Hope Was Here

by Joan Bauer

  When Adam told her he had been an intern in this very office during spring break and being back was just like coming home.

  She showed us the fifty-five names that were a problem—all had the wrong addresses.

  Braverman threw his hands up. “That’s impossible.”

  G.T. asked her how, in her opinion, this could have happened.

  “Inexperience,” she barked, which caused Adam and Sid Vole to turn maroon.

  “I wonder,” G.T. continued, “if something else happened. Was there ever a mistake on the Election Board listings? A series of mistakes?”

  “No,” she snapped.

  “That’s certainly been known to happen,” Sid Vole observed.

  “Not here,” she said sharply.

  G.T. stepped forward. “Ma’am, I don’t know if you can do it, but I’ve come to ask the Election Board to give us a little more time. I can promise you that—”

  She shuffled the papers on her desk. “I can’t do that, Mr. Stoop. Rules are rules.”

  G.T. bowed his head sadly. “I appreciate you hearing me out.”

  It was over.

  We stood there frozen.

  That’s when Pastor Hall marched up smiling at that administrator, energy pouring off him. “You know what I love about the Lord?” he asked her.

  That startled woman shook her head.

  Al B. Hall grinned deep. “That his mercies are new every morning. He always gives a second chance.”

  The woman fidgeted in her chair.

  “Always,” Al B. Hall continued, pointing right at her. “Even if we imperfect beings mess up again and again and do things that we’ll regret for years to come. The Lord is there understanding our weakness, reaching out his kind, forgiving hand and saying, ‘Let me help you change your ways. Let me give you my love for people. Let me fill you with my … ’” he leaned forward, “‘mercy.’” He clapped his hands. “And isn’t it a fine thing to know that right now God Almighty is looking down at us wanting to lead us in the way that is best? Doesn’t that make you want to shout hallelujah?”

  “Hallelujah,” said Braverman and Adam.

  The Election Board administrator grabbed her necklace.

  “I … I suppose … I could …” She stopped short.

  Pastor Hall helped her out. “Reconsider.”

  “I … could give you … well … until five today.”

  Yes!

  “God bless you!” Pastor Hall shook her pudgy hand. “Doesn’t it feel good to do the Lord’s work?”

  We decided not to wait for her answer and ran out the door tripping over each other in a great show of uncoordination, despite our buttons.

  “Get as many extra names as you can,” Sid Vole shouted, “and check every one against the master list. We take this hill at all costs!” He turned to Al B. Hall. “Pastor, you know how to spin.”

  Pastor Hall cocked his bush hat and grinned.

  We spread out like detectives trying to find an escaped convict.

  * * *

  Farmer’s Market. Bustling with people. Addie was with me, spitting mad about G.T.’s Election Board hassle; browbeating the local growers in her search for proper tomatoes and meaningful garlic.

  I’d gotten one signature in an hour from Deputy Babcock, but one signature wasn’t going to help much. Too many people there were from other towns and couldn’t vote in our district. I walked to the parking lot to accost newcomers.

  Two guys shuffled toward me. They looked old enough to vote, but they didn’t look like they’d showered. They were poking each other, laughing too hard. I moved off.

  Too late.

  “Ohhhh,” said one. “She don’t like us.”

  One raced in front of me, the other one got behind me.

  They looked me up and down. “But we like her.” The tall one moved in close. “You got a boyfriend?”

  I put my hand up. “Get away from me.”

  They were blocking my path. I tried to get past them: couldn’t. There was no one else around.

  “I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

  Their leering faces made me sick. One of them grabbed my petition, the other pointed at my STOOP button and said I was stupid to be doing what I was doing. I told him to back off; G.T. was a good man. The tall one grabbed my arm, started pulling me toward him. Fear shot through me. I bent over low like I’d learned in boxing.

  “Help!” I yelled. “Help!”

  “Now why’d you go do that?” I could smell his rancid breath.

  I saw Deputy Babcock running toward me. Addie was sprinting behind her.

  That’s why.

  “What’s going on here?” Deputy Babcock shouted.

  “Nuthin’,” said one of the guys, dropping the petition on the ground. He had stained brown teeth.

  I broke free. “They wouldn’t let me pass. They took my petition.” I pointed to the tall one. “He was grabbing my arm.”

  Deputy Babcock, hand on her gun, stared them down. “That doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”

  “Well …” the taller one mumbled. “You don’t come from these parts, ma’am.” He didn’t look at her when he said it. His voice showed his disrespect.

  A moron and a racist. The two sure go together.

  Deputy Babcock didn’t flinch. “That’s right. I come from a real big city where we call this harassment.” She said to me, “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” I was shaking.

  “I’ll get your statement later.”

  She took her gun from her holster, motioned those creeps toward her squad car. “You have the right to remain silent, gentlemen.”

  I’d never heard anyone say that except on television.

  “We didn’t do nuthin’!”

  “Duly noted.” She marched those lowlifes forward, reading them their rights.

  Addie was by my side now. “You all right?”

  I picked up the petition with shaking hands. “I think so.”

  “Good Lord,” she wailed, “I thought small towns were safe.”

  A farmer was next to us now. “They’re bad ones. The whole family of Carbingers is. Five boys, each one worse than the next. They live on the edge of town. Try to stay away from them.”

  I made it my life goal to do just that.

  An old woman walked slowly up to me, handed me a beautiful orange flower with a long stem.

  “I’m Mavis Pettibone.” She had a gravelly voice. “G.T. probably knows what he’s in for. I’m not sure you do. Put this daylily in water in a sunny place and watch what happens. Whatever you do to help his campaign—whatever happens, girl—you remember the power of the light.”

  I stood there gripping the flower.

  * * *

  I poured water in a tall, thin vase, plopped the daylily in, and placed it near our kitchen window. I didn’t hold out much hope for this flower. It looked withered, closed, and utterly dead.

  I ran downstairs to help Flo through the dinner rush. Addie’s tamale pie with cornmeal pastry was selling like lotto tickets.

  Adam strutted into the diner and gave the news.

  They made it to the Election Board at 4:58.

  G.T. was officially on the ballot.

  I did a little dance and Flo joined me.

  Braverman flipped his spatula high in the air and caught it behind his back.

  When hope gets released in a place, all kinds of things are possible.

  The next morning, Mrs. Pettibone’s daylily stood tall in that vase, fully opened—soaking up the goodness of the light.

  * * *

  “We’ve got ourselves an official horse race now, G.T.”

  Eli Millstone walked to the counter to shake G.T.’s hand. He had a photographer with him who took a picture of the handshake.

  Millstone held up a campaign poster of himself. “I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to put this up in your front window by any chance, will you, G.T.?” He smiled so the photographer could get a shot of him being folksy.
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  G.T. gave him a menu and said he’d buy him breakfast.

  “You’re not trying to buy me off, are you, G.T.? That’s taking unfair advantage.” He said this loud.

  “I’m glad you brought that up, Eli. Buying people off is one of the things we need to talk about in this campaign.”

  Flo almost dropped her coffeepot.

  “Those are fighting words, G.T., especially from a man in your condition.”

  G.T. put his hands in his pockets. “Eli, has your relationship with the Real Fresh Dairy compromised the interests of this town?”

  The whole place went quiet.

  “That dairy,” Millstone sputtered, “is the biggest thing that ever happened to this town!”

  “It’s blocks long. I’ll give you that.”

  A loud whistle from the kitchen.

  The photographer was clicking away. Millstone screamed, “Stop that!”

  Down went the Nikon.

  Up came the bull.

  Millstone straightened his shoulders; found the old smile; looked into the eyes of all those registered voters.

  “Good people of Mulhoney, I can assure you that I have always worked to protect your interests. I have dedicated myself to bringing a better life to every man, woman, and child in this town.”

  He adjusted his expensive gold watch; the photographer clicked off a few shots.

  “Mr. Mayor.” Cecelia Culpepper rose from her seat at the counter. “When will you be releasing the names of your campaign contributors?”

  His eyes flashed. “You’ll have to talk to my office about that.”

  He gave a meaningful salute to the voters and was halfway out the door when Cecelia Culpepper shouted, “No one’s returned my calls.”

  Millstone kept on walking.

  10

  Lou Ellen’s baby, Anastasia, was lying in the portable playpen that had been set up in the back office that Adam had turned into Campaign Central. Red, white, and blue streamers curled across the ceiling; small American flags stood on the desk, a computer printout of Adam’s first-draft campaign slogan was taped to the wall—STOOP FOR MAYOR—A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS AND ALL REASONS. It needed work.

  Lou Ellen was looking at Anastasia, who wasn’t playing with any of her toys.

  “The doctor says she’s got development problems.” Lou Ellen said it defensively. “I’ve got to watch her for a few weeks because they can’t do it right at day care and my mom can’t look after her on account of her job. G.T. said I could bring her here.”

  “It’s real good you did,” Flo said reassuringly.

  We were going to take turns watching Anastasia so Lou Ellen could work. She kept saying the baby would be fine, we didn’t have to put ourselves out.

  “Stop that, honey,” Flo directed. “Let us help you through this.”

  Lou Ellen went stiff.

  Adam was up first to the playpen. He studied the toys, lifted the busy box, held it in front of Anastasia, pushed down the little orange lever that made a clicking sound. “See, Anastasia, that’s how you vote for G.T. You try.” She didn’t.

  “She can’t do much!” Lou Ellen shouted. Her face was tight with emotion. I tried to reach for her hand, but she backed out the door fast and ran off.

  “Now this is how you drive to the polling place.” Adam put Anastasia’s tiny hands on a little wheel.

  But Anastasia didn’t respond.

  * * *

  A volunteer fireman’s barbecue, two church socials, and a meeting of the Beautification Committee of Greater Mulhoney. G.T. was on fire, burning up the campaign trail. Giving speeches whenever he was asked.

  Sid Vole had definite rules for writing speeches.

  “Hit with two ideas, three at most. Tell them what you’re going to say; say it; then tell them what you said.”

  But G.T. stood firm. “I don’t believe in writing speeches, Sid. My Quaker roots go too deep. I’m trusting God to give me the right words when I need them.”

  Sid Vole’s face contorted like he’d heard a violin played off-key.

  His ulcer got worse when G.T. addressed the Rotary Club. “You should know that if you elect me mayor I won’t spend any time trying to get your votes for the next election. I won’t be feathering my nest for my retirement. Chances are I won’t be around for any of that. I will roll up my sleeves and ask you to do the same.”

  Sid Vole took G.T. aside. “We need to give you an air of permanence with the voters. Like the sun who will always be in the sky.”

  G.T. laughed. “I think I’m more like a passing cloud, Sid.”

  June blended into July.

  Adam came up with a new campaign slogan.

  STOOP FOR MAYOR:

  HE’LL DIE TRYING TO MAKE THINGS BETTER.

  Sid Vole said it was the perfect spin: admit we have a problem, redefine the problem to make it a positive. He took a little plastic top out of his pocket and spun it on the table. Adam had a top, too, but when he spun his it fell to the floor.

  In the midst of this, I got a seven-page letter with cheesy New York postcards from Harrison and Miriam talking about how much they missed me. I read it five times, put the pictures around the mirror in my room.

  Memories crashed over me.

  Harrison, Miriam, and me going to poetry readings at bookstores (key entertainment—they were free).

  There was that last poet we heard before I moved—the one with the scraggly beard and the torn T-shirt.

  “I am the zebra without stripes,” he read, “shouting from the subways of the city.” Emotional pause. “But you know me.”

  “What did that mean?” I asked when it was over.

  Miriam munched a hazelnut biscotti. “He’s on drugs.”

  “It means,” Harrison explained, “he’s lost his identity like a zebra losing its stripes. He’s become a person without … without the marks of what he used to be. But deep inside the subway of his soul he knows who he is. We know … because he is us. He shouts for us all.”

  Harrison can pull meaning from a stone. Both of his parents are English teachers.

  “If he shouts too loud in the subway he’ll get arrested,” Miriam added.

  I wrote them back using calligraphy lettering for extra drama.

  First, guys, The Good: I’m working on a political campaign with a man who should probably be running for governor or president for all the good he could bring to people’s lives.

  The Bad: There are no tall buildings—anywhere. Food-wise, except for Addie, think Dark Ages. No Thai, dim sum, jerk chicken. No museums either.

  The Oblique: There’s this guy I work with and I’m trying to figure him out.

  I put down my pen.

  I didn’t know how to tell them how much I missed them. Couldn’t let them know how hard it is for me to write to people I don’t think I’ll ever see again. Elaine in Denver. Maria in St. Louis. Josie, Jake, and Jenny in Detroit. I used to promise people that we’d be back to visit, but I stopped doing that.

  We don’t go back in this family, we just keep moving forward.

  I am the zebra without stripes shouting from the U-Haul trailer.

  * * *

  Braverman’s ten-year-old twin sisters, Heidi and Hannah, were in the back office playing with Anastasia, who wasn’t interested in any of their games. The twins had rosy Wisconsin cheeks and dark braids. Braverman was making them laugh by juggling three new potatoes. Anastasia was not a potato person.

  Braverman looped a potato under his leg and grinned at me. He had excellent teeth, healthy gums. That speaks volumes about a person.

  I radiated back.

  Sid Vole was at the big desk: Not amused.

  It probably didn’t help that his ulcer wasn’t healing. It really didn’t help that his doctor had taken him off caffeine, which sure slowed his spin.

  Adam, Brice, and Jillian walked in for the meeting.

  “Listen up,” Sid Vole said. He was yawning so hard we all started yawning, too. “Every successful campaign h
as one thing in common. The ability to multiply. There are six of us in this room. Six of us each need to go tell ten other people why they should support G.T. Then those people need to find ten more. You get the picture.” He put his head on the desk.

  “We need to spread like a virus,” Adam shouted.

  Sid Vole looked up briefly. “Call it something else on the street.”

  * * *

  We called it Students for Stoop and we were revved for spreading the word.

  “Assume nothing!” Adam shouted. “Ask people the critical question. Will they vote for G.T.? Call your neighbors. Tell your friends. Bother your parents!”

  “Can someone else bother my dad?” Brice pleaded. “He’s pretty mad since I crashed his Honda into that beer truck.”

  “Last time it was a Federal Express truck,” Jillian whispered to me.

  Jillian and I were becoming good friends. She had a passionate relationship with her computer, which connected her to the outside world. She didn’t expect life to be easy either, and avoided giggliness, which I really appreciated. She had one major flaw—an unshakable belief that someday Adam Pulver would be president.

  “Of the United States?” I asked, aghast.

  “I’m telling you, Hope, kids like Adam are born with the dream. Remember the things he does so that years from now when the media wants to talk to people who knew him when, you’ll be ready.”

  * * *

  “You’re going to vote for G.T., aren’t you, Addie?”

  It was probably the wrong time to ask, since she had just smeared cold cream all over her face. She slapped a steaming towel on her face and shuddered. I hadn’t seen her do this for ages.

  “G. T. Stoop’s being a stubborn fool and I can’t believe that a human being with his potential is ignoring his health needs in such a fashion!”

  I looked at the “Voter Reality” sheet that Adam had made up. It had four boxes to choose from after asking the CQ (critical question).

  YES

  NO

  MAYBE

  ABANDON HOPE

  I didn’t like my name being used like that.

  “But you’re going to vote for him, right, Addie?”

  Addie held the towel tight across her face, breathing deeply. “Well, of course I am.”

  I checked YES. Stubborn adults stick together.

  “Can you help us on the campaign?”