The campaign

I was waiting by the side of the road as the arctic wind whipped the collars of my jacket into my ears, hard and fast, to create a frantic and painful beat. Could it get any colder? The radio station put the temperature at –12 degrees Fahrenheit. Why even measure it at that point? Ten minutes more of waiting in this miserable air and my ears will freeze, and the constant beating from my jacket, in one final crescendo, will shatter them in unison sending shards of frozen flesh into my collar. And the thing is, I wouldn’t mind.



Sure, I could get in the car and escape the cold and the wind. Sure I could drive away; home to my wife and kids. Home to the fireplace that undoubtedly is warming our home, the flames dancing behind the screen that keeps the puddles of glowing embers within the comfy fireplace. Oh sure, I could do that. But I don’t deserve it. And I need to wait for Him.



As the beam from the headlights swept across the building I knew it was Him. Who else but someone with the ability to bring about the total destruction of a man’s lifelong efforts would be out on a night like this?



Lovers aren’t out tonight. They’re snuggled together in homes watching mindless television; enjoying every instance of each other’s company with no regard for the dribble that radiates from the screen. Totally engrossed in the moment.



Lonely people aren’t out tonight. They’re home counting the ticking moments, reading, writing, drawing, and listening to music, content in their solitude. Dreaming of bright futures.



Cops aren’t even out tonight. They’re inside buildings, laughing around steaming cups of fresh brewed coffee with weighted belts and lifted spirits. For nights like this keep even the coldest criminal inside where it’s warm. They know it so they share in the brotherhood that brings them together tonight. Inside. Where it’s warm.



But not me.



And not him.



Me.

And him.

We.



We shared so much so very long ago. We supported and inspired and nurtured and celebrated each other for so many years. Now we are the lone souls in the entire city with a reason so dark and sad that we dare expose ourselves to this wicked weather.



How could I have been so foolish? We were just kids. How was I to know that today I would be running for office? That the friendship we shared, so blissfully in high school, would become so bitter and vengeful in college. How was I to know that he would do anything, use anything to stop me from achieving what, on the eve of the elections, I had spend most of my adult life working toward?



The frozen hard rubber of the tires crunched to a stop at the tips of my boots. I could see his sad and focused expression through the windshield. I looked down at my boots and then at my hands. Hmm, my fingers look freeze-dried. I suppose I ought to get this over with.



My boots squeaked on the frozen snow that spotted the road as I walked around the front of the car and approached the driver’s door. The electric window made a popping sound as a fine layer of ice shattered releasing the glass from the bond it had made with the top of the door. Operating at about half the speed it would have in the summer the window crept down its track adding to the Hollywood drama of the moment.



About halfway down it slowed to a stop with an exhaustive moan. It wasn’t going any farther on a night like tonight. I shouldn’t have come this far. But like the window, I couldn’t turn back now.



“You’re going to keep your promise right?” The words rose out of the half open window in the cloud of steam that billowed from the interior and reached my ears as the warmth caressed my cheek. “Of course” was my chilled reply.



A tattered white, and oddly familiar, envelope poked its way over the halted glass and waited for me to take it. “You put the negatives in here, too?” I asked. “Of course” the steam replied.



As my stiff fingers apprehensively reached for the corner of the envelope the car began to move forward. I grasped. He released. The car moved. The window remained gaping until the car was out of sight.



As I stood in the road where this drama played out, the temperature felt like it dropped at least five more degrees. I’ll be warm soon enough. There is one last thing I must take care of: The envelope.



It was the typical envelope you get from Walgreen’s when you have your photo processing done. But this envelope had a story. It was at least 25 years old. The tattered corners showed the signs of all the moves it must have made. Even in the frigid temperature and howling wind I could smell the musty odor that added to the essence and history of the envelope. The flap was obviously still intact. In fact, the odd glue they use on these envelopes still kept the seal remarkably well closed.



I inspected and marveled at the envelope, turning it over in my hands, noting everything I can about the unique package. There is the weight and texture of one photograph (4X6) and a single strip of negatives. I wondered at how I could have been so stupid. Like I said, it was long time ago but what I did could never have been good for any career. Even if I wasn’t worried about my career then (which I wasn’t) there was no good that could every come from this behavior. Anything you have to hide from your friends, your family, those you love and total strangers, is wrong. Had I only been wiser. Had I only thought. Had I only stopped him from taking my picture I wouldn’t have been in this situation; having to protect myself from being exposed. Sure it was a long time ago, but time cannot mend the past actions of the next Governor of the state. Actions like this can never be forgiven or excused.



So, for a promise I can erase the past: the promise to pass a zoning amendment to allow a new mall, his mall, when the time comes. It’s no big deal we need a new mall anyway. And this issue will be gone.



The lighter in my pocket is yearning to get out and disintegrate the past. Interesting how an object like this can create such finality. As I pull it free from my pocket my thumb is already stroking the wheel. I should verify the picture is the right one but I am ashamed of what the picture would remind me of. That summer… so long ago.



A gentle flick of my thumb and a single spark ignites the gas. The flame leaps from the lighter; the only spot of warmth in this entire barren landscape. It quivers and bends toward the envelope. I place the corner of the envelope over the flickering flame and the ancient paper ignites. Slowly at first. Brown tinges, blackening, smoke then flame. Flame. Creator of warmth. Warmth in the home of my family, patiently waiting for me. Warmth in the hearts and arms of young couples entwined and in love. Warmth in the dreams and coffee cups of the people of the city. Warmth surrounding the envelope and erasing the only thing so embarrassing that it would undoubtedly cost me the election. Warmth is good. Warmth will save me tonight.



I watch spellbound as the flame continues to massage the envelope, caressing the outside; kneading the tension from the paper strands. De-stressing and relaxing to the point that, to my horror, the envelope begins to open like the petals of a flower revealing the backside of The Picture. Panic sets in my heart. “Oh my God”, escapes my stiff lips before I catch myself. The picture is burning but slower than the envelope. This is it; my one last moment to view the past before it’s gone forever.



Something subconscious fires a nerve ending. My arm transfers the signal to my wrist that slowly begins rotating. The flames are consuming more of the picture and the action of rotating it is allowing it to burn at a faster rate. The edge of the picture is pointing directly at me. Why look at it? Yet I cannot stop my wrist from rotating. Flames are now consuming fifty percent as I rotate it into view.



It’s just as I remembered. Just as horrible. Just as foolish. Just as unforgivable. Memories of my childhood flood through my brain. The great times. The laughs. The long quiet talks. The scheming. The plans. How were we to know how wrong it was? How perverse. How unforgivable.



Yes as the flames are eating away at the final 25% of the picture I know I made the right decision. Even though we were just kids, there is no way people would understand. There is no way they could ever forget. There is no way they would ever elect a Governor… who attended Clown Camp.