Jody closed the scrap book. They sat silently for a moment.
Charlotte was the first to speak, rather cautiously. "Well done.
Something said well that desperately needed saying. The book
review serves as a splendid device. It offers the tool to foster
passing of painful truths without a killing of the messenger."
"Yes," sadly responded Jody, "you see, I completely understand
McVeigh's motivation. In time his outrageous deed may become
more prophetic than pathetic."
Jody had much to say about this event. He noted the outrage by
those who survived or lost loved ones in the event, and that all
others without exception, were so intensely hateful that no one
dared to question any motivation that might have set McVeigh in
motion. Could Jefferson have been a prophet for McVeigh or
merely a crutch? Had our free republic gone too far in teaching
abuse as Brandeis spoke of? For such as Jefferson, quoted by
McVeigh, both tyrant and patriot must collide. Did McVeigh fully
understand the consequences of such extraordinary act, and
carefully identify his role? Had he not the sense to know the
backlash would completely eradicate any noble curative action he
might hope to make? No one seemed to make the slightest move to
understand how anyone could feel any kind of ill will against
soft federal workers, self serving, in paper shuffling jobs, for
the most part, with even on the job baby sitting as collateral
duty. No one seemed to realize how far socialism of employment
and parenting and child care had saturated a free nation of free
choice by using the taxes confiscated from a vast number of
workers who made it independently on their own. No one worried
then or now about federal government policing or the loss of
freedom of choices. Rather, great haste was made to put in place
of that flimsy building a sorry in your face monument that
further promoted the government's on the job permissiveness with
little chairs for little people, so none must ever forget that
they remain on the job in an adult work day world, and glorify
this child abuse fostered by parents who never hesitate to put
their children in the care of others no matter the expense or
inconvenience to all others except themselves. No one ever
howled out for tax breaks so one parent could stay home when
children needed that kind of attention. No one complained about
the planned bastards or later deserted children by one or both
the parents. No one, not a single printing had been seen to
explain how this way out socialism might move one who had once
cared, to instability and an over reaching reaction. A young
reporter watched the execution of McVeigh, who, it was reported,
lay quietly, nodded calmly to each, one by one as he caught
their eyes, and then with his eyes wide opened, fixed on the
camera in the ceiling, calmly passed away.
"It was awful, it was evil," said Jody, "such terror, such
screaming silence, that none would dare to hear before
desperation aggravated McVeigh to the point of deliberate
destruction. Not before. Certainly not then. Then never,
thereafter."
"I hear you Jody, and I understand you, them and even maybe
McVeigh, a little. His was a deep dastardly gash and will take a
very long time to heal, even a little." "Added to that," said
Jody "is the certain knowledge that not much will change for the
good. Only more policing and oppression. Freedom destructive
pro-active policing by a centralized government."
"Talking of death and dying," said Charlotte, rising, "I have
one." She shelved the scrapbook, and pulled down her slim
volume. "Ready?"
Charlotte prefaced: "This speaks of an idealist I once knew. One
who could not cope with realities and disappointments. One who
turned to himself for a solution. That permanent solution to a
temporary problem: Memory of a Dead Poet
After singing of Elizabeth and people and church and bells you
in green-leafed dreaming once cried --O, Ecstasy! but quickly
stilled that mystic joy searing otherworldly word-dreams into
silence.
Departing a world that once tried to kill and failed you went
leaving behind a lingering trail of sorrow and broken dreams to
haunt the hearts of friends.
Journeying outward setting aside all thoughts of Elizabeth and
quiet shy glances of love over cups of tea as the poetic
flowering of your soul no longer sang or gazed at open skies,
ecstatic trembling green leaves, Elizabeth, bells or tea.
As it oozed out the red-stained window blown through your skull.
"Jody, how can goodness go so wrong?" said Charlotte, quietly
closing the book.
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