Free The Means by Douglas Brunt

Mills is outspent four to one through mid-October.
    They have two debates, which are notable only for extreme boredom. Both candidates are intelligent and well prepared as good lawyers are, but they both get deep in technical aspects of issues that viewers don’t understand and so don’t care about. Neither lands a kill shot and both carry themselves well. By October twentieth, Tom is up two points in the polls.
    Tom’s staff has finished the briefing on fund-raising and polling data so he adjourns the meeting. He leans into his chair and closes his eyes. He never naps but he needs thirty minutes a day to think in quiet and to let his mind wander.
    With closed lids Tom visits his childhood as though he’s an adult come back, peering through a window at the boy he was. But even as a boy he felt outside himself, watching the scenes in his family happen to them.
    The young Tom blows out all ten candles on his birthday cake with enough air left over to shout “I got ’em.” He looks up at his mother who has her palms pressed together under her chin and tears in her eyes. Tom knows these are not tears of happiness but of sadness and that they are not for him but for his uncle, her brother in a jail cell.
    Tom’s mouth stays in the shape of a smile but the vibrations it had been sending through his face stop. The room sees Tom’s face go plastic and the birthday party goes lifeless. No one can find the enthusiasm to fool the rest into being happy.
    Tom doesn’t feel wronged or cheated of this moment by his family. He stands with his family against this outrage and he feels more of a grown-up to be also sober about it with them. He is angry, and more than that, he is scared.
    It is one thing to know as a child that there are ogres and trolls and bad guys but that good guys help us and that our parents, our heroes, are always there and unafraid. It is another to learn the good guys can’t be trusted, that the biggest danger on the streets is from those whose job it is to protect and who have the authority to do whatever they want. The cops and the lawyers speak a language we don’t understand and we watch our parents, our first heroes, cower powerless and afraid.
    Two days after the party is visiting day at the prison and Tom goes to sit in front of soundproof glass with his mother and across from his uncle. He’s come many times the last two years to say hello.
    His mother holds the kind of heavy black phone that is in public phone booths and she gives a factual update of the appeals process and conversations with lawyers. There isn’t much to report. Then they sit for a while with no noise, touch the glass a few times, look at each other then look away, look at Tom. The phone drifts down from her ear to rest on her shoulder like a cradle and her fingers rest on top.
    Uncle Neil motions to speak with Tom. Tom’s mother hands over the phone and Tom presses it hard against his ear.
    â€œJeez, buddy, you’re getting big.”
    â€œHi, Uncle Neil.” His uncle’s eyes are always wet and he wonders whether or not he just has wet eyes.
    â€œYou’re filling out too. I see the muscles popping out from under your shirt.”
    â€œI’m playing football. We’re working out pretty hard now.” Tom feels neither brave nor afraid. He is too confused to know how to feel and that insulates him from acute emotion at the time. He just wants his family to be happy and his uncle to be free.
    â€œGood for you, Tom.”
    â€œHow are you?”
    Neil takes a long breath. “I’m doing okay.” He nods and looks pensive as though this is a real and thoughtful conclusion.
    Tom is unconvinced but knows it’s just conversation.
    Neil says, “You know, Tom. When each of us is born we’re all given a big shit pie. And every once in a while we have to cut off a slice and eat it.”
    A tear falls from Neil’s left eye and he pretends