Monday, August 3, 2009

Democracy in America, Part Two

Mr. Wilson fired Martin Williams in front of ten guests in his private box. Martin had brought martinis for everyone in the group, and after taking a few sips Ms. Bailey, the childhood friend and secret lover of Mr. Wilson, found a fly on one of her olives. She mentioned it casually, as if it were a joke that they could all remember at next week's party for Mr. Gunderson's retirement, or the cancer benefit the week after, or Ms. Bailey's daughter's confirmation next month. -Hey, remember when I found that fly on my olive out in Jersey? -Jersey? You're lucky that's all you found out there! Mr. Wilson looked in her drink and soundlessly summoned Martin over with his pointer finger.

-What is this? -Oh, I'm sorry sir, wow, I'm sorry. -This is unacceptable. -Yes yes, of course sir, ma'am, let me get you another. -You can do that and then you can leave. -Sir? -You heard me. -Oh please, sir, an honest mistake. Please. -I'm sorry. You had a chance. It didn't work out. It's over.

The rest of the guests sat silently. Ms. Bailey looked at Mr. Wilson, who looked out at the action on the floor.

Martin went out exit B and looked for his car; even after five years, it always took him at least fifteen minutes. Every direction was the same.

He found it alone, up against a fence with tall marsh grasses pushing through the links. He got in and took a joint out of the glove compartment, turned on the radio. It was a Chris Brown song, the singer who'd later beat up his girlfriend and then apologize and remain successful in spite of it.

Mr. Anderson was the boss before Mr. Wilson bought the team. One time he brought in a magazine article he'd read about the number of black men in prison over petty drug or theft or assault charges. He asked Martin what it was like growing up poor, and Martin told him that he and his mom and sister used to play checkers on the sidewalk on hot summer nights after spending the day splashing in the fire hydrants. He praised Martin for his strength and dedication coming from that kind of environment.

Martin drove out of the parking lot and stopped in a traffic jam on I-95. The rows of red brake lights went up the hill and out of view.

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Almost all Americans are in easy circumstances, and can, therefore, obtain the first elements of human knowledge.

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