America The Beautiful

Preface

A cynical and rageful political statement. A modern Rosa Parks story.
... A fantasy.

A fantasy that one day may come true - no, with the kind of people fighting, one day WILL come true, where people wake up and realize what they’re doing to others, and thus inadvertently doing to themselves. Every fetter one locks around the feet of another depletes from their own freedom. And what happens when they look up at their prisoners and see the eyes of their best friend, their mother, their child... themselves? They always do.

This is a story of oppression, of the oppression going on under the unsuspecting noses of primarily good Americans with bad influences. This is about the American governmental and sociological downfall into a fascist mindset through the use of propaganda and demagogy. It is about the shadow of Hitler, because the United States is standing in it.

And it is, in those regards, not fiction.

I am very excited about this piece, because in it, I can finally pour out my heart regarding what’s going on in this country. I can pour my political opinions, my thoughts on American government and law, my intense bitterness, and my scream and plea for a change, into my plot and characters.

This story is appearing at a time when Americans are running amok with that star-spangled banner waving out of their cars, claiming we’re the best country on earth, drowning in their own nationalism, and making references to, you guessed it, “America the Beautiful.” The mood of this story is the exact opposite, and clashes beautifully and strikingly against the attitude of the status quo, with lines like (a major theme of the story), “These happy little heterosexuals today are actually running around claiming it’s a ‘free’ country, America the fucking beautiful, but not knowing what hideous things are going on inside it.” In being different, it can be interesting, because I have fun with “controversy”, quoted to mock the fact that, although they are, these topics should not be controversial in the first place. Innocent love should not be controversial in the first place. So I have fun with my communist lesbian activists, interesting mix of politics and passion, angry gay activists with smart mouths (aren’t they the best kind?), antagonists that will make you sick, make you want to flee the country... And a little boy who, instead of coloring or playing football, is wondering why people seem to hate the ones he loves. Heartbreaking? Good. I want you to feel everything I felt in writing this. It means I’ve done my job well. You can laugh, cry, dance, spit, whatever, in reaction to this story, but as long as you think (because there’s so little of it going on around here), this story is a success.

Without further ado...

America The Beautiful

by Cheyenne

I admit I’d recently entered a stage of vanity. I’d grown up so early, but only recently did I start to notice it show in the worry lines in my face. Sitting in front of my bedroom dresser, I leaned in close to the mirror to examine my features. I ran my finger across the slight wrinkle under my eye. Had that always been there? I knew I’d spent enough time scrutinizing myself within the last few weeks to know my face by every last pore, but somehow I couldn’t remember. My eyes traveled to the photograph in the corner of the mirror, of me, Michael, and our namesake and son, Michael Angelo. I was smiling in it too much to tell. That was the day this summer when we had all gone to my mom’s house and run around in the sprinkler system in her backyard. I looked at myself again and frowned. A moment later, I looked up to acknowledge Michael’s reflection behind mine.

“What’s the matter?” he asked concernedly. “Too much stress being young and beautiful?”

“I’m not beautiful,” I corrected him. “At least nowhere as close as you. And lately I don’t feel young.”

“You’re twenty-fuckin-two baby, that’s too young for a midlife crisis.” He put his arms around me from behind, and kissed my cheek. “It's time to get Mikey Angel.”

“Mikey!” I yelled, on the elementary school lawn, kneeling down to be at his level.

“Daddy!” He shrieked, and charged at me, jumping into my arms and knocking me over, inducing giggles in us both.

“How was school, lil man?” I helped him up, and took his hand as we walked towards the car.

“It was soooo much fun!” he said. “I met my new teacher and she’s really nice and she gave us candy. And we got to introduce ourselves and talk about our families.”

“Oh, really?” I asked interestedly. Talking about families. This hadn’t come up before.

“Yeah,” he continued, as I opened the passenger’s side door, made sure he was securely in and locked, and walked around. He continued when I got in. “She asked me what my mommy’s name is, and I said I don’t live with my mommy, but I have TWO fathers, and everyone thought that was really cool.”

I smiled. “That IS really cool, Angel.” I ruffled his hair and started the car. Now I remembered why it didn’t matter how imperfect I thought I was. I honestly felt like I was living the perfect life, and my son had just told his class, with total confidence and pride, about his gay parents, and was recounting the rest of his first day of second grade with such bubbly excitement that it filled my own heart. Now I remembered what mattered.

“You should have heard him, the way he said it,” I gushed to Michael later that day in our room. “He said he was like ‘I don’t live with my mommy, but I live with my two fathers,’ like it totally wasn’t a big thing, and it just made me think, ‘Wow. We’ve really instilled in him a pride of who we are.’ That feels good, Michael.”

“It does, it feels incredible,” he smiled.

“Papa.” Michael Angelo came bouncing in, with a football under his arm. “You gonna play with me?”

“Yup, let’s go.” Michael jumped up. “Wanna BE the football?” he asked playfully, scooping Mikey under his arms.

“No!” Mikey giggled wildly, practically upside down.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can be the football, and me and Papa can throw you back and forth!”

“I’m not a football, I’m a boy!” he shrieked.

“Okay, okay.” Michael put him down, and we all left the room in laughter, bounding down the stairs to play football in our backyard.