The Great Perhaps (5 page)

“Wow,” Max mumbles. “That’s some serious shit.”

“It’s because people are like so afraid to wake up and see what’s going on in the rest of world. It’s like everyone is in total denial. That’s why people take pharmaceutical drugs and everything. Everybody is like in this total fog. The opiate of the people. Except it’s like actually like opium.”

“I hear that,” Max says, exhaling, laughing hard, his voice echoing from an empty cavern in his chest.

“Violence is like, it’s like the only thing that frightens people anymore. It’s like the only way to motivate people to change. Because everyone is totally comfortable with like rich white men being in charge of everything.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with white men?” Max asks, still laughing.

“White men have like ruined everything on the planet. They’re responsible for everything bad that’s ever happened. Like pollution and genocide, everything that’s wrong in Africa. White men are totally the problem.”

“Too bad we’re all white,” Heather says, sadly smirking.

“Well, I’m not,” Amelia says proudly, taking the joint and then inhaling.

“Yeah, right,” Max mumbles.

“No, I’m serious. I’m part Native American.”

“Sure you are.”

“No, for real. On my mother’s side. I’m like one-eighth Cherokee,” she says, completely and utterly lying.

“So?”

“So what? So nothing,” Amelia says with a frown.

“So what does that mean? You’re one-eighth Cherokee. Big deal.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just my heritage. One day people of color are going to rise up and overthrow the white power machine. And I’m going to be part of it. And we’ll create a new world, with one flag that represents everybody, in like total harmony.”

“Except white men,” Max says, smiling.

“Yeah. Except them.”

A
MELIA HAS ALMOST
had sex three times with three different boys. Each time, she changed her mind just before the act itself. The last time was with Max, in his parents’ enormous Lincoln Park home, while they were away for the weekend at some wedding, and at the last possible moment, when Max ran up to his parents’ room looking for a condom, Amelia, lying with her black skirt shoved hastily up around her waist, decided she would rather not. She decided to give each of the three disappointed young men blowjobs instead. She did not let them cum in her mouth. She forced the first one to ejaculate on his pants, the second onto the car seat, and Max onto a bedspread. For some reason, Amelia believes giving someone a blowjob is less intimate than actually having sex, and also more mature, more grown-up. She imagines hardworking feminist journalists all over the world giving their lovers blowjobs. This is what she tries to tell herself. Amelia does not know why, but she just wants to get her first time over with. She wants it to be with someone she never has to see again. Ever.

O
NE DAY,
A
MELIA
writes a column in the newspaper about how stupid the American flag is and why every flag in the country ought to be burned. The next week, in her editorial, she states,
Anyone who shops at Wal-Mart is a coward
. Principal Stuart stares at the pulpy pages of the
Midway
in disbelief. He calls to his secretary, Angie, a cheery, overweight assistant with at least four different pens stuck in her red curly hair, shaking his head. “Tell Wick to get his ass down here. And pronto.” He sits behind his desk and almost has a heart attack when he flips to an editorial page from last month, where, in black and white, Amelia Casper writes,
Historically, white men are the cause of most of the trouble in the world.

A
MELIA, STANDING BESIDE
Mr. Wick, who is pale and shivering with sweat, agrees to print a retraction in regards to the white-men-are-the-cause-of-trouble piece. She does not argue. She stares down at her dark black shoes, unafraid. She decides for next week’s paper to take up a new cause: the cafeteria workers’ unjust treatment.

T
ODAY,
W
EDNESDAY,
the thirteenth, Amelia is finally suspended from school for trying to incite the cafeteria workers to strike. In her latest school newspaper column, she has written:

When Amelia steps out of Principal Stuart’s office, the suspension a yellow piece of paper clamped in her hand, she expects the students in the crowded hallway to begin clapping. She imagines Heather and Max will have constructed a banner celebrating her bravery. But no, no one has even noticed. No one. Amelia watches the students hurrying through the hallway and when she finally spots Max and Heather, they stare at her, their heads down, slightly embarrassed for her. A girl, some poor freshman with a purple headband, accidentally bumps into Amelia. The girl stumbles, tripping over her own feet, and tumbles to the floor. The girl instinctively calls Amelia a bitch. Immediately Amelia begins shouting. “You are all savages! Why don’t you go home and plug your brains into your stupid computers and do whatever MTV tells you to do!” She collects her things and is forced to wait in the lobby of the principal’s office while he makes a big deal out of calling her folks. Her neck has begun to blister, a swell of red hives running up and down her throat.

W
HILE SHE IS WAITING
for what seems like a century, Amelia notices a silver digital wristwatch resting atop the receptionist’s vacant desk. Its segmented band is coiled beneath its blank-looking face as it sparkles desperately.
Free me
, the watch quietly whimpers.
Free me
. Amelia stands, pretends to be wandering around the tiny lobby, glancing over at the principal’s diplomas, which have been framed along the far wall, and then lunges for the tortured object, feeling its cold heft in her hand. Quickly, she slips it into her purse and returns to her seat with an enormous, self-satisfied smile.

M
ADELINE GETS A CALL
on her cell phone from Amelia’s school about her suspension. It’s just after lunch and she still has another few hours to go, observing the birds’ reaction to predatory stimuli, which are, after all, only a few tape recordings and a plastic owl. Madeline hears her cell phone ringing and quickly steps out of the enclosure to answer it. She does not receive the news of Amelia’s suspension very well. She immediately calls home, and after the fifth ring, Jonathan answers distractedly.

“Jonathan. I need you to go get Amelia from school. She’s in trouble for something.”

“Oh, hell, what happened?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say. I think she insulted the principal or something.”

“Should I go right now or should I wait for school to end?”

“No, you need to go now,” Madeline says.

“Okay. Do I need to talk to her principal, too?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.”

“Okay. I’m getting dressed. I should probably wear a sweater or something nice, don’t you think?”

“Jonathan?”

“Yes?”

“You have to figure it out by yourself, okay? I have to go.”

“Okay.”

Madeline hangs up the phone and hurries back to the lab.

A
NSWERING IMAGINARY QUESTIONS
from the imaginary principal, Jonathan puts on a black sweater, then changes his mind, puts on a brown shirt that is much too small, then goes back to the black sweater.
As a matter of fact, yes, we are quite proud of her political interests. We only wish she would exercise some restraint, maybe learn to listen more? Yes, that’s exactly what we think.
Jonathan brushes his teeth, still talking.
Maybe she does need to get involved in other activities. Lacrosse sounds great. We didn’t even know lacrosse was an option. We love lacrosse. Yes, we’re great admirers of people who play lacrosse.

A
S USUAL, HIS CAR,
a rusted red Peugeot from his college days, will not start. He has to coax it, talking to it like an unresponsive friend,
Okay, pal, okay, buddy, come on, now, pal
, until it turns over. At his daughter’s high school, Jonathan circles around for a parking spot, finds one, then stumbles out, searching for the principal’s office. He sees his reflection in a trophy case and is astonished that his hair looks the way it does, blond, uncombed, standing up straight along his neck. When he finds Amelia in the principal’s office, sitting in a powder-blue chair, her chin resting in her hands, he begins to feel angry. She starts to stand and Jonathan sees she has been crying. Are they real tears? Yes, they are. His anger immediately turns to something else as he pats her shoulder gently.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I got in trouble for writing something.”

“Writing what?”

“I said that the school is racist because all the cafeteria workers are black.”

“Oh.” Jonathan looks around the tiny office, sizing it up. “Well, are they?”

“Yeah. Except Maribel. She’s Bolivian.”

“I see.” He wonders what other questions he should be asking. He shrugs his shoulders and asks, “How long are you suspended for?”

“Like a week, I think.”

“Okay, wait here. I think I have to talk to your principal or something.”

“Please don’t make this worse, Dad.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Jonathan nods, itching his beard. He introduces himself to the red-haired receptionist who nervously picks up the phone and whispers, “Mr. Hearst is here.” Jonathan gives her a dirty look, squinting hard. The receptionist blushes, hangs up the phone, and says, “He’ll be right with you.” Jonathan glances back at his daughter, trying to figure it all out. Amelia has always been the smart one, the mature one, the one who knows the answer to the question before you’ve even had a chance to finish asking it. Maybe she is a little too bossy. Maybe she is a little too quick to tell you what your problem is. Maybe she is a little too proud, a little too superior. Looking at her sitting there, Jonathan knows that she’s going to end up being somebody great. Maybe she ought to keep her mouth shut a little more often. But look at this place, this awful dreary office, this awful dreary school, with its little wood-veneered desk and coffee machine and fax and absentee reports.
It would drive me nuts, too
, Jonathan thinks.
Maybe it’s better that she’s testing her limits than just following the same, simple-minded rules. Maybe it’s better she make a few big mistakes than to never try and do anything big at all.
Jonathan begins to nod to himself as the principal, Mr. Stuart, steps out of his office, extending his hairy hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Mr. Stuart.”

“Jonathan Casper, Amelia’s dad. Thanks for calling me.”

Jonathan follows the principal into his office and takes a seat at Mr. Stuart’s urging.

“Well, I’m sure Amelia has told you what has happened,” the principal whispers.

“She has.”

“Good. We’re all very upset by the incident. Has she also shown you a copy of the editorial in question?”

“No.”

The principal nods, reaching for the school paper lying on his desk. He solemnly hands it to Jonathan, who quickly begins scanning it. Jonathan nods, trying to hide his smile, then decides not to bother.

“I don’t see anything wrong with this,” Jonathan says. “It’s her opinion. She put her name right there next to it. She’s not doing it anonymously or anything. I think she’s pretty brave for saying what she did.”

“Brave, or a little inconsiderate, perhaps.”

“I don’t know if I see a difference here.”

“Well, perhaps Amelia will have some time to think about that.”

“When can my daughter come back to school?”

“We expect to see her on Monday the twenty-fifth.”

“That’s more than a week.”

“Your daughter called me a savage. And a dickwad, Mr. Casper. If it wasn’t for her outstanding grades, we would be looking at possible expulsion.”

Jonathan nods, scratching his beard. “Okay.” He stands up and looks around the terrible little office. “I want you to know I’m taking my daughter to get Chinese food right now. Cantonese. I think what she did was wrong but I don’t think punishing her makes any sense at all.”

“Well, we’ll see her on Monday the twenty-fifth, regardless.”

Jonathan nods, opens the office door, and stands over his daughter, frowning.

“We’re done here. You got your things?”

Amelia nods.

“Did you talk to your teachers? You know what you’re missing in your classes?”

She nods again.

“Let’s go get some Chinese.”

A
T
N
ICKY’S
C
HINESE
F
OOD
Restaurant, Amelia orders lo mein and shrimp fried rice and shares it with her dad. Her dad always gets the same thing: two egg rolls, chicken kow, and an almond cookie. He refuses to try anything new. They sit in the same red vinyl booth, the one in the corner, and after switching entrees, Jonathan looks up and says, “Just because you’re smart doesn’t mean you can get away with things other people can’t.”