it made me happy. The music buzzed in me, and though it was a little loud, I didn’t mind. I spun Jeremey around, felt my octopus flutter at his smile, and in that moment, my life was the most perfect it had ever been.
“Stopping this bill is only the first step,” I told the audience during my speech. It was what Kaya and the rest of the foundation board had decided I should say, and I agreed with all the words, feeling them hum in my chest just as the song had. “We need to take serious steps to care for every resident of the state of Iowa, including those with mental health problems and those with special needs. We need to not think about shutting people like me and my friends away but helping us thrive and become contributing members of society. We need to think about how to give everyone quality of life, not simply providing the bare minimum to keep people alive. We need to make ending abuse and neglect a priority. And most of all we need to stop making the first question we ask, ‘How much will this cost?’ We need to ask instead, ‘What does this population need?’ and then problem-solve how to fund that need.”
Kaya had told me to pause for applause here, and people did clap, so I waited until they were finished before I continued. “Now let’s go tell our elected officials what we think they should do on our behalf and not let special interests tell them instead. Our assistants will help you approach the capitol in an orderly fashion, and if you’re not able to get inside, don’t worry. We have ways for you to still be part of the process. Thank you for coming—today you’re all Roosevelt Blues Brothers!”
They cheered at this, and David and Darren and Jeremey raised their hands in the air with me as the audience did the same. I’d noticed there were more than a few people who’d come in Blues Brothers outfits, or a version of the outfit, which was fun. Several people in wheelchairs were dressed up, and when we did the rope line, they came up to David to talk to him. Jeremey and I had to stop to have our picture taken with a girl with Down syndrome, and several other people too. But we couldn’t stay long, because we had to go to the capitol—Kaya had gotten word the vote would happen soon.
Someone started singing “Try Everything” as we rounded the corner to the entrance, and the song echoed in the building as we made our way into the rotunda area, where we were told we had to be quiet as we entered. Because of David’s chair, Kaya and The Roosevelt Blues Brothers had to be seated on the main floor, so we walked straight on in, right in the same place as the representatives themselves. Bob, my mother, and the others were up in the balcony.
I’d never been in the house chamber. It was old and beautiful and intimidating. The windows were high and had big red curtains. There were tall pillars all around, and everything seemed too fancy. We sat in chairs instead of the rows of benches because of David, and I was glad because the old seats didn’t look comfortable.
There were so many people, and so much was going on. I had to rock in my chair, back and forth, and I hummed softly under my breath. Something had changed, somehow, from walking through the rotunda to here. Outside and in the hallway, I’d still felt certain we would win. In here, though, my algorithm felt strained. As if suddenly I had discovered a variable that mattered a great deal, one I hadn’t accounted for.
It was almost all men in the room at the desks in a half circle. Older white men who didn’t smile, wearing suits and ties, talking to younger people in suits running around and bringing them things. They spoke to each other too, standing off to the side in pairs and in threes, sometimes in small groups. They whispered or spoke in low voices at pitches that made my octopus uneasy. Sometimes they worked on computers, but mostly they spoke to one another, their heads close together. Even if I could have read faces, I think I would have had a difficult time understanding them.
RJ King was there, in the desks, talking to the men in suits.
I drew a breath and flapped twice, my algorithm shuddering.
Kaya appeared, smiling as she sat beside Jeremey. “They’re about to call for the vote. We’re holding out for three representatives, but our people are working the floor, and everyone knows about the crowd outside the capitol. They’re still singing and chanting. It’s all over. There’s no way they can vote for it now.”
She said this, but my camera eyes tracked RJ King as he wove through the desks, through the men in suits. Smiling. Touching. Talking.
I flapped again.
I wasn’t sure we were going to win anymore.
They called for the representatives to vote for the bill, for our bill, the one we wanted them to vote down.
I watched the board on the wall where they displayed the count.
It took several minutes, each side rising in bursts as the representatives pushed their buttons on their desks. Some weren’t there, so they didn’t push. Some were still talking, so they didn’t vote right away.
Some of them were talking to RJ King.
None of us spoke. We all watched the board, waiting to see the final tally. Except I knew how many representatives there were, how many no or yes votes we needed in order to have a winner, so I knew the number we needed to reach to be safe. I kept waiting for it, watching for the number to rise.
All the while I wondered if I should have been on the floor before the vote too. I wondered if I should have been shaking hands and smiling. If I should have been talking in low voices instead of giving speeches in a silly outfit. I watched the YES numbers climb higher and higher, always higher than the NO, and I kept thinking how we had been outside, singing and dancing, while RJ King had been in here, shaking hands with men in suits.
He’d told me he was going to win.
The math was proving he had been correct in his prediction.
I’ve always liked my camera eyes. I enjoy being able to watch people and see things without people realizing I can see them. But as the final votes came in and the bill officially passed, I didn’t care for my camera eyes at all. Because the whole room stared. Everyone looked at me, their faces complicated, as the crowd roared in shock and anger, as the state troopers called for order.
RJ King looked at me too, his face smiling and ugly at the same time. Then he turned away and talked to another man in a suit, his usual RJ King smile back in place.
“Emmet.” Jeremey’s voice was a whisper. He was upset.
I was too. I could feel my feelings, so many of them at once, coming at me in a great big wave.
The sea I had not been able to shelter.
My hands shook as I signed to Jeremey. I need to leave right now.
Jeremey took my hand, helped me to stand. Someone grabbed my other hand—it was Darren. Tears streamed down his face as he called out, a single syllable, sad and broken in the center.
One of my tears fell as we left, Mai leading us and David coming up behind, holding on to Darren’s other hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jeremey
I couldn’t believe we actually lost.
Part of me was sure it had been a mistake. How could they vote for the bill when so many people had showed up to tell them to vote against it? How?
It was as if from the moment the call went out that the bill had passed, that we had lost, the world rippled. I felt like I’d fallen into the wrong timeline. I was sure we’d win. I was sure we had won. This had to be a mistake. It wasn’t possible for us to have lost. Not with all these people. Not with all our chanting and our…
It didn’t make sense. How could we have lost? How?
As I hurried with the others through the crowd, as Kaya and Mai cleared us a path through the people crying and whispering—There they go, that’s them, The Roosevelt Blues Brothers, the ones who sang, oh my God, they must be so upset right now—all I could think was how this was a mix-up, how somewhere else there was a version of me celebrating our victory, not rushing away trying not to cry.
Except I was crying. Tears kept running down my face, and by the time we left the building, I was sobbing.
The others were too—Darren kept his head bowed, but he would make these little gas
ps every now and again, and his shoulders would shake. Emmet was flapping, the kind of flapping he did when he didn’t want to flap but couldn’t help himself. David wept, hard enough he was making it difficult for himself to breathe, and he had to work to keep his airway clear.
Mai kept trying to soothe me, pawing my leg to comfort me, but I didn’t know how to explain to her there was nowhere to take me right now, no way to calm me. This was a hurt she wasn’t trained to mend, that nothing could fix.
Kaya was crying too, but she kept pulling herself together—she’d sort of fall to pieces, see how lost we were, then straighten up and find some kind of new strength. “I can’t get a hold of Bob or Marietta. They were up in the balcony, and there are too many people using cell phones. Signal’s jammed.” She wiped her eyes furiously, trying to pull herself together. “I’ll get the van and bring it over. You guys wait over there by the loading zone, okay?” She left, but she kissed us all on the forehead first, even Darren. “It’s going to be okay.” Her voice broke, and new tears fell from her eyes. “We’re not going to give up, do you hear me? We’re not done fighting. Nothing stops The Roosevelt Blues Brothers. I’ve got your back. And right now I’ve got your van.”
I felt lost when she left. There were too many other people around us, all of them staring. We were still in our costumes, and for the first time I didn’t feel cool in them. I felt conspicuous. We weren’t the heroes anymore, or at least not right now. We were the losers. We were crying, vulnerable, falling apart, descending into the aspects of our disabilities we didn’t want put on display. I could feel my panic attack ready to burst out of me. Emmet looked as if he wanted a wall to bang his head against. David was jerky and upset, drooling from his crying. I didn’t know Darren’s breakdowns well enough to predict them, but I knew it wasn’t pretty either, that he’d start making noises and gestures that would make him seem strange and awkward, unfamiliar.
A woman came out of the crowd, tears on her face. She had her hands up in front of her in a kind of Don’t mind me, I’m harmless gesture. “Let us help you. Let us help you get to the loading zone.” More tears fell, and her voice broke, but she kept going. “Tell us what you need, and we’ll help you.”
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