father’s God since the day I realized Charley Porter was cute, and I knew that meant I was going to hell.
I took a deep breath. Only three more months until the election. Three more months and I would be free. It would be four more years before my father would be up for reelection again. That would give me time to find a job and establish myself without worrying about why someone hired me. I took another deep breath in and slowly exhaled. Three more months, I could do this. But at what cost my conscious asked. How much more damage could my father do to LGBTQIA+ rights in the next four years. How much heartbreak could he cause with his immigration policies or his war on the poor?
Deep breath in. I have someone sending me threatening letters, no money, nowhere to live, no job, nothing. Today was not the day to have a complete meltdown. I could do that later tonight. Where? In my room with the flipping door open so Roman could watch.
Deep breath out. That was a problem for later.
I opened the door and pasted on my best Malcolm-Jacob-Coben-III face. Here we go. It was just another day of hateful people who loved my father. Nothing new about that.
I gave Roman a smile and said, “Okay, we better get up there. Wouldn’t want to keep the Senator waiting.”
He looked at me like I was an alien or something, but said, “No, we sure wouldn’t.”
Roman
That was one of the strangest things I’d ever seen. I stood there as Trey talked to himself. At first, I thought he was praying. His father had been a preacher and was still an extremely religious man. But after watching him for a bit, I realized he wasn’t praying at all; he was practicing deep breathing techniques and giving himself…I don’t know, maybe a pep-talk?
Then he stepped out of the truck, and one-minute Trey Coben had been standing beside my truck, and then the next, it was Malcolm Coben III. It was really quite amazing. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone pretend to be something they weren’t, but it was the first time I’d seen it done like an actor entering costuming as himself and walking out as his character.
I followed him up the sidewalk to the back of the stage they had set up in the park. We had at least an hour before the rally began, and people had already arrived. Most wandered around with Coben Cares and Coben for Senate signs, waiting for things to get started. I’d viewed a few clips from some of the Senator’s previous rallies and he drew a loud crowd, but these people didn’t seem to line up with what I’d seen. “Where are all the ones with the other signs?” I asked.
“Oh, you mean the right-wing neo-Nazi hate groups? They aren’t here yet. But they’ll be here, trust me, they always are,” Trey said, snapping his mouth shut like he realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have. It appeared Malcolm Jacob Coben III wasn’t as supportive of his father’s politics as people thought. Interesting. If he’d slipped up like that before and someone thought he opposed the Senator, that could be what set our letter writer off.
“Anyway, the nice workers at my father’s local campaign office will have set up a table with snacks and drinks for the people helping with the rally, so if you need to grab something to eat to supplement that protein bar, I’m sure there are some muffins or fresh fruit available.”
“No, I’m good, but are you sure you don’t want anything?”
He shook his head. “Thanks, I may after this is over.”
More people arrived over the next hour, and sure enough, the hate groups were there in full force. We stood off to the side while the Senator talked with his advisers and went over his speech, which confused me. Trey had a master’s degree in political science and a minor in public policy. Shouldn’t he be over there advising and talking with the Senator? Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. “Do you need to go over there to help your father prepare?”
“Who? Me?” he asked, releasing a wry chuckle. “Didn’t they tell you what my job is for my father’s campaign?”
“Malcolm, it’s time. I need you up on stage. Now,” his father interrupted.
“Coming,” he said, as he turned to follow his father. But I grabbed his arm, stopping him.