I don’t know how to talk about politics -- about war. The people who do are liars.
Lying defined by lacking bravery to ask just one more question - the one that would get inside a solid pseudo-answer and blow it to bits. When that destruction fails to occur, it manifests … elsewhere. We lie to ourselves, first - and then bury the incident. But that’s only the first grave.
So, I’m standing in front of the courthouse at 7 pm in February holding a candle with 20 other people I know from work and many more I don’t. We try to talk we try to be silent we try to pray all at the same time we are trying. Someone burns the hair on their hand trying to warm it over a candle. That smell of burning hair. A run of terror through me and I don’t know why and then, I do. And then more people come. Not many have candles. They’re supposed to have candles. This is a peace vigil. We light candles and call our congressmen. I thought that was the point.
A group of young men - boys - a group of boys come walking towards us. Unusually beautiful faces. My feet are wooden. The pain of cold has gone. I’m surrounded by visible breath. Mine rises to catch in my eyelashes. Mist lifting before losing its separate utility in a common haze. I’m looking through this at them: young, beautiful faces with chains around their necks holding dog tags and some of them look scared. There’s one though - he’s about my age but when I look at him he’s a child. I imagine him as my son. Odd thing to do. I can’t take my eyes off of him. A strange passion in his eyes, a wild woop of light in his face. He has an American flag on a dowel stick down the back of his shirt. It runs the length of his spine, though unnaturally unyielding and without the wholesome curves. It juts up so the flag is above the crown of his head, held in place by a rope tied around his forehead. The rope is secured a second time in a knot at the front of his throat. He’s lovely. Really. I watch him with an empty mind while he walks the perimeter of our circle with his friends. He walks with pride and more strength than I have ever felt when it’s this cold - this February. We make eye contact --. What would we say to each other? What we have in common: both of us want to believe in and do something right. I think neither of us have found a place for this. I’m with a bunch of people who can’t even remember to bring candles to a candlelight vigil. What would we say to each other. I don’t know how to talk about politics. He has a rope tied around his throat.
