This Little Light - Lori Lansens Page 0,58
live from the foyer of Hutsalls’ mansion, the crystal chandelier a halo of light over his head, along with three other female guests. One is this well-known feminist who was there to discuss abortion laws, and steered the conversation away from the AVB incident, which she claimed was a publicity stunt orchestrated by the alt-right. She said Fee and I, two little Christian virgins, were prolly in on the whole thing. Another guest was the evangelical adviser to the president, who made a fierce plea to the bounty hunters not to kill us. The blue-eyed former pageant queen didn’t say not to kill us because killing two innocent girls would be wrong, or don’t kill us because mercy. She said, “Don’t kill them because they’ll become martyrs.” Ugh.
The other guest was a well-known child psychologist, who last night tweeted out “Another Case of Gucciosis?”—a term she just coined, which is now the title of her new book. She claims the label-whorishness of my generation, our worship of celebrity culture and the steady bombardment of images of designer goods causes a constant craving that turns into addiction, and that, like any addict, we’ll do inconceivable shit for our shit.
Jonze is nodding his head over the shame of it all, tugging at his designer T-shirt in the light of the hundred-thousand-dollar chandelier. Then he tells the world they should pray for us. He says my involvement in the ball was obviously just a way to mask the truth about who I am and what I do. He even floated the idea that I brainwashed Fee! Godless people, he said, have no moral compass. If people have no God, and no book of rules and guidelines to follow, they can’t be good. So they must be evil.
That is just so impressively stupid. If you don’t believe in God, you have no ethics? What about remote tribes—like that one they just discovered in the Amazon when they “accidentally” clear-cut one of the last protected areas of the rain forest? Those people lived peaceably, though they had no word for God, and no word for war, and no word for hate. When the American anthropologists figured out their language, and asked them about survival, the people said, basically, “All men are my brothers. All women my sisters. All children are my children. We care for each other in the way we want to be cared for.”
Reverend Jonze says the Christian God is the one true God. Dude, it’s like the guys from the tribe say—the do-unto-others thing is just common sense. It doesn’t need to be based on theology. Like, treat people the way you want to be treated and the world works, and we survive as a species. So fucking simple. The Golden Rule is on our hard drives as human beings! Religion is the virus that corrupts.
Oh fuck. Fee just got up to look outside. She says the little kid in the Patriot Girls dress is back.
“Where is she?”
“Over by the trailer? Are you typing what I’m saying right now? Please don’t.”
I can’t help myself. I can’t stop my fingers. “Yes, Fee. I told you, I’m writing it all down. Someone has to document this shit.”
“Okay. Well, blog this—the kid is dancing in the gravel driveway. Dancing and singing.”
“Got it.”
“Maybe she’s whack.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s sky traffic.”
“I know.”
“A MiniCop coming up over the cliffs from the beach. He can see her.”
“No one will mistake her for one of us.”
“True. She’s tiny.”
“Think she’s sick?”
“She’s bald. And skinny. She has some big bruises on her legs, but she’s a kid, so, I don’t know.”
“What’s she doing now?”
“She’s still dancing…Oh my God, Rory, she’s doing the moves from the intro to the kids’ show! She’s doing the choreography. Remember how we used to do the choreography for Dancing Dina? Remember how we all practiced the dance and performed it for the parents in the Leons’ backyard? That makes me wanna cry.”
“Why isn’t that dog barking or whatever with the kid kicking gravel around in his driveway?”
“Maybe he’s, like, hiding somewhere, licking his wounds. Or maybe that drunk guy killed him last night.”
“Does she have another plastic bag?”
“Not that I can see.”
“And no one’s watching her from the trailer window?”
“No.”
“Is the TV still on in the trailer?”
“Ror? Ror? RORY!”
“Shh.”
“Stop typing.”
“I can’t.” I really can’t. I actually can’t lift my hands off the laptop. How’s that for addiction?
“Rory? Seriously, stop typing right the fuck now and listen to me.”
I’m listening, but my fingers keep pressing keys.
“There are three dudes with rifles