Archives:
April 13-April 19, 2008

April 13, 2008

“You know what New York City has over Shermantown?” Matt asks over the phone.

I imagine there are a lot of things the City has over our little hometown. Personally, I'm a small town kind of guy, but if you choose the big city the way Matt did, I can't imagine you'd have much reason to look back. “What's that?”

“The hot dogs,” Matt says, sniffing audibly. “You're walking back to your apartment after class, and you only have to go to the nearest street corner for sweet hot dog satisfaction.”

I chuckle. “That is quite the perk.”

Matt goes on, chewing, “So I'm sorry, you were talking about Emma.”

“Yeah,” I go on, “so we're hanging out working on flyers and we just start kissing.”

“Are you telling me that the two of you kissed, or that you were making out?”

“What's the difference?”

“You know what the difference is. Are we talking a peck on the lips, or full on tongue and groping.”

“Very blunt,” I say, peering between the blinds on my window. It's a rainy day, and I'm trying to decide what to wear out.

“What's tact between friends?”

I sigh. “It was probably somewhere in between. I mean, we were just kind of getting into it when she said we should stop.”

“So she cut it off.”

“Right. And she said we should wait until after the election.”

“And how are you feeling about that?”

I take down a Taylor hoodie from my closet. It's only a five minute walk to my class, and I think that's short enough that it won't soak through. “It's fine with me. She's right, you know? I should be focusing on the election. And between RA stuff, and class, I really don't need to add a relationship to my list of things to be thinking about.”

“But?”

“But I'm still thinking about it.”

“And you're wondering if she means it that she wants to wait until after the election—”

“Or if she's just getting me off her back, and using the election as an excuse,” I finish the sentence. “Yeah, that's what I'm wondering about.”

April 14, 2008

Kermit bites into a biscuit, scattering flaky crumbs over his shirt and chair. He brushes them off, onto the ground, without looking down, eyes fixed on me.

I sit on the opposite side of the desk from him, on his couch, alternately looking at him, and looking around the room at anything but him, while the guy just sits there. I wonder if he has a concept of time. I think of all of the things I could be doing now—working on the campaign website, getting some handbills out there, or maybe even catching back up on reading for class.

“How have you been, Preston ?” Kermit asks at last.

“Uh—I've been good,” I say, just waiting for the follow up question. When one doesn't come, I decide to return the question. “And how are you?”

“Not bad,” Kermit nods slowly, taking another bite. “I feel like I haven't seen you around so much as of late.”

“Well, I've been busy—you know, with the election and all.”

“Yeah, let's talk about the election.” Kermit sets the biscuit down. “How's that working out for you?”

“It's good,” I nod, “I think I'm really making some headway—getting some people behind me. It's one of those things you just have to keep chipping away at, though—keep drumming up more support.”

“It's a long road to election day, huh?”

I shrug. “That's what I'm telling you.”

Kermit plugs what's left of his biscuit in his mouth, chewing it methodically. “ Preston , how much time does it take to be an effective RA?”

“I don't know,” I shift on the couch. “I don't think there really is an answer. It depends on how your floor's doing, and what kind of programs you have coming up—”

“And what kind of programs do you have coming up?” he cuts me off, eyebrows raised.

“Nothing for the immediate future, but—”

“Exactly,” Kermit cuts me off again, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “ Preston , I think it's great you want to be SA president. But I think you need prioritize here, and decide if you have time for this campaign, and to do the RA job justice.” He leans back into his chair again. “Because otherwise, you're just a guy with a free single, and that's not useful to me. Understand?”

April 15, 2008

“Sorry to hurry you out of there like that,” Cameron says as we walk down hallway.

“Yeah,” I say zipping up my spring jacket, while I balance my umbrella, in my hand. Looking ahead I can see it's still raining outside, but maybe a little softer than it was when I walked over. “What was that all about?”

Cameron taps her watch. “ Four o'clock . Time for T-Rex to watch 7 th Heaven.”

“And that's a private experience?”

“Not necessarily. But I've found she doesn't respond well to snarky remarks about the show.”

“And you think I would have said something.”

“It's hard enough to keep myself from saying something.”

I nod. “So I can count on you to be at the debate tomorrow, right?”

“The chance to listen to you and the other guy talk student politics for an hour? How could I miss that?”

“Glad you're excited,” I say, cracking a smile. “And you're all set for the next run of campaign flyers?”

“All set,” Cameron nods.

“Good deal. It's about time we replace all those half ripped—”

We both stop as we near the exit.

I had a poster hanging by the door to every dorm, telling people to vote for me. The one I had hanging by the door to Smith has seen better days.

“Well at least this one isn't half ripped,” Cameron says, lifting an edge of the poster from the trash can next to the door. “They went ahead and trashed the whole thing.”

I nod. “Looks like I'll need to get a new poster printed too.”

April 16, 2008

“It's the SA president's responsibility to get out there, and get to know the people he's representing. That would be the cornerstone of my presidency,” I say.

I run a Kleenex over my forehead, wiping off some of the sweat. I stand behind a podium at the opposite side of a stage from Nick, in the Student Center Auditorium. Spotlights shine hot light down on each of us.

“Thank you, Mr. Burns,” Gabby says. I was a bit surprised to find it was Gabby was moderating tonight's debate, but then it's seems like this debate is all student media—campus TV taping it, Enquirer photographers snapping pictures, Enquirer reporters scribbling notes.

I've got Emma, Cameron, Chang, Brad and Jonah here. Nick's got the SA board—Teri sitting in the back. There are another twenty or so people in the audience. I'm not sure where their loyalties lie, or if they really could be here to hear from us, and make some sort of decision.

“Mr. Burns,” Gabby goes on, “can you tell us about your feelings on the importance of moral character in an SA president?”

I clear my throat. “Moral character is what this position is all about,” I begin. “When you are the SA president you are making decisions on behalf of every student, because every student pays a mandatory student activity fee. When you're making these decisions, it's not just about doing what's popular, or just about following precedent—it's about doing what's right.

“As president, I would forego my personal interests. I wouldn't think about political alliances or enemies within student organizations. I would think about what's going to serve the interests of the students. If people want to start a new organization, it shouldn't be about jumping through hoops—it should be about honest conversation, and figuring out what is in the best interests of the people who are paying the student activity fee. My plan is to make student government accessible, and the very foundation of that is having a student government that people know they can trust.”

There's a meager applause from the audience. I know it's just my friends, but in a crowd of this small size, any sound is encouraging.

“Thank you again, Mr. Burns,” Gabby says. “Mr. Bernard, the same question.”

“Thank you, Gabs,” Nick says.

I think I spy Gabby start to roll her eyes, but she closes them instead, restraining herself.

“It's funny to here my opponent, talk about moral character,” Nick goes on. “You see, I'm of the mind that morality requires a certain toughness—a willingness to stand up despite adversity, and hold to your commitments.” Nick gestures toward me. “ Preston here was the Editor in Chief of The Window, which used to be Taylor 's primary source for student news. That is, until mid-year, when Preston decided to step down, leaving the organization in a flux that ultimately led to its demise.”

I look down, taking a deep breath, as I smooth my tie.

“Beyond that, when you're considering a person's moral fiber—his level of personal integrity—I think you need to look at the people he associates with.”

I grip the podium in my hands, watching my knuckles turn white.

“Take, for example, one of Preston 's good friend and former roommate, Dave Starks. One of those guys who couldn't learn from all the ‘just say no to drugs' ads we all grew up with. Someone who didn't care about his friends and family or the Taylor community enough—”

Nick trails off when he sees me. The security guard has me by the waist as I stand halfway across the stage.

“You son of a bitch,” I say through my teeth. If I get free, I have every intention of decking him.

Nick forces a smile inching toward his microphone. “Now I ask you, is this the man you want for your president?”

He scurries off stage as a second guard approaches me. I take a deep breath, knowing the debate is over.

April 17, 2008

“Come in,” I call, at the knocking on my door. I stare straight up at my ceiling.

“Hey Preston ,” Emma's says. I don't bother looking at her. “How are you doing?”

“Not great.”

She sighs. “I suppose that I don't have to say it.”

“I know it was stupid,” I say squeezing my little foam basketball between my hands. I lie flat on my back, over the sheets of my bed, and hurl the ball up toward the ceiling, catching it as it comes back down. “It's just, when Nick started talking about Dave—”

“I know,” Emma cuts me off, “and if it's any consolation, I think half the people who saw the debate probably respect you more for going after Nick than they would have if you just stood there and took it. Hell, I wanted to slap him in the face.”

I throw the ball in the air again. “Kind of makes you wonder if that's why there was so much security on hand—if Nick had that planned.”

Emma exhales. “I suppose you've seen his web site?”

“Yep, checked it last night. Guy didn't waste any time getting up the pictures of me. Made me look like a Grade A psycho.”

“Well there's more than just the pictures now. He posted a new blog entry.”

“Is that so?” I squeeze the ball until a tiny bit of its stuffing peeks out of one of the seams. All of the seams have looked a little thread worn as of late. I loosen my grip.

“It's about Claire and Jones. He talks about how you're friends with her, and how, when you were talking to him, you defended Jones.”

“Because that's so wrong—when he's all but saying that Chang had what was coming to him when Chang got his door vandalized,” I say. “Relative to that, I said it was time to let the Jones thing go, and stop dedicating the newspaper to smearing his name.”

I hear Emma clicking my mouse. She goes on, “Well, now he's using that as another way of demonstrating how you associate with disreputable people, and don't have moral character.”

“What is this guy's deal?” I ask, sitting up. I look down at the ball in my hands. “Why does he have to make this personal like that?”

“He's got an election to win.”

I shake my head. “Just doesn't seem like an ‘ethical' way of running a campaign to me.

April 18, 2008

“Nick,” I say. I'm standing in the doorway of the SA office, where Nick stands inside, showing one of the other SA officers something on a page of computer paper.

Nick looks up, and a smile bends his face. The girl he was talking to takes the sheet of paper and walks away. “ Preston , how are you doing?”

“Not bad,” I say, taking a step into the office.

“Glad to see security didn't bang you up or anything the other night.”

“Na,” I wave my hand, “they were just keeping me at bay.”

Nick nods. “Well if you came here to apologize, there's no need. I mean, it was a heat of the moment kind of thing—you say one thing, I say another—it's a natural reaction to get all worked up.”

I plug my hands in the pockets of my jeans, so he can't see me clenching my fists. “Nick, I know I shouldn't have gone after you the other night. But I can't help wondering, why are you making this thing so personal?”

“Personal? What do you mean?”

I chuckle. “You go after one my best friends—not to mention the fact that he died. Why not keep it to the issues?”

Nick smiles again, shaking his head. “Presto, this isn't personal. It's politics you should recognize the difference.”

“So bringing Claire back into the spotlight—that's just politics too?”

“What else would it be?”

I tilt my head to one side. “Maybe it's about her rejecting you. And, you know, deciding a forty year old man was more attractive.”

“And he comes out swinging,” Nick says with a laugh, shadow boxing for a second. “ Preston , let's just be honest with each other. Your buddy was a junkie. Claire and Jones didn't have a moral fiber between them. And I'm not done there. I can let everyone know about your homo pal from home. Or the fact you were living with a chick last semester. Or the way you tried to get everyone to believe there was a ghost in that dorm last year.” He shakes his head. “Presto, you just haven't made the best decisions about what you do, or who you associate with over the last couple years. And that's not the kind of person who should be leading the student body.”

“So you're content to run a smear campaign right up until election day?”

“People have got to know who they're voting on.”

I nod. “You know, that's one thing we can agree on.” I turn around and leave the office.

April 19, 2008

“What are you doing?” Emma asks.

“Eating an Oreo,” Chang says, raising his eyebrows, the remaining half of his Oreo in his hand.

“You can't just eat an Oreo. You have to twist it,” she says, twisting her own cookie apart, then dipping hers in her Solo cup of milk. “Then dunk it.”

Chang tosses the remaining half of the cookie in his mouth and shrugs.

“ Preston , you're going all out here,” Cameron says, coming into my room. “Catered meeting and everything.”

“This isn't coming out of the hall budget right?” Gary asks.

“Could be seen as a program—got enough people here,” Jonah says.

“Bought the cookies and milk on my own dollar,” I clarify, “so go on and dig in. Cameron, if you wouldn't mind, could you shut the door?”

“Sure thing,” she says, kicking out my door stop, and letting the door swing shut in a clatter, the hoop on the back of it swaying for a second.

I take a seat on the ground with everyone else, kneeling. “I want to thank everyone for coming here today. I just wanted to talk to you all quickly about the election.”

“One week away,” Brad says.

“And Nick has succeeded in making you look like a Neanderthal to anyone who read about the debate,” Jonah says, reaching in for a cookie.

“So it's time to fire back, right?” Gary asks.

“Not exactly,” I say, raising a hand. “Nick had been running a smear campaign against me. And from a conversation I had with him yesterday, he made it perfectly clear that he doesn't plan on changing that.”

“Dick,” Chang mutters, shaking his head.

“He's made it clear that he's going to go after me any way he can,” I go on, “and that includes going after anyone who associates with me. So if anyone here wants to avoid that, I suggest that you get yourself remove yourself from this campaign.”

Cameron shrugs. “It's not like Dave or Claire are involved in your campaign. If he's going to go after us, we'd might as well help you out.”

Others nod.

“Sounds like it's time to fire back,” Chang says.

I shake my head. “Exactly the opposite. Nick wants to sling garbage at me, and I'm not going to stoop to his level,” I say. “What I want to do is run an all positive campaign. We're not going to bring up everything Nick's done wrong. We're going to focus on what I've done right—and what I'm going to do right when I win this election.”

“I like that,” Jonah nods.

“Sounds like the high road,” Emma agrees.

“So what do we do next then?” Cameron asks.

“We keep hanging flyers, keep giving out handbills, keep spreading the word,” I say. “That, and I've got something big planned for Tuesday.”