Texas Hill Country.  July.  

Evans and Kyle were back in the office. They'd put in a full day of work and now they were going about their post-dinner ritual of watching the nightly news. Evans had a glass jar like the one he'd had at the 4th of July party. Using a scrap of cloth from an old t-shirt, Evans polished the inside of the jar with some compound. A second glass jar was on the desk waiting its turn. A can of Evan's favorite cola stood beside it. Kyle admired another memento of his uncle's service that was hanging on the wall. On one of the computer monitors, a cable news personality was about to interview a career politician from the party currently out of power.

"Good evening and welcome to the program. With us tonight is former congressperson, former governor, and former presidential candidate, Robert Hutchinson. Welcome Governor Hutchinson."

"Thanks for having me on tonight, Shawn. It's a pleasure to be here."

Kyle turned from the decorated paddle on the wall to his uncle. "Do you have the cleaning kit? I thought I'd clean the rifle tonight. Evans opened a desk drawer, took out a bag full of weapons cleaning gear, and tossed it underhand to his nephew. Kyle caught it deftly.

"Governor, there's been a lot of talk lately about these protests that are happening across the country. This country is no stranger to protests that get a little out of hand. But in the past, these demonstrations typically took place in the cities. Some of my viewers have expressed concerns that these demonstrations are moving out into suburbs and rural areas. Some even say that these demonstrations are being used to intimidate rural and suburban voters as we head toward the next election. What do you have to say about that?"

The politician leaned closer to the camera. His face took on a very grave serious look. Too serious. Everything about him was too much; his earnest look; his coiffed hair with just the right touches of gray; his bright white teeth and the shiny American flag pin on his lapel. He was too everything to be real, Kyle thought. Too everything to be trusted.

"Well first of all Shawn, I want to state clearly that I support every American's right to protest. The right to protest and to speak truth to power is one of the many rights the government grants to the citizens of this great nation. That's why when I was governor, I implemented some really powerful policies that protected freedom of speech and expression while at the same time implemented necessary, common-sense measures to cool the types of inflammatory speech and harmful rhetoric that quite frankly we see too much from both sides of the aisle these days.

"Let me also say that I deplore violence in all its forms. Violence never solves anything and for those who share the same political views that I do, I'd just like to remind those viewers tonight that violence simply is not—who—we—are." The politician put dramatic pauses between the last words for emphasis. Kyle took the Africa carbine off his uncle's ready rack and went to work cleaning it. The politician continued.

"I can understand how some of your viewers might be frustrated at what they see going on. But I've spoken to the experts and a lot of what Americans are being told about these riots just is not true."

"It is misinformation," the interviewer said, nodding. He didn't say it as a question so much as a statement of fact.

"That's right Shawn, it is misinformation. And it is misinformation like this that's really dividing Americans in ways that are dangerous. Look, I have spoken with leaders in the law enforcement community. I have spoken with the leaders at the Department of Homeland Security. I have spoken with leaders at the Department of Justice, and they all told me the same thing. These demonstrations are mostly peaceful. These protests are not that big. For the most part, these are simply peaceful expressions of true democracy. And the people conducting these demonstrations are often the most vulnerable and under-served urban youth of this country, and they are frustrated. They simply are starving for the opportunities that more privileged Americans take for granted.

"So, I think the important thing we need to remember, Shawn, is for those of us on this side of the political aisle, we may not agree with what these demonstrations are all about, but we need to respect others' right to express their views, and we need to show these demonstrators empathy. We need to listen intentionally and give them the space they need to express themselves."

The interviewer's head bobbed up and down, like a cork floating in a bucket of water. "Yes, governor. Very wise. Very wise. But we're getting some reports that these protestors are bringing firearms to their political rallies. They are getting violent. They are setting fires. That they've burned down homes and businesses…"

The former governor, shaking his head the whole time, interrupted his counterpart. "Not true, Shawn. Not true. That's just more misinformation. These are just political rallies. Nobody is getting attacked. No businesses are being burned.

"But you see, this is what really upsets me, Shawn. What upsets me are the violent responses to these peaceful expressions. And this violence has been coming from people who claim to be patriotic Americans. First, we had the Raleigh Executions. Then we had this incident in Oklahoma where a disgruntled veteran used his military training to target and attack peaceful protestors. And again, all of this is being driven by misinformation and unfortunately, what we are seeing Shawn, are frustrated Americans, mostly male, mostly from the suburbs, who can't discern fact from fiction. These men then lash out against other Americans just because they look and act differently. They have this… rage. This rage that they have is unhealthy and a danger to our communities. And that saddens me, Shawn. So again, let me be clear. Violence in response to peaceful political expressions is simply un-American and it is not who we are. Our political party is always one that has put principals over partisanship."

"Yes, you know governor," the interviewer began. "I'm no stranger to violence. I'm an orange belt in Judo as well as a pistol marksman, so I'm more than an expert on the subject…"

Uncle Evans, working the polishing compound into the inside of his jar, snorted out a laugh.

"But I've been trained governor. And I've been trained to only use violence for self-defense and only as a last resort. That's not what we're seeing, is it?"

"No, it isn't Shawn. What we saw in Raleigh and in Oklahoma was just ugly and I want to take a moment to disavow that kind of violence. I also want to take a moment to remind your viewers that our side must never lose our compassion for the other side. I will never be afraid to reach across the aisle. I have a demonstrated track record of working with the other party to get things done. No other political leader has the experience that I do when it comes to sitting down and making the compromises we need to make for the greater good.

"Now Shawn, I'm willing to fight. I've always been a fighter. But I want to fight the right way. There's nothing I like more than to get in there and fight for the issues that Americans truly care about. The real issues. Things like corporate tax reform, lowering the costs of prescription drugs, and making sure we have a strong military that will go out and export the values of Western democracy around the world. And speaking of fighting for all Americans, Shawn, I want to take this opportunity to make this promise to your viewers. I am absolutely committed to rolling back the federal overreach into healthcare, which we are going to do the next time we take the House and the Senate. That's why I created my PAC, which your viewers can donate to through my website."

"Now governor, you are a busy man already. But I hear you are also writing a series of children's books?"

"That's right Shawn."

"As busy as you are fighting for hard-working Americans, how do you have time to do that?"

Both the politician and the interviewer gave good-natured chuckles that were too perfect, too practiced, too rehearsed to be genuine. Kyle rolled his eyes at the ersatz joviality.

"The series is called, 'The Courage to Compromise.' It is about Republican politicians who had the courage to compromise on their core values for the good of the American system. It is a really fun and exciting series of books that can teach children at a very young age the necessity of compromising on issues for the good of the government."

"That's a fascinating perspective governor. Can you give us an example of a time when you had to compromise on your values for the good of the government?"

"Certainly. There was a time in Congress when I had to work with the opposition party on spending. They wanted to increase spending on social programs, and I wanted to cut taxes, and we were reaching a point where if we did not increase the debt ceiling the government would shut down. Something like that would be disastrous for the American people. So, I compromised. I agreed to some of their social spending proposals. I agreed to some of their commonsense gun control measures. I moved on taxes and you know what? We increased the debt ceiling and avoided a government shutdown. We kept all of DC working and that's a good thing for the system."

"That's a great example of bipartisan cooperation and a powerful message. So, what kind of lessons do you hope children will take away from your book series?"

"I hope that children will learn the importance of compromise and the value of putting the good of the American system ahead of personal beliefs. I also hope they will learn to respect those with different opinions and work together to find common sense solutions to problems."

"Wow. That is a powerful message governor. Where can our viewers buy these books?"

"Shawn, your viewers can preorder them now…"

Evans held his jar up to the light. He turned it from side to side, examining the way the light was filtered through the glass and the clear compound he rubbed inside. He set the first jar down and went to work on the other. The interview continued.

"Now governor, the election is fast approaching, and it's gotten very heated. What are your thoughts on the race so far?"

On cue, the politician switched from faux downhome joviality back to faux earnestness.

"Shawn, I've held one political office or another my entire adult life, and I've never seen a presidential race like this. It is just gotten ugly, some of the things that are being said about our president. Look, I know our president and his family personally. Now, I don't agree with a lot of his policy positions, but I know him to be a good man. I know that the members of his administration are good people and patriotic Americans. Again, I don't agree with their policies, but I do agree with them on principle. So, when I hear some of this, just despicable rhetoric coming from the candidate who is supposed to be 'our' candidate, it is very troubling to me.

"Listen, Shawn, let me be clear. We need to take our country back. Yes, we do. But we need to do it the right way. We need to do it in a manner that is principled and inclusive and compassionate. Not in a way that's violent and deplorable and elevates some of the worst demagogues this country has ever seen. Not in a way that is mean and hurtful. Not in a way that makes the most vulnerable Americans feel less safe. Real politicians like myself, career politicians, we have certain principles. If it comes down to a political victory or sticking with our principals, we're going to stick with our principals every time."

"Thanks, governor."

"Thanks for having me, Shawn."

"I can't believe I voted for that asshole," Evans said. He set down the glass jar he'd been working at and clicked at his computer. He brought up the riot feeds. Things were heating up in New England. A mom had formed up on the outskirts of Boston and was marching out into the suburbs. Many of the marchers carried Choppers, the AK-47 based pistols they seemed to favor. Evans looked from the compact Choppers on the screen to his ready rack on the wall. There was a full length rifle there. That, and the carbine his nephew was cleaning made two, but neither one were AK-styled weapons. Evans decided he needed to fix that.

"What is: S-E-R-E?" Kyle asked.

Evans shifted his attention from the weapons back to his nephew. "What?"

"S-E-R-E?" Kyle asked again. He pointed to another decorated paddle on the wall. This one had a yellow and green badge on the blade. The word SERE was emblazoned on the top.

"It is not S-E-R-E," Evans said. "You pronounce it as one word. Sere. Like the Sears store, only without the last S on the end."

"What's a Sears store?" Kyle asked.

"Okay. Just sear then, without the last S on the end. Like the sear on a gun."

Kyle threaded a patch into the eyelet on a cleaning rod. He dropped the cleaning rod down the barrel of the rifle and pulled it out the other end. Kyle asked his uncle, "So what is it?"

"What's what?"

"Sear, or Sears, or SERE, or whatever it is?"

Evans turned away from the monitor and looked at his nephew. "SERE is an acronym. It stands for Survival Evasion Resistance and Escape. It was one of the military schools I went to."

"And they taught you survival? Like how to survive in the woods and make fires? Things like that?"

"Yeah," Evans said. "Fire starting and eating bugs and things like that. Mostly they teach you what to do if you get captured by the enemy."

"You mean like, taken prisoner?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah," Evan said. "Exactly. Taken prisoner." Evans popped the top of his cola and took a drink. He went on.

"They teach you things like how to avoid question. Tricks the guards might try to pull on you. Ways to try and escape."

Kyle ran another patch down the muzzle of the carbine. He asked, "How do they do that?"

"They make a fake prison. With fake guards and the whole deal. Then they throw you inside and put you to work. It is pretend, kind of. But it is not. It is enough."

"Sounds like a cool school. Did it work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did they teach you all that stuff? How to escape and all that?"

"No. I mean yeah. Yes, SERE taught me all that stuff," Evans said. "But what SERE school really taught me is not to be taken prisoner."

Kyle's phone rang. He set down the carbine parts he was cleaning and fished the phone out of his pocket. He glanced at the face of the phone, then looked up at his uncle.

"It's my mom."

Evans nodded. Kyle answered the phone. Evans turned his attention back to the weapon hanging on his wall. He'd put almost all his other guns into storage, he figured he'd better do the same with that one. He took another sip of his drink and then realized that by the tone of the conversation, something was going on between his sister and his nephew. He turned from the wall. Kyle was standing up, put staring wide eyed at his uncle. His face was pale.

Without speaking, Evans mouthed the question, "What is it?"

Kyle let his arm and the phone drop to his side. He spoke. His words came out shakily.

"I had a friend back home named Jake. He went to one of the protests on the 4th of July. He got shot.

"He's dead."

"You don't understand," Mary said. Kyle had gone to his room and now Evans spoke with his sister over the phone. She went on.

"California passed a new law. When we sell the car, the proceeds from the sale have to go into escrow for 90 days before we can access it. It's that way with any private car sales."

"So, sell it to a dealer."

"It's the same if I sell it to a dealer. 90 days before we can access the money."

"It is like an exit tax. They don't want anybody leaving the state. Go and park the car at the Oakland Bart Station. Leave the keys inside. Problem solved."

"Evans. That's wrong, we couldn't do that. Besides they passed another law. If a car gets stolen and is used in any crime, the State of California will hold the owner of the car criminally and civilly liable. We'd be in more trouble than whoever stole the car. The person who stole the car could even sue us for damages. Besides, we've got to sell it. We need the money."

"The laws they're coming up with are meant to keep you in California. You aren't going to get out of there without bending them at least a little," Evans said. Then he asked, "It's a beat-up hatchback, not a Ferrari, how much could it be worth."

"We need the money," Kyle's mom said. "Our place is back underwater. The housing market here in the Bay Area just crashed again."

"Of course it did. Too many people are leaving the state, and nobody wants to move to San Francisco."

"And all our other bills have gone up this summer; the energy bill, recycling assessments, the garbage, sewer… We have three different water bills we have to pay now: a city bill, a county bill, and a state bill. And all the billing is done on a progressive scale, so the more money you earn the more you have to pay. And then there are these monthly state assessments on Inclusivity and Gender Security, and we still have the High-Speed Rail assessment we have to pay. When we sent Kyle out there, we thought in six months we'd have the money to leave. Keith and I can't get ahead."

"You aren't meant to get ahead," Evans said. "You're meant to stay there and get fleeced with taxes and keep the system churning along." He paused, thought, and then said. "Just go."

"What?"

"You heard me. Just go. Throw whatever you can into your car and just go. Drive out here. You can live with me. I got space. Come out here. Once you get here you can figure out the house and all the rest."

"Evans, we couldn't."

"Do it tonight. The longer you stay the harder it will be to leave." Evans said.

"I don't know if our car will even make it that far."

"Go as far as it'll take you. I'll head west, meet you and make sure you make it all the way. The thing is you should just go. Now."

Mary hemmed and hawed. "But what about our jobs? What about our friends."

"Your jobs would lay both of you off tomorrow morning if they thought it would make the stock price move a fraction of a basis point. You don't owe them anything. And as for friends, you don't have any friends out there. Those friends will sell you out to the state in a heartbeat for nothing more than vanity and the pride of doing it."

"Evans," she admonished.

"Remember all the tattle tails back during the recent public health event?"

"You're talking conspiracy theories again," Mary said.

Evans didn't respond to that right away. He let the conversation pause long enough to be awkward. He did it to make a point.

"Sis?"

"Yes?"

"You sent your only child out here to live with me for a reason. We aren't living in a time when we can dismiss anything as a conspiracy theory. Your window of opportunity is closing. Soon it will be closed and when that happens there will be no getting out."

Kyle sat on his bed quietly, not doing anything but listening to the phone conversation in the other room. Not long after his uncle hung up, he knocked on Kyle's door and opened it. He looked Kyle up and down once.

"Meet me outside on the back porch."

Slowly, not really wanting to, Kyle got up.

The night sky was clear. A breeze swept across the hills, cool, not cold, and just enough to rustle the trees. Kyle sat down in a wooden Adirondack chair and stared into the night. In the woods nearby an owl hooted. After a few minutes, his uncle came out with two drinks. He handed one to Kyle and then sat down beside him.

Kyle sniffed his drink. His nose crinkled. "What's this?"

"Bourbon and cola. Heavy on the cola and light on the bourbon."

"What are you drinking?"

"Just regular cola for me," Evans said.

"You don't drink, do you?"

"I'll have a drink twice a year. Once on November 10th, because that's the Marine Corps birthday and that's what Marines do. I'll also have a drink or two on August 3rd." Evans didn't explain why August 3rd. Instead, he asked, "You want to talk about your friend Jake?"

"I've had booze before," Kyle said.

Evans grunted. Then added, "Maybe not like this though."

Kyle sipped at the drink his uncle gave him. It was sweeter than he expected, but with a kick after. He almost coughed but held it back. For some reason, he felt it was very important not to cough in front of his uncle. He suspected it was pride. He felt coughing would make him look weak.

"Were you and this Jake close?" Evans asked. Kyle shook his head.

"We hung out every so often. We knew each other from school. But we weren't super close."

"But close enough, maybe," Evans offered. "Close enough. You obviously feel something."

"Jake and I were texting each other on the 4th of July. He told me he was going to one of the protests. He made it sound like he was going to some big party. Like, it was going to be this big fun time. And then… mom said he got shot."

"Who shot him?" Evans asked.

"My mom says they are still investigating."

"If they are still investigating, that means it wasn't the cops. Probably one of the protesters. Too many of those choppers floating around, too few people showing those weapons the respect they require. If they don't know who it was by now, they'll probably never know." Evans sipped his own drink. He let the pause stretch out. It was natural. Not awkward. The breeze blew and the owl continued its hoots and the night sky stretched on endlessly. Evans asked, "Did you try and talk him out of it?"

"I told him to be careful," Kyle said. "I was worried. After watching the riots with you all summer, I knew they weren't just street parties. I knew they were dangerous. And I…" Kyle trailed off. His uncle finished his thought.

"And now you feel guilty because you didn't talk him out of going," Evans said. Kyle knew from his uncle's somber tone that the old man knew exactly how he felt.

"I should have tried to talk him out of it. I didn't even try. I knew what was happening at those stupid things. They weren't parties. But I didn't try. I didn't try at all."

"Maybe you could have talked him out of it. Maybe you could have done something different, and he'd still be here. Maybe. Maybe not. There's no telling what might have been. No certainties and no guarantees, not even if you could go back and do it over. All I can tell you for sure is that he's gone and you're here and alive. If that hurts, that's good. It means you are a good person. Only a good person would feel those pangs of guilt."

"That guilt, that wondering if you might have said something or done something differently and they'd still be here, that kind of thing is not easy to live with. But you must live with it. You must live with it and keep on and live your life. It sounds trite, the idea that you need to get on with your life; that the dead would want you to go on living, but it is true. If you are going to go on living, then what are you going to do? Let the guilt will eat you up and destroy you if you let it. Go down in some circle of despair? That would be easy, maybe even comforting in some strange way. But it isn't helpful. And if there is some divine plan for our lives, some reason why you are alive and others aren't, then it is because there is something you were meant to do. Some act you were meant to perform. You have to keep living and find the things, or even just that one thing worth living for."

"You knew people who died, right? In the war?"

"Yeah," Evans said. "I was in a few bad spots."

"A lot of people?" Kyle asked.

"Too many," Evans said. "Too many, I think that's the only honest way to answer that question."

"Does it go away?" Kyle asked.

"The guilt?"

"Yeah, the guilt."

"No," Evans said. "It fades in frequency, but not in intensity. Not in my experience. It'll go away for a while, but it never goes away, not completely… I wouldn't want it to though. The pain and the guilty are part of remembering the people. If losing the pain meant losing the memory of who they were and our time together, I'd keep the pain. I'd consider that a fair trade."

Kyle looked his uncle up and down. "That's why you don't drink," Kyle said. He said it as a statement, a conclusion he'd come to rather than as a question he was asking. Evans nodded.

"Why August 3rd," Kyle asked. But Evans shook his head no.

"I'm not ready to tell you that story. Not yet."

Neither Kyle nor Evans spoke after that. They just sat on the porch, drinking their drinks, and enjoying the night. The breeze was cool, and the stars were bright, and if the world was a cruel and tragic place, at least in this small corner of it, on this night, there was some goodness to it all. And if not goodness, maybe Kyle received some wisdom from his uncle.

Before he went to bed, Evans went to his office and logged into his computer. He went into a secure messaging program and sent the following:

Hey, I need a big favor. I need to borrow your truck one of these days.

The next morning, he got the following reply:

Anything you need Frankenstein. Just let me know when and where and I'll sneak it over.