Sea Wife - Amity Gaige Page 0,35
things have changed since 1776. But read the Constitution, people, that’s the seed of our country. What would Juliet think if somebody came along and started rewriting Emily Dickinson’s poetry? Adding periods, switching words around…She’d start a holy war is what she’d do.
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There was this awkward moment at a party in the neighborhood, not long before we left for Panama. I was standing in the kitchen drinking wine and talking to some of the other neighborhood parents. I didn’t know them well. I was bored and on my second glass of wine.
The people in the kitchen were talking about a recent controversy at a birthday party. The parents of the birthday boy had told the parents of a party guest that a game of musical chairs was planned. The guest parents had balked; awkward negotiations followed. So-and-so was not allowed to play musical chairs. Several of the parents in the kitchen agreed with the conscientious objector—musical chairs was a traumatizing childhood game. It struck at the heart of the fear of exclusion.
Just then, Michael walked in, holding a Coke.
What’s the new forbidden thing? he asked. Kids aren’t allowed to play musical chairs anymore?
Too Darwinian, said one of the other dads.
Holy Christ, Michael said with a laugh. We’re turning our own kids into marshmallows.
Well, I said. Let’s be honest. Musical chairs is really just a drill for budding capitalists. It’s about controlling supply. I don’t think the world needs more cutthroat capitalist assholes.
There was a pause in the laughter. Michael eyed my drink and doubled down.
Well unless somebody’s a capitalist, Juliet, you’re not gonna have hours of leisure time to surf online for household goods. They won’t be made and you won’t be able to afford them. Oh, and our parents and our adult kids will be living with us, by the way. You’ll be supporting them like they do in most of the world.
I snorted.
People can be so inconvenient, I said.
I rolled my eyes at the woman beside me. She looked away. I sensed the tide shifting against me. I took a swig of wine.
I say we should deport them, I announced.
Who? asked one of the dads.
All the children and all the old people. They’re a burden on the economy. I think we should deport all Muslims, Mexicans, queers, old people, and children. No—not all children, just the ones who don’t get a seat in musical chairs.
I laughed, but I was the only one. Michael was looking at me, stony-faced.
You just mock my positions, he said. That’s all you know how to do.
I can’t fathom your positions.
You’ve always thought of me as stupid. Why can’t you admit it?
The room got very quiet. Others shifted uncomfortably, looking for a solution.
I don’t think you’re stupid, I said. I just think you’re blind. It’s different.
Christ, he said. How can I talk to you? You make me feel like an ant.
He walked out of the room.
Feb 19. LOG OF YACHT ‘JULIET.’ Puyadas. 09° 48.3?N 078° 51.6? W. NOTES AND REMARKS: Today we rendezvoused with the yacht ‘Adagio.’ She was a sight for sore eyes. They raised us this morning on the VHF. Turns out they were a stone’s throw away. There are four crew aboard ‘Adagio.’ Tomas, Amira, & kids Nova (10) and Fleur (7). All Dutch citizens but Amira is Moroccan-born. Tomas is very funny. It’s been weeks since I talked to anyone but Juliet, especially a guy. OK to call this a relief? He showed me all around the boat. She’s steel. Square portals. And double-masted. Looks like something out of a storybook. I said, Well at least you’ll never meet yourself coming and going.
Finally me & Juliet agree on something. We will hang out here w/ ‘Adagio’ for a couple days.
Only good thing about Narganá was a strong WiFi signal. I finally checked my email on Juliet’s laptop. Could not believe the amount of backlog. Almost all from Harry Borawski, who has sent me one email (or more) per day since