heart over brain

Part 15

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So, I am a pervert, a weirdo, and crazy. Maybe also slightly delusional. And I did not learn my lesson after all. Otherwise, I would not sit on a bus on Wednesday afternoon, on my way to the next town over to go watch a public debate Dr. Morgan is hosting.

What I know will happen? I will stand in row with a crowd of people for hours, listen to political manipulation at its finest, then go home with sore feet.

What I think will happen? Let's just say I've always had a lively imagination.

My bus stop comes up and I get off with weak knees. On the short walk I finish my seventh coffee that afternoon and throw the paper cup in one of the overfilled trash bins along the street. When I arrive at the square the event has already started.

An improvised stage with loudspeakers and giant monitors stands between food trucks and a statue of a famous scientist, I couldn't remember the name of for the life of me. He did something with electricity, that I know. Elly has his face tattooed on her left calf.

In front of the stage a crowd of people in thick jackets has gathered, they talk more amongst themselves than listen to the discussion on stage, sip hot most likely slightly alcoholic beverages out of paper cups and fool around with endearment gifts that must have been handed out before.

On the stage an electrical heater stands in the back and a couch almost like the one in my living room, just twice as big. All the comfort for the public servants, while the public itself is tricked into thinking it doesn't need it.

Dr. Morgan sits on the outmost right, closest to the heater, he deals out questions to his guests and steers the discussions among the party representatives. What they are talking about slips away from me. My full attention is on Dr. Morgan, his face, his built, how he acts, it is all so painfully familiar.

I really hope I am not as similar to my horrible father, but Max in any case can't deny his parentage.

Does the police know? Is that why they wouldn't tell me? So I don't go informing people how one of the most loved public faces has a criminal son? Because I looked it up, the first thing I did after realizing, reading through the depth of the internet for hours, and as far as I found, no mention. Wayward son, yes, but nothing more.

I push myself through the crowd and earn some annoyed looks and angry comments, but don't bother. I only stop right in front of the stage, first row before the security barrier and guards. They stand in neat lines, tall and intimidating like soldiers, with black boots and neon jackets.

And I stand and stare and stare and stand and my heart sinks with every passing minute.

Dr. Morgan is treated like a celebrity, I'll never get a chance to talk to him. What was I even going to say to him? Hey, your son gave me time of my life on the backseat of an old van, would you happen to know if he is willing to repeat that?

I snort. I am crazy.

Suddenly the loudspeakers stop working. Dr. Morgan and his guests don't notice the technical difficulties at first, they continue their discussions, until the crowd complaining is too distracting. Then the monitors flicker, to grey pixels, dark, then a chart shows up. White background with colourful bars and text too tiny to read from a distance. I have no idea what it says, but someone apparently has, because suddenly all hell breaks loose.

I am close enough to hear the command a security guard gets via his communication device; abort, evacuate. A politician stands up from the couch, stares at one of the monitors with a red boiling face, yells at Dr. Morgan something I can't hear properly. Police officers appear from God knows where they have been hiding. The crowd erupts in noise and movement, some yell with raised fists, some are frightened and try to get away as fast as possible, some are utterly lost – like me.