Chase Hatter's Origin of Pangaea

Chapter Two

WMYD: Make Your Discussion is a radio station based in the Chicago area. It is active from six in the morning until seven at night. The station secured its listeners by supplying entertaining, outspoken hosts and allowing callers to suggest topics of the day to discuss. They made it very clear every morning when the broadcast started and every night when it ended; this station does not pick topics, the callers do. This was their gimmick.

It was a dangerous one.

It was a dangerous one for the same reason that any and all relationships are dangerous.

The station was able to get away with this gimmick for so long because somewhere in the back of their listeners's minds they understood that some topics were off limits. They wanted to keep this station, the relationship, nice. They knew that if they asked the wrong questions - the political ones - then their charming hosts and friends wouldn't seem so pleasant anymore.

Or maybe they would.

No one wanted to take the chance.

No one wanted to take the chance until Mrs. Sharon Cassidy had been murdered. Then it started; the end of a perfectly good radio station, a perfectly good relationship.

After that first call, every morning for the next two months, Cole Ryan woke up to arguing instead of pleasant conversations about old childhood activities and recipes for homemade, stuffed-crust pizza. On this particular morning, Cole turned off his radio just seconds after it had come alive at seven to wake him. Only arguing again. Maybe it'd be better later in the day after he'd got to work, though it would never be the same as it was before.

Despite Cole's worry about the integrity of his station, he still made his way to work and cut on the radio to check on the climate. He tied up his apron and got to tossing dishes in the sink. There were fewer than usual, not many people coming into the restaurant for breakfast anymore. Cole got to washing the dishes and tried to test his station again to see if he'd be working the next few hours in silence or not, but he couldn't make out the words of the hosts over the argument happening in the kitchen between the Head Chef and the bartender. They argued over whether or not standing during the national anthem was necessary to show support for the country. After the manager broke it up, Cole was able to make out the conversation on WMYD. It didn't sound good.

"...how would Jack Richards explain in court to a jury, or even to her family, why he killed Sharon Cassidy the way that he did? Insanity? Mental illness? Those are the only defenses that wouldn't get him the electric chair. Did you see the crime scene photos? The body? She was almost split in half... The coroner said she didn't die a quick death... And he knew that would happen, right there in the White House. Is that not enough evidence to call him a terrorist? Is that not enough to declare war?"

Cole cut off the radio. Silence it was.

He washed plates and bowls for just a few moments before Arnold made it in. Just barely tying up his apron before beginning to spray a plate down with water, Arnold turned to Cole. "Mornin', beautiful." Arnold said.

"Mornin', fuckhead." Cole mocked. "Why are you here so early? I usually don't see you until I'm about to leave."

"I picked up an extra shift." Arnold explained. "Making sure we have enough for the moving truck. You still helpin' us pack up the garage, right?"

"Among other things I'm sure you'll ask me to do." Cole said.

"Radio givin' you shit again?"

"Like you wouldn't fuckin' believe."

"You hear about that Richards fuck?" Arnold asked. "Their revolution recruitment started yesterday. You're good at math, right? Well, guess what? You gotta take a fuckin' math test to get in. And if you fail they 'share words of criticism that may or may not make you want to die'. Can you believe he thinks anyone in their right fuckin' mind is gonna show up to fight with him after he sliced that woman in half?"

"Arnold, I could turn on the radio to hear this." Cole reminded him.

"You can't ignore it." Arnold said. "It's politics now. Y'know, that shit that affects you and me and everyone and their mama? Now we gotta pay attention so we can stay informed and vote. Think about what woulda happened if your people hadn't payed attention and voted and shit. You wouldn't have been able to get married, wear your rainbows, or have your parades. You don't get that kind of change by ignoring politics, Cole."

"I was avoiding it." Cole said. "Not ignoring it."

"Jesus, Cole. What the fuck is wrong with you? Show some remorse, eh? Some pride in your fuckin' country. A woman was cut in half in the middle of the White House by a guy who doesn't like America."

"Is that what he said?" Cole snapped back. "I don't remember him saying that he didn't like this country."

"...So you were paying attention?"

"I was avoiding it." Cole repeated. "Not ignoring it."

Arnold stopped washing dishes and glared at his coworker. Cole could feel it; the corrosion of this conversation was eating through their binds. Cole had been avoiding it, but he couldn't ignore it.

"It sounds like you're defending them, is that what I'm hearing?"

"I'm not on anyone's side."

"And that's the fuckin' problem." Arnold said. "You should be on the side that didn't murder a woman in the White House. But I should have figured. You seem like you have a lot in common with those terrorists. You even look like Richards, a little younger, a fuckin' prodigy. Go take their fuckin' test, traitor."

Arnold gave Cole no time to respond before he threw down a dirty dish into the sink and stormed off deeper into the kitchen. Cole kept washing in silence.

Life was feeling... uncomfortable at the moment. His radio station no longer brought him joy. Where were the nostalgic conversations about old music? His relationships at work were getting complicated. What happened to the fun banter and the after work rendezvous?

What happened? Politics happened.

Cole realized that he had stopped washing dishes at some point during his thought. He got back to it, but not before cutting the radio back on.

"...said they were fighting for their freedom, but what does that mean if you're already in a free country? He said they were fighting for happiness, but what does that mean if you could find that by working harder towards the American Dream? Their actions and cause make no sense. What kind of freedom are they fighting for?"

Cole cut off the radio and got to thinking about something less frustrating. An interesting conversation starter if he'd ever heard one. Honestly, what could they possibly have to say to him that may or may not make him want to die?