Utopia

Chapter Thirteen - Would It Matter

Kira pulled at the stiff neck of her collar. Susannah did not even look at her as she grasped her wrist and put Kira's hand back in her lap.

This, she had been told, was an event which would require finer attire than her usual jeans and shirt. Thus, out had come the same interview outfit from her hamper. Susannah had bemoaned that it had not been washed since the Bryant Lang article, but she ironed it without too much grumbling while Kira sat at the desk in her underwear.

Kira had asked, again and again, what should she say? what she shouldn't? she didn't understand why they all had to be part of the interview.

Tirelessly, Susannah intoned, these are your ideas, tell the truth, they want to know the team.

She was pressed and dressed by the time Hank arrived—wearing a cheap but nice navy suit with a floral pink button up—and then they were in the car, and then they were at the studio. They were taken to a green room where more makeup was applied to stop them from shining. PAs offered water, and would you like a bagel? which Hank took.

The lights were overwhelming, displaying the backstage as underlings scurried from place to place, readying the show. The wheels, the imperfect road, still rolled and rolled inside her stomach. She breathed slowly through her mouth and could not keep up with the room.

She pulled at her collar. Her hand was guided back to her lap.

People she could not see beneath the lights applauded loudly. She squinted against the yellow lights, the sound, the awareness. She wasn't sure how it happened but it did. The room was very far away, and herself very close.

They sat in a half-circle around a flat table, turned half towards the audience and half towards their host. Kira sat on the end, but still they talked about her, across her, above her. She thought they spoke to her, but she could not understand what they said and only stared at them until Hank tossed out a jovial, "She's camera-shy." Susannah, who knew better, put a large hand on Kira's thigh and dug her nails in. The effect was lessened by the thicker material of her pants, but it gave the speechwriter something to fold herself around. In her own mind, these events occurred over the course of a minute or two. But Kira's mind had taken too much time and use, and the conversation had moved again and again before she caught hold of it.

In such a way, Kira went from phantom to speaker, bluntly interrupting, "Because that's the point, isn't it?"

The room spun as her head turned. The rolling in her ears covered the noises of the crowd. She tried to look at their host, but the room would not stand still. She did not feel Susannah's hand tighten, did not see the way Hank twitched.

"What do you mean?" the host asked politely.

But Kira saw Lys standing behind him. Her vision steadied.

Answering a question she had only half-heard, her speech was muddied and tangled. She looked only at Lys and did not see the confused way the others tried to follow her gaze.

"Well, that's the point," she repeated and scratched her cheek. "It can be done because humans have been preparing for it for centuries."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"We're evolved," she explained obviously, "civilized. We have free will. The things we do are our choice."

The host joked, "There are plenty who would and wouldn't agree with you."

Kira brought her hands up to the table, slid forward in her chair, clasped her hands. "That's not what I mean. People act how they've been treated, but continuing it is a choice. We all know what's out there: therapy, classes, there are videos online that teach coping mechanisms and mindfulness."