And The Children Shall Lead

by Michael J. Bowler

  He turned, his heart shot into his throat, and he ceased to breathe.

  “What?” Lance asked uncertainly.

  “Don’t move,” Ricky whispered and then slipped his phone from his pocket and held it up. He snapped a few pictures while Lance looked at him with amusement.

  “Man, if you like these towels so much, take one home.” He shook his head at Ricky’s open-mouthed expression.

  “It’s not the towel I’m looking at, fool,” Ricky said breathlessly. “It’s the beautiful boy wearing it. God, Lance, you are so perfect!”

  Ricky’s look and breathless declaration sent a powerful charge of excitement through Lance. “So are you, Sir Fool,” he said with a grin, forcing himself to stay calm and focused. They had no time for making out. “But you’ll be even more perfect after you shower cuz then you’ll smell better.”

  Ricky pulled his breath back into his lungs and grinned. His eyes seemed to have a life of their own, however, and he could not pull them from Lance’s face and torso until he entered the bathroom and closed off the sight with the door.

  †††

  Ryan wore a suit and Reyna the glittery white dress and tiara she’d adopted for knighting ceremonies and other formal get-togethers, but the boys, as representatives of Arthur’s Round Table, wore their most striking tunics, pants and boots. Lance wore his usual green and Ricky his red, while Justin chose royal blue and Esteban a dark brown. Lance also wore the small crown given him by Arthur, and Ricky sported the golden circlet Lance had given him. They had planned to take their skateboards, per Merlin’s instructions, but were told no weapons of any kind were allowed in The White House, and apparently a skateboard could be used as a weapon.

  The group cut a striking image spilling out of the elevator and striding through the atrium to the front door. Everyone in the lobby stopped and stared. Some snapped quick pictures with their phones. A limo awaited them outside with the two Secret Service vehicles for escort.

  Once ensconced within the luxury of the limo, Reyna kept eyeing Lance with a smirking grin. “Nervous, baby boy?”

  Lance smiled. In truth, he was. Somewhat. The old fears and insecurities seemed to flood in on him at times like these, childhood memories and feelings of unworthiness. But he knew he couldn’t give in to them. He had to show no fear. Showing fear in politics, he’d been told, was no different than showing fear on the streets, or even in juvenile hall. If you show fear, the other guy wins.

  “Yeah, but it’s all good,” Lance responded, squeezing Ricky’s hand and grateful for the return squeeze. “After all, I got my big sister as back up.”

  Reyna tossed off that delightful laugh of hers and squeezed Esteban’s hand. “You got that right. Pity the fool who messes with my baby boy. Even the president.”

  Everyone chuckled at that. Lance glanced over at Ryan, who’d been especially quiet since leaving the hotel.

  “You okay, nino?” he asked. “You haven’t said much.”

  Ryan looked at Lance with such a mix of wonder and incredulity that Lance was taken aback. The man squirmed, his craggy old face scrunched with his usual emotional reticence. “I keep thinking back to where you came from, Lance, and I’m… well, I’m just so proud of you. You humble me, and I’ve never said that to anyone. Ask Gib, he’ll tell you.”

  Suddenly embarrassed, the man lowered his eyes to the floor of the limo without awaiting Lance’s response.

  That was good because Lance felt too stunned to respond. He knew Ryan cared about him, loved him even. But this? He had no idea he’d inspired the man in such a profound way.

  “Thanks, nino,” he whispered, barely able to speak. Ricky squeezed his hand and they faced one another. Ricky gave him ‘the look’, and Lance became Superman once more.

  The limo turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue and the White House loomed large up ahead. Everyone felt a rush of excitement, and a sense of awe. As bad as some of them had had it in life, even at the hands of the government, this was The White House they were visiting and the President of the United States they were going to meet. Badass to the core they may have been on the streets, but even Justin and Esteban looked at each other with wide-eyed wonder, suddenly little boys again––eager and childlike.

  The stately guard gates stood just ahead. The Secret Service car leading the limo stopped at the northeast gate and showed credentials of some kind to the guards on duty. Lance couldn’t see too much of this process, but his eye did fall on the tall, wrought iron fence surrounding the grounds. After a few moments, their driver pulled slowly forward and the guard waved them through.

  They entered on a semi-circular driveway that circumnavigated a huge expanse of lawn with a circular pool and fountain set dead center. Everyone pressed forward as the towering, six-storied, colonnaded north portico of the president’s house grew ever larger in his or her field of vision. The sun hadn’t set yet, but the front entrance and the entire house blazed with warm, comforting light.

  Lance and Ricky pulled back to lock eyes on each other as the limo eased to a stop right in front of the entrance, grinning like giddy little kids about to enter Disneyland for the first time. The driver stepped out to open their door, and suddenly two street boys from Los Angeles were honored guests of the president.

  An enormous hanging light illuminated the steps of the portico as Lance and Ricky climbed them, followed in silence by the remainder of their group. The boys could not pull their eyes from the towering columns, the fancy carved window copings, and the intricate flower-like patterns carved above and around the double front doors. These doors were glass and modern, they noted, and no doubt bulletproof, Lance thought as they reached the top stair and started down a long, dark carpet.

  Then he stopped, and Ricky beside him. The president and the First Lady stood just in front of the door awaiting them, grinning with welcome. Their two children, one in high school and the other junior high, stood next to them. Lance stole another quick look at Ricky and then started forward.

  And then they were there, the president extending his hand.

  “Welcome to the White House, Sir Lance,” he said with a grin. “I finally get to shake the hand of The Boy Who Came Back.” And shake Lance’s hand he did, vigorously. So did the First Lady.

  Somehow finding his voice, Lance said, “Thanks for inviting us, Mr. President.” Then he introduced Ricky and all of the others. The president and his family greeted each of them graciously and warmly. Lance noted the First Lady wore a striking blue dress while the president sported a gray suit with a dark green tie. He wondered if the tie was aimed at him, since everyone knew he favored that color.

  The president’s kids smiled at Lance like they were old friends, and said they wanted to hear more about his bill of rights. That drew a look from the president, but Lance couldn’t interpret the look since it passed too quickly.

  They followed the First Family in through the double doors onto a maroon and white checkerboard patterned marble floor and stood beneath a gigantic crystal chandelier. The ceiling was so high Lance felt dwarfed in comparison. To his left, he saw towering red draperies with huge scallops framing the front windows and some stairs leading to somewhere unknown. Straight ahead were four towering marble columns and the longest hallway Lance had ever seen, spreading out like the top of a “T” in both directions and covered by a scarlet red carpet outlined in gold.

  Chattering away about how he hoped their flight was good and how he wanted them to enjoy their stay in Washington, the president led everyone to the top of the “T” and turned left down that seemingly endless red carpet. Lance’s eyes traveled up and around and down trying to take in all the opulence and history at once. There were portraits lining the hallway, most likely former presidents, but they passed too quickly for him to read the little plaques under each one. He saw fancy chairs covered with beautiful red upholstery, and marble busts of people’s heads he did not recognize, and fancy tables carved of wood that looked like they might be centuries old.


  It was too much to take in, and with the president chatting away amiably Lance felt his nerves start to unravel slightly as they continued toward double wooden doors standing open at the end of the hall. Ricky glanced at him and smiled.

  That relaxed him and then they were into the state dining room and both boys stopped to gape in wonder. A long wooden table sat before them. It was rounded at each end and so shiny it looked like a mirror, partially covered with a rich green tablecloth. A huge centerpiece of roses rested elegantly in the center and the table was surrounded by twenty high-backed wooden chairs upholstered in patterned gold. The floor was dark burnished wood, but an enormous area rug, thick and expensive-looking, stretched almost wall to wall. A golden chandelier glowed overhead with electric candles. To their right was a gold-encased mirror the size of Lance’s hotel bed and to the left tall draped windows looking out into the gardens beyond. To one side of the table was a fireplace with a carved white mantel, and above that on the wall hung a huge painting of a pensive, thoughtful Abraham Lincoln.

  Ricky nudged Lance and pointed to the painting, and both boys giggled.

  “A private joke?” the president asked with a grin.

  Suddenly mortified, Lance said, “No, Mr. President, it just reminded us of something Mayor Soto always says.”

  The president cocked his head with interest. “And what might that be?”

  Lance reddened and Ricky whispered, “Fool,” before looking at the president with a smile. “The mayor always calls Lance young Mr. Lincoln cuz of how well he handles crowds and speeches and stuff.”

  The president chuckled as the First Lady moved to his side. “Tell the mayor I agree with him,” he said with a wink at Lance.

  Then the First Lady directed everyone to sit. There would be a nameplate in front of each place setting, she told them, and so the group scattered to locate their assigned seats. Lance and Ricky, it turned out, were given the two seats on either side of the president. Each place setting consisted of a magnificent china plate outlined in filigreed gold with a green folded napkin containing a replica of the invite sent to Lance at New Camelot. Flanking each plate were utensils made of gold, and long-stemmed crystal wine glasses. Both boys were speechless at the sight of so much wealth.

  Since there were only twelve of them, the First Lady did not sit at the opposite end as Lance figured she usually must. Rather, she seated herself beside Reyna and Esteban and directly across from Ryan. Kai was seated beside Ricky and Dakota beside Lance, then the president’s kids and Justin. Almost immediately servers brought in the first course, some kind of salad topped with halibut, and baby kale that the First lady proudly declared had been harvested “From my own garden right here.”

  Lance noted that none of the First Family bowed their heads in momentary thanks for their food the way Arthur had always taught his knights to do, but Lance did so anyway, and his fellow knights followed suit. After his quick prayer of gratitude, Lance looked up to find the president eyeing him as though wondering whether or not he was genuine.

  The salad was followed by soup and then the main course. It looked like beef, but as the plates were placed in front of Lance and Ricky, the president proudly announced that it was Bison Wellington that used buffalo tenderloin from North Dakota.

  “In honor of our native brothers with us tonight.”

  The man grinned at Kai and Dakota, who stared at him aghast and then down at the food on their plates, so well laid out it looked like modern art instead of dinner. The two boys eyed each other across the table and then each turned to the boy beside him as though for a cue how to respond. Lance saw the insult in Dakota’s eyes and gently touched his arm beneath the table to calm him.

  “Uh, that was thoughtful, Mr. President, but you really shouldn’t have,” he said with as much grace as he could muster.

  “Especially since there aren’t that many buffalo left,” Kai added with a forced smile as he glanced down at his food.

  Obviously hoping to salvage the moment, the First Lady piped up with, “We always try to tailor state dinners to the taste of our visitors.” She smiled broadly.

  Lance smiled and shrugged. “In that case, hamburgers and fries would’ve been perfect.”

  Everyone laughed and the awkward moment faded. Lance and Ricky and the Indians, however, lost interest in their bison steak and focused more on the vegetables and potatoes accompanying it.

  As the meal continued, the president asked each of the kids to describe his or her life before joining the Round Table, and how associating with Arthur had helped them. Esteban talked about his absent father and hopeless years of gangbanging; Justin described his father the workaholic and how that drove him to the streets; Reyna talked about her rich, but careless parents; Ricky shared his story of abandonment; Kai and Dakota described the poor conditions on their reservations, especially focusing on the government taking Native children from their parents; Lance shared his childhood horrors in less detail than he’d done in the past. But all essentially said the same thing about Arthur: he’d brought them together, taught them how to work as a team, taught them that the community is the solution to most problems, not the government, and that life works best when people do what’s right, rather than what’s easy.

  The president, his wife and kids all listened attentively, asking occasional questions, but mostly listening and absorbing each of their stories. By this time, dessert was served, some kind of steamed lemon pudding that tasted to Lance like lemon-flavored plastic. As he was eating it and trying not to make disrespectful faces, he put down his spoon and looked at the president.

  “Mr. President, you haven’t said anything about our bill of rights,” he said in a searching tone of voice. “Have you read it?”

  The president looked slightly surprised that Lance would ask such a direct and pointed question. He smiled. “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “And what do you think?” Lance asked, his gaze fixed intently on the chief executive of the country.

  The president took a moment to wipe his mouth with a napkin Lance figured cost more than all the clothes he was wearing, and eyed the boy appraisingly. “I found it well-written and thought out. I found myself questioning some of them.”

  “Such as?” Lance’s gaze did not waver.

  The president sat back in his chair, obviously amused and impressed by the boy’s direct approach. The rest of the table had fallen silent to observe the exchange. “For example, I’m not sure what you have against labels. After all, they help us categorize people.”

  Lance cocked his head, his green eyes wide and fiery. “You mean labels like black or brown or white or Latino or African-American or gay or straight or fat or thin? Stuff like that?”

  The president suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable. “Something like that, Lance. It’s partly how government keeps track of people and trends. And labels are sometimes necessary, don’t you think? To define certain people?” He smiled, but it was clearly manufactured.

  Lance didn’t return the smile. He looked at the man with a steady scrutiny. “Mr. President, ‘human’ defines us. All of us. Every other word should just be, you know, about what we accomplish as human.” He paused now and lowered his eyes to his plate. “That’s what I think anyway.”

  He heard no response and looked up to find the president eyeing him as though seeing him in a new light.

  One of the president’s kids blurted out, “That’s so cool, isn’t it, Mom?”

  Lance glanced over and saw it was older child speaking. The First Lady smiled broadly. “Yeah, honey, it is.” Then she turned a warm look on Lance. “You’re quite the charmer, Lance. I can see why the world fell in love with you.”

  Ricky laughed and grinned at Lance across the table. Lance grinned right back.

  The First Lady gave them a long look and said, “You two make a cute couple.”

  That instantly caused both of them to turn almost as red as the hall carpet, and Reyna laughed. “Uh, oh, now you sta
rted them blushing. They’ll never stop.”

  “Reyna!” Lance whispered in embarrassment.

  “See?” Reyna said to the First Lady, and both women laughed.

  Lance glanced over at the president and found the man still sizing him up. “I can definitely see the young Mr. Lincoln, Lance.”

  That made everyone laugh, but Lance wasn’t done yet. “Mr. President, as young Mr. Lincoln would say, can we count on your support for our bill of rights? I know you don’t vote on it, but you have lots of friends in Congress who will.” He waited expectantly for the man’s response.

  The president furrowed his brow in thought a moment, clearly not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I’m trying to keep an open mind on the subject, Mr. Lincoln,” he said with a grin. “I’m looking forward to your speech tomorrow to perhaps convince me.”

  Lance nodded, realizing that was the only answer he was going to get. I guess, he thought, I’d better kick major ass tomorrow.

  All too soon, the dinner was over. Everyone lingered at the table for a time. The conversation became light and airy and relaxed, and everyone but Kai and Dakota seemed comfortable by the time the event came to a conclusion. The president’s kids asked for Lance’s autograph on their invitations, which he signed with red-faced embarrassment as Ricky chortled with amusement.

  The first family escorted the group from the dining room back to the north portico entrance, where their limo awaited. The First Kids caught Lance’s eye and winked, which elicited a grin of understanding in return. Neither the president nor the First Lady caught the exchange. Both adults shook hands with everyone, and the First Lady paused a moment at Lance, eyeing him in that motherly way he’d come to expect from Jenny and Karen.

  “Do you mind if I hug you, Lance?” she asked, and Lance looked at her in momentary surprise.

  “Sure. I can always use a hug.”

  She enveloped him in her arms and held him a moment before releasing him. Smiling warmly, she said, “That’s for all the hugs you didn’t get as a child.”