Looking Backward from the Tricentennial

Chapter Forty-Two

Charlotte was the first to speak. "So you need to get back before then," she said. "I can put you back forty-two months earlier."

"Start the American Union during the pandemic?" Julian said. He took deep breaths, as though he could reinflate his hopes and dreams.

"You might have to count me out, brother," Delroy said. "Juggling things with Alba when they shut the schools down, I don't think I'd be able to take on this kind of project."

"I was still in high school," Carlton said. "I couldn't even vote."

"That would be right as the Phoenix Cycle is triggered," Stella pointed out. "It would be hard to build a people's legislative assembly before video conferencing becomes widespread."

Edith reached over and wrapped her smaller fingers over Julian's hand. The physical touch calmed him momentarily, then summoned a realization. If anything untimely happened to him in the intervening years, he wouldn't be there for her on her birthday.

Julian shook his head. "I didn't ask for this responsibility," he said.

"Okay," Carlton said calmly, leaning forward to gaze at Julian.

"You told me I failed," Julian accused the professor. A glance to his left encompassed Edith, Delroy, and Charlotte. "You all know I'm supposed to end up dead the night before the reparations rally." His odds of success seemed more fragile with each passing moment. "What if I just stayed in the tricentennial?"

"You can," Carlton agreed, summoning Julian's attention. "You have free will. Julian, if you decide this responsibility isn't for you, you don't have to convince me. Likewise, if you decide you are responsible, you wouldn't have to convince me of that either. It's what you believe that counts; what you believe is what's true. That's what duties are—a decision to accept responsibility. But duties can be limited by capabilities; if the agency to act doesn't exist, the duty is meaningless.

"We've talked about the five duties in the Preamble and how they're a mission statement for the United States. At the beginning, though, there's a sort of prime directive. Do you know what it is?"

Julian couldn't help but laugh at how the professor had steered the conversation. "To form a more perfect union?" By his side, Idabee nodded.

Carlton nodded. "Cooperation. If social problems need collective action, there's an individual duty to work together to better the status quo. The American Union and the satyagrahis who organized it accepted responsibility for making America capable of addressing our problems. No one forced them; they believed they could cooperate to make it true. That was one of the most important aspects of the fast for peace, Julian."

"What was?"

"The tacit acknowledgment that we are incapable of individually accomplishing the desired results. We've talked about some of the stoic aspects of the challenges; practicing desirelessness. But that indifference can only be a facade; we must desire the help of others—a higher power, if you will—to achieve our goals.

"You can't accomplish peace on your own, Julian. No one can. But your friends are here today to offer you our strength."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, looking to each of them in turn, "Stella, Ray, Polly, Charlotte, Delroy, Edith, Idabee, and"—he pressed forward and used Professor Carlton's given name for the first time—"Sid. But I'm not sure it'll be enough." Their faces were overwhelming, pressing in, surrounding, smothering, offering concern but no hope. "Excuse me," he said. "I need some fresh air."

Julian rose, his legs still numb from the shock, and made his way to the door, voices rising behind him. From the hallway, he glanced at the kitchen table where he'd pontificated two weeks earlier. I can fix all that, he'd proclaimed, and if you don't think it needs fixing, well, you don't know, or never knew, or just forgot. I'm going; that's all there is to it—I'm for real going.