Page 38 of Queen of Ruin

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

Evangeline

The lecture hall is half-filled, and I find a strategic spot in the back because yet again, I’m late. I didn’t get to hear the introduction but find myself instantly enthralled as Senator Walker stands on the stage, addressing our student senate and potential law students.

“I know you’ve probably got a hundred lawyer jokes brewing in your heads right now, and perhaps you’ll stick around after and I’ll let you know if I’ve heard them before,” Kerry says, and the room erupts into genuine laughter.

He looks so comfortable up at the podium, with his easy smile and full lips as his hands grip the edges. He’s wearing the same suit as this morning when I’d run into him – a crisp dark blue jacket, with a light blue shirt, and a striped tie.

While he tells the students about his law career, he walks away from the podium, holding the mic in hand as he casually moves around the stage as if he’s taking a stroll. For someone who is much older than me, his broad shoulders and lean waist make him seem younger, fit for his age – quite handsome. I’m not the only one in the room who thinks so, judging by the ration of female-to-male student body.

“When you stand up and take your oath,” he holds his hand in the air, “I will conduct myself uprightly, and according to the law, and I will support the Constitution of the United States,” he recites with a passionate yet commanding tone. “Support the Constitution of the United States,” he repeats, distinguishing each word to signify their importance, while walking the stage, and it’s so quiet and cavernous that I can hear my own breath and feel my heartbeat against my ribs.

“What a monumental burden that is,” he asserts. “And it is a burden, the single most important piece of history there is, and the weight of it you will carry around for the rest of your career,” he explains.

“Virtue,” he pauses as if he’s searching inside himself, pulling at little pieces of his heart for inspiration. He looks out at the students, who are sitting at the edges of their seats, waiting to hear what he has to say next. “When the Muses nine/With the Virtues meet/Find to their design/An Atlantic seat/By green orchard boughs. Fended from the heat/Where the statesman ploughs,” he recites an Emerson poem, and I wonder if anyone else in the room recognizes it.

I think I’m invisible, but he meets my eyes just before he finishes the rest of the poem. I’m unable to look away. From this distance, I wouldn’t be able to make out their color, but I know they’re a sunburst mixture of greens, browns, and gold that were made further unearthly by the intensity of the Arizona sun.

“Furrow for the wheat/When the Church is social worth/When the statehouse is the hearth/Then the perfect State is come/The republican at home.” He pauses, letting his hand drop to his side, the mic along with it, as if to let those words settle in, burrow themselves into the minds of the students whose attention he commands.

He brings the mic back up to his lips. Before he speaks again, he runs his fingers over his jaw. “Emerson,” he states, “believed in an ideal government, and to protect individuals’ rights.”

He looks around the room, finding me once more.

“You might wonder, what the hell does Emerson have to do with politics?” He gives me a secret smile. I know he’s speaking to me.

“Everything.” He pauses, and the auditorium bubbles with chatter.

Kerry motions with his hand for everyone to quiet down further until there’s only a few whispers.

“And if I had the time, I would explain it to you, but they’ve only allowed me an hour before I get the hook.” He motions as if an imaginary hook is pulling him off the stage, causing the students to laugh. “Now, I know I’ve talked for way too long and I appreciate the time you’ve allowed for me to hopefully inspire and give you some insight into the path you’ve chosen, or the one you’re still undecided on, but if there is anything I want you to remember from today it is this – the only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.”

The room dissolves into applause, students stand, some making their way out of the lecture hall, and others milling about the front of the stage. I watch as he greets eager students, shakes their hands, and even graciously signs textbooks, or whatever is on hand, as if he’s some kind of rockstar.

I stay longer than necessary, stuck between the awkwardness of making my presence known, and standing in line like an eager groupie.

When the last of the students make their way out of the lecture hall, I make my way to the front of the stage, stepping quietly and feeling a bit like a skittish deer. While shaking the hand of who I presume to be one of the university administrators, he meets my eyes and greets me with a warm smile that instantly puts me at ease.

“No coffee this time,” I reassure, holding my hands up as if to show him I’m unarmed, “so you’re safe.”

He turns his attention fully on me and it’s like being swallowed up in the ocean. “Well, if it isn’t the white rabbit,” he entreats teasingly, and in those few words is an imperceptible hint of a southern drawl that he seemed so carefully to hide during his speech.

“This time I’m not running late,” I laugh nervously.

I stand there, not sure what to say next, and not really knowing why I’m here anyway. I say the only thing I can think of. “Evangeline.” I hold my hand out to officially meet him. He smiles broadly and takes hold of my hand. It’s warm and soft, and the minute our palms connect, it feels as though I’ve stepped through the looking glass.

“It’s nice to meet you, Evangeline.” He gives me a slight wink as if it’s an inside secret, because the only other person who knows we met before is his security detail.

Suddenly, I’m aware that there are only a handful of people left in the lecture hall.

An older gentleman with bright blue eyes and a nice smile approaches us. “Great speech,” he declares, and Kerry turns, giving the man his full attention. “But I’m afraid those kids are more inspired by some celebrity than Emerson.” The man laughs, clapping Kerry’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“That’s not true,” Kerry disagrees, and then turns toward me as I stand awkwardly, formulating a way to leave without bringing more attention to myself. “Evangeline here is a scholar of Emerson,” he gushes, and then everyone’s attention causes my cheeks to heat.

“Is that so?” the man inquires, and intuitively Kerry takes charge of the conversation as if he knows how uncomfortable I am with the attention.

“Not all of today’s youth are preoccupied with technology and celebrity. There are those bright few who find solace in the pages of history, the birth of our country, and the hopes that were bled into those pages,” he effuses, and when he looks at me, it’s as if he can see inside to a memory of me in the library, pressing an open book to my nose, feeling the pages, and reading them like I wanted to jump inside.

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