He ran over to me, and he didn’t need to say a thing. But he said so many things anyway—one long rush of “I’msorryareyouokayohmy GodI’msosorryIleftyouiseveryoneallrightletmemakesureyou’reokayIwas soscaredIcameasfastasIcouldI’msosorryIleftyouI’msosorryI’msohappyyou’re okay.”
I held him as he tried to hold me. As Virgil held Janna and Mandy. As the violence of the situation subsided into aftershocks. As we slowly, slowly followed Elwood back to the fifty square feet we thought of as our temporary home.
Mira and Keisha were waiting for us together. Holding hands because they needed to.
Gus was with a cute boy who also looked concerned. His name was Pierre. He was from France.
Flora had wanted to come looking for us, too. But Clive had kept her close, saying, “They’ll come back. Don’t worry—they’ll come back. If he comes back and you’re not here, it’ll only make it harder.”
Mrs. Everett kept shaking her head, asking the sky, “Why does it always come to this?”
I called my parents. We all called our parents.
Even though it was nowhere near the top of the hour, Stein came out to speak.
“As many of you have no doubt seen or heard, minutes ago there was a violent incident in which a group of kind, charitable youth were attacked by people who support my opponent. I am sure this is not something my opponent would condone, and it is certainly not something I condone. I know that seeing this attack may anger some of you, leading to more violence.
“Let me remind you all: We are here as nonviolent protesters, and we expect our opposition to follow the same rules. As Gandhi said, ‘We must be the change we wish to see.’ We will all adhere to that.
“I know you are cold. I know you are hungry. We are doing everything in our power to bring more blankets and more food to the area. In our great challenge, we face everyday challenges as well. The only answer I can give you is this: The more kindness and justice are challenged, the more we must embrace them. Only when you are challenged—and only when you challenge yourself—do you discover what truly matters. Your actions are being witnessed and your words are being seen—not just in this city or state, but in this nation and the entire world. Stay strong. Morally strong. Spiritually strong. And physically strong. I promise you, we will get to the right end, and we will do it as quickly as possible.”
Night fell.
twenty-eight
Sue and his father found us, and they brought a campfire with them.
The resemblance was amazing, not just in their features, but in the happiness they so clearly felt in finding each other again. Sue’s father was a gorgeous woman, and she spoke in a rich, robust voice. As we laid down the wood and lit it up, Sue’s father told us stories—of her wandering days, of all the time she lost to drink, of the moment she knew she had to be a woman.
“We talk all the time ’bout hard truths,” she told us. “But I reckon to tell you there are soft truths, too. It doesn’t always have to be like running into a wall. Sometimes it’s just like waking up.”
Her one regret, she said, was leaving Sue behind.
“I always knew where he was,” she said. “I just wasn’t sure he’d want to have anything to do with a pa like me.”
Sue just leaned into her in response. His father wiped a tear from her eye.
All through the story, Jimmy kept my hand in his. Now I nestled into him a little to distract him as Flora took out the birthday cake she’d brought from home and lit the candles.
We all started singing “Happy Birthday,” and Jimmy actually seemed surprised. He looked at me once before he wished.
“Help me,” he said.
So we blew out the candles together, as all of our friends and many of the people around us cheered. Then we ate the cake, which—after two days of Everything Bars—tasted delicious.
We hung around the fire some more. Janna and Mandy sang some gospel, and Mrs. Everett stood up to tell us how mighty we were. Gus and his new French boy flirted dreamily while Mira and Keisha had once again drifted apart—even though their glances kept colliding.
When the cake-frosting sugar high started to wear off, Jimmy moved his mouth to my ear and said, “I’m sleepy.”
“Let’s go, then,” I whispered. We said a full round of good-nights, called our parents, got ready for bed, then slipped into our sleeping bag.
The fire was still burning behind us. The green banners still glowed. The night air wasn’t really dark at all. It was a blue hour.
His face was mere inches from mine. His eyes were observing. He ran his hand behind my ear, down my neck. He kissed me gently. I kissed him gently back.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” I said.
We lay there in a gentle equilibrium. Our knees touching. Our hands gliding. Quieter words. The slight heat of breath.
Gradually, very gradually, we fell asleep. Together.
The next morning, we heard the word before we knew what it meant. We woke up to it—people whispering it, speaking it, even exclaiming it.
recording. Recording. Recording!
We got up and turned on the open news channel. We saw a man walking into an official-looking building.
His name, we learned, was Ludlow Rogers.
He was the governor of Kansas’s chief of staff.
Recording.
“They say he made a recording of the governor,” Virgil told us as we gathered around. “They say it could be something.”
It was something.
Stein was late for his hourly speech. When he reached the stage, all he said was:
“I want you to hear something.”
The governor’s unmistakable voice.
“I don’t care how we do this, but we’re going to do this. This state’s not going to go for that Jew fag Stein—I don’t care if I have to vote a thousand times myself to get the margin in our favor. We’re almost there, Ludlow. The woman in Ford County’s almost done.”
That “woman in Ford County” was an election official. And she wasn’t very happy about what the governor had said.
The truth was emerging.
We were energized. By the millions, we were energized.
The chanting began. All of us in unison. All of our voices, united.
“What do we want?”
“Justice!”
“When do we want it?”
“Now!”
And
“We won Kansas! We won Kansas! We won Kansas!”
And
“Stein. Is. President!
Stein. Is. President!”
Simple slogans. Irrefutable truth.
We yelled for hours. We filled the air with our protest. Nobody was leaving now. Not when we were so close.
More and more people joined us.
We would push it and push it and push it. We would push it until we got there.
“This is what democracy sounds like.
This is what democracy looks like.
This is what democracy is.”
We forgot that we were cold. We forgot that we were hungry. We forgot that we were wearing yesterday’s clothes, if not the clothes from the day before. We forgot any of the dramas that existed among us. We forgot any other conflicts.
“I know the one thing we did right
Was the day we started to fight
Keep your eyes on the prize
Hold on, my Lord, hold on!”
United.
We stood.
“Hold on,” Stein told us. “Hold on.”
We held hands. We kept going.
We hoped.
Suddenly, around two in the afternoon, the opposition candidate’s face filled all the screens, including the one on the stage. We were confused—was this sabotage? Had his team somehow managed to jam Stein’s broadcast and infiltrate our rally?
We looked to the stage.
Stein was nowhere to be found.
What was happening?
But then we took
a look at the opposition candidate.
He looked grave.
Solemn.
Defeated.
Disbelief swirled, carrying an undercurrent of joy.
Could it be?
Was it really?
Was he going to—
We quieted. He began to speak.
We listened.
And then we began to cheer and weep.
“I have just spoken to the governor of Kansas, as well as my staff, my wife, and my Lord. It is with great sadness, but with great faith in America’s promise and future, that I concede this election and congratulate my opponent, Abraham Stein, on his election as the next President of the United States of America. Let this be a moment when we all come together…”
We’d done it.
Jimmy and I hugged each other so tight. We kissed. Then we jumped around with the rest of our friends—hugging them, hugging strangers, cheering loud into the sky.
“Hallelujah!” Virgil cried. “Hallelujah!”
Amen, I thought. Amen.
I have never heard such a noise as when Abraham Stein stepped onto that stage, the first gay, the first Jew, to be elected President of the United States.
Imagine the brightest colors possible. Then make them all into sounds. Then multiply that by two million voices.
That’s what it sounded like.
We’d done it.
The Jesus Freaks and the gay kids. The old soldiers and the students who couldn’t drive yet. Lovers and friends and exes and couples and female fathers. Every skin, every mix, every religion. People from Kansas and people from far beyond Kansas.
We’d done it. Because we had to. Because it was right.
There was a crowd standing behind Stein on the stage. Singers and actors. Ordinary volunteers. Alice Martinez. Stein’s staff members. His husband. Their children.
And in front of them all—but not really separate from them—Abraham Stein.
He said:
“There are not words with which I can thank you all enough. Everyone on this stage with me. The millions of you standing in front of me and at the state capitols. The millions more of you who have supported me with your votes. I have been talking for over a year about building the Great Community. Now I have seen that part of the work has already been done. We are already together in so many ways.
“Your message is one that I have heard, loud and clear. And it is one that will guide me as I accept your trust and faith as the next President of the United States of America. We must be guided by our ideals, by our hopes of repairing the world, by our dedication to one another and to the principles of justice, kindness, and compassion. We must stand up to evil, to fear, to hate. We must resist employing them as weapons in our own arsenal. We must remember that even though we are Americans, we are also citizens of the world and cohabitants of the earth. We must prize knowledge and creativity and invention. We must take care of one another.
“We must remember the preamble to our Declaration of Independence and usher in a new era of independence. We must remember the truths that our country is meant to hold as self-evident.
“Equality. No matter what our identity, we are considered equal in this nation.
“The unalienable right of life. That all of us are worthy and deserve protection from harm.
“The unalienable right of liberty. That all of us shall remain free.
“The unalienable right of the pursuit of happiness. Not just our own happiness, but the happiness of others as well. Do not just seek happiness for yourself. Seek happiness for all. Through kindness. Through mercy. Through opportunity.
“These are the most traditional values our country has ever had. They’re in the document where it all began.
“The Declaration of Independence says that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed; that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it. We are not here out of rebellion but instead out of our own patriotic belief in America. We are not here to abolish our government, but we are here to alter it back to its original ideas. We will no longer suffer disregard toward the well-being of our people, out of greed or war or hate. We will no longer try to pit the people against one another rather than inspire them to work together. The alteration we seek is one that returns us all to our unalienable rights and to the great democratic nation that this country can be.
“Every single one of us must do what the signers of the Declaration did at the end of their document. We must mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. I pledge my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor to you, and thank you for the pledges you have made in return to me and to this country.
“This has been an astonishing moment for me, for my family, for everyone who has worked on this campaign, and for America. Thank you again for standing up for what is right. I look forward to seeing you all at our inauguration!”
twenty-nine
We were there.
We had been there when he’d been elected. We had been there when his election was saved. So we were there in Washington, D.C., when he was sworn into office.
Sue was there. With his father and his father’s new boyfriend, Loretta.
Mrs. Everett was there. Flora had invited her to join us.
Sara was there. We saw her in the crowd and waved. She waved back, but she didn’t stop to talk to us.
Virgil, Flora, and Clive were there. They’d driven us down, and we’d all sung “Amazing Grace” when we saw the Washington Monument in the distance.
Mira and Keisha were there. Mira was with her new girlfriend, Lisa. Keisha had just broken up with her new girlfriend, Jas. She still missed Mira.
Elwood wasn’t there. But we used our vidscreens to take him along with us, to show him what he was missing. I’d been taking him to synagogue that way, too. I’d been helping him with the Torah portion for his bar mitzvah.
Gus was there, with his new boyfriend, Ramon. They’d been going out for three days. This was a big deal.
(“Whatever happened to Pierre?” I asked Gus, remembering our last day in Topeka. “Who?” he asked back.)
Mary Catherine was not there. Jesse Marin was not there. Mr. Davis was not there. We still had to deal with them at school, but they weren’t as aggressive now. We tried to be nice to them.
Jimmy’s parents were there. His whole family was—even, to our surprise, his conservative grandparents. (“I’ve never in my life been to an inauguration, and it’s about time I went,” his grandmother had said, and that was that.)
Janna and Mandy were there. They’d gone to church on Sunday, then had come straight down with us. They’d taken the Great Community to heart and were already using their church group to bring more people together—“To work for the greater good,” Janna said. “Which is really what God’s all about. A greater good.”
Jimmy was there. Holding my hand so that our wrists touched, our pulses intermingled. When we talked about the future now, we tried to find each other in it. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the present. We pursued happiness.
Stein walked up to the podium in front of the Capitol, put his hand on the Hebrew Bible, and, with his beaming husband and impatient children at his side, became the President of the United States.
I was there. Just one young gay Jew in a sea of people. Just one lone voice in an enormous body of sound. Just one unique person at one unique moment, there to witness something monumental.
I was a part of history.
We are all a part of history.
Also by David Levithan
Boy Meets Boy
Love is never easy. Especially if you’re PAUL. He’s a sophomore at a high school like no other—and these are his friends:
INFINITE DARLENE, the homecoming queen and star quarterback
JONI, Paul’s best friend who may not be his best friend anymore
TONY, his other best friend, who can’t leave the house u
nless his parents think he’s going on a date…with a girl
KYLE, the ex-boyfriend who won’t go away
RIP, the school bookie, who sets the odds…
And NOAH. The Boy. The one who changes everything.
LOVE MEETS LOVE.
CONFUSION MEETS CLARITY.
BOY MEETS BOY.
An ALA Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults
A Lambda Literary Award Winner
“[A] breakthrough book.”—Booklist, Starred
“A refreshing, offbeat romance.”—Publishers Weekly
Also by David Levithan
The Realm of Possibility
One school. Twenty voices.
Endless possibilities.
There’s the girl who is in love with Holden Caulfield. The boy who wants to be strong who falls for the girl who’s convinced she needs to be weak. The girl who writes love songs for a girl she can’t have. The two boys teetering on the brink of their first anniversary. And everyone in between.
An ALA Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults
“All teenagers will find themselves, their relationships, and their attitudes toward life, love, and the pursuit of happiness somewhere in these poems.”—Kirkus Reviews, Starred