Free M. T. Anderson by Feed Page A

about it. It’s a free country. You should do something.
She was like,
Nothing’s ever going to happen in a two-party system.
She was like,
da da da, nothing’s ever going to change, both parties are in the pocket of big business, da da da,
all that? So I was like,
You got to believe in the people, it’s a democracy, we can change things.
    She was like,
It’s not a democracy.
    I hated it when she got like this, because then she wasn’t like herself, I mean, she wasn’t like this playful person who drags me around the mall doing crazy shit, she was suddenly like those girls in School™ who sit underground and dress all in black with ribbing and get an iron fixture for their jaws and they’re like, “Capitalist fool — propaganda tool,” holding up both their hands, etc. When she said things like
It’s not a democracy,
suddenly I couldn’t stand to be having this whole conversation. I was like,
Oh, yeah,
and she was like,
It’s not,
and I was like,
Oh, okay,
and she said,
No, it’s not a democracy,
and I was like,
Yes it is,
and she was like,
No it isn’t,
and I got sarcastic, so I was like,
No, sure, it’s all fascist, isn’t it? We’re all fascists?
    Then she was like, really gently,
No, please, I’m not trying to be an asshole. It’s not a democracy.
    I was like,
Then what is it?
    A republic. It’s a republic.
    Why?
    Because we elect people to vote for us. That’s my point.
    So why is it like that?
    Because if it was a democracy, everybody would have to decide about everything.
    I thought about that.
We could have everybody vote. From the feeds. Instantaneous. Then it would be a democracy.
    Except,
she said,
only about seventy-three percent of Americans have feeds.
    Oh,
I said.
Yeah.
And so I felt stupid.
There’s that many who don’t?
    Then she told me,
I didn’t used to have a feed.
    I was like,
What do you mean?
    She was quiet like she didn’t want to chat. It was that kind of quiet. Then she went,
We didn’t have enough money. When I was little. And my dad and mom didn’t want me to have one.
    Holy shit.
    I got it when I was seven.
    I’m sorry,
I said.
    For what?
    For not knowing. You know, that so many people don’t have them.
    No one with feeds thinks about it,
she said.
When you have the feed all your life, you’re brought up to not think about things. Like them never telling you that it’s a republic and not a democracy. It’s something that makes me angry, what people don’t know about these days. Because of the feed, we’re raising a nation of idiots. Ignorant, self-centered idiots.
    Suddenly, she realized what she had said, that she’d just called me a self-centered, ignorant idiot. She stopped. She started stumbling all over her words, and she was like,
I didn’t mean . . . I, you know . . . it’s not really important, but just, I believe . . . ,
and so on. I just sat there and watched her. I could tell I was liking to watch her trip up over her words while I was doing this angry face, so I didn’t move my mouth or chat her or anything. I just sat, and she felt bad, and then she even chatted me,
I’m sorry,
which was bad, because it showed that we both knew I was stupid, and then I looked away. I looked away, and she put her hand on my arm, which was the worst, because it was the consolation prize.
    That night, when I got home, I was looking out the window, being sorry, and my mother was like, “What’s wrong?”
    I didn’t answer for a while. Finally, I said, “Do you think I’m stupid? I mean, am I dumb?”
    “You’re a nontraditional learner.”
    Smell Factor said, “No, he’s not. He’s dumb.”
    My mother asked, “Is this re: Violet?”
    “No.”
    “Come on. Is it re: her? Because she shouldn’t make you feel stupid. That’s not good.”
    “Mom, it’s un-re: her, okay?”
    “She should be proud of you.”
    I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want my mom to think Violet was a snob. Violet wasn’t a snob. I was just dumb.
    My mom came over and