Low Place Like Home - Chapter 5

May 31st, 2001

President and Letterman Trade Insults on ‘Late Show”

BY: Aaron Brown

NEW YORK – While visiting mayor Giuliani this week, President Smith made a surprise appearance on “The Late Show with David Letterman,” or at least, it appeared that way.

Letterman was half way into his monologue, making jokes as part of an on going Smith Versus Mexico routine, in regards to last month’s recent press battles with Mexican President Vicente Fox over the controversial immigration legislation passed on May 11th. The unusually strained relationship between Mexico and the US has drawn heavy fire recently from late night comedy programs and mainstream media as well.

“Round three goes to Smith, as he tricks day laborers to build The Great Wall of Texas,” Letterman said, according to CBS transcript. “Round five to Fox for recalling all the White House Landscapers back to Mexico… Round six to Fox when Smith got lost for three days in the White House lawn after Landscaper Recall.”

Then President Smith walked out on stage--

“Hi Dave,” he said “,I bet you think that’s pretty funny don’t you?”

Then Mr. Smith unleashed a few ‘versus’ jokes of his own towards Letterman. “Round one to Smith for not turning CBS into C-Span 3,” Mr. Smith jeered. “Round two, to Smith, for demoting Dave to a commentator on budget affairs committees… K.O.”

Although Mr. Smith got a few laughs for the jabs, and Letterman seemed to be taking the hits like a good sport, there was clearly unrehearsed tension. In the second segment after the commercial break, Smith stayed on as a guest where he seemed to lay down the law for the audience. “I want to make clear,” spoke Smith, jovial tone removed at this point “,America needs to batten down the hatches for the storm that’s coming.”

Chapter 5 – June 1st 2001

The last four days were undeniable proof to Marshal of one universal constant; as time progresses, life will suck more. It wasn’t that each and every day Marshal was tackled, checked, or bombarded by some type of sports equipment: it was Councilor Brad. Marshal was old enough to know that people often win by cheating, but to continually change the rules to ensure victory was just childish. Even when Marshal confronted Councilor Brad, the young boy was met with the same response“; winners win and whiners loose.” The twins learned to make a song out of this perverse little saying, and sang it on an infinite loop.

Of course Marshal told his dad about the situation, but unfortunately received relatively the same message in different packaging. His father would look Marshal dead in the eyes“; Son, America isn’t the strongest nation because we give up. We’re the strongest because we keep fighting for truth, justice…”

“…And liberty,” Marshal would finish. Unfortunately, his dad never clued him in on how to fight when the person in charge fights dirty. Under the current leadership, there were too many liberties taken with the rules, leading to a lack of justice in the realm of stupid games. There was only the one truth: everything sucks. Besides, all Marshal really wanted to know was how you’re supposed to beat a tyrant in tiny shorts.

Come Friday, The Scout found himself on a new battlefield with a light, but persistent rain beating at his back and brow. Digging his heals into the mud, Marshal griped the football tighter, starring down his opponents on the opposite side of the line of scrimmage.

“Sidewinder on 6. Sidewinder 6, shotgun, set… hike!”

Immediately after Marshal screamed out the play, Bradley’s team came in tackling past every defender, which typically you don’t do in flag football. Marshal faded back, shuffled left, crossed right, and took off running past each and every offensive lineman. Each stride Marshal took, weighed him down as his shoes collected more mud. Still, the boy ran, passing the thirty, the twenty-- stiff-arming the last defender and diving into the in-zone: touchdown.

On the side line, sitting under the pavilion was the blonde councilor with the boy hair cut; she jumped off her bench screaming wildly“, Summerland for the win!”

Blowing his whistle, Bradley whined out“, flag! That’s an illegal play!”

Mary called back“, Oh shove it Bradley! From which hole will you pull an excuse out from this time?”

Standing over an exhausted Marshal, Bradley explained“, you can’t hog the ball all to yourself Marshal; you have to pass to another teammate for a touch down.”

Wiping mud from his face, Marshal got to his feet to pant out“; nowhere in the NFL handbook does it say that.”

“Well this isn’t the NFL, this is flag football and you have to pass,” Bradley insisted.
“Well this isn’t flag football if you’re allowed to blitz on every down!”

“Are you whining again Summerland? Do you need to sit out this game? Maybe go for a little nap?”

“I’m not the one throwing a tantrum for loosing fair and square,” Marshal protested

“That’s it Summerland, not only are we talking to your parents…”

“Parent.”

“…Parents…you’re sitting out for the rest of the game. Mary, send your kid in to replace Marshal the Whiner.”

Taking the twisty straw out from between her lips, Mary yelled back“, Can I send her in to replace you?” Bradley glared towards Mary, who promptly ignored the other councilor’s frustration as she took another long sip of her Cherry Pepsi.

Marshal did his best to control his breathing as he walked towards Miss Mary’s daughter who, like her mom, was built like a young giraffe: only much more abrasive. Despite being in trouble as much as Marshal, Allison still refused to speak to him. Even passing by one another, Allison only acknowledged Marshal by puffing out her cheeks like a blowfish and rolling her eyes.

Mary tapped the seat next to her, with Marshal slumping down on to the wooden bench beside her. Offering him a sip of Cherry Coke, Mary offered a sincere“, you did good out there kid.”

“What good? You can’t win against that guy,” lamented Marshal.

“That depends on your definition of winning.”

Marshal raised an eyebrow and took a sip of Coke“; Score more touchdowns than the other team is normally how it’s done.”

Mary smiled and took a long pull on her drink. “Well that’s how you win flag football sure, but our buddy Bradley isn’t playing flag football.”

“Clearly,” snorted Marshal keeping his eyes forward.

“Brad is playing a game called ‘Compensating for Impotency.’”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that Bradley’s idea of winning isn’t about scoring touchdowns, it’s about trying to convince himself that he’s better than everyone else around him.”

Mary and Marshal watched Bradley leap over a camper, bound into the in zone, and dance the most ludicrous touchdown dance ever performed.

Marshal turned back to Mary, clarity forming in his mind“; so it’s not that I was loosing at flag football, I wasn’t even playing the right game to begin with?”

Mary scoffed“, nothing about Bradley’s game is right.” The two looked on as Bradley continued to scream out taunts at the kid he had hurdled over.

Marshal still craved an answer to this seemingly impossible problem“; so how do you beat someone like that?”

Stretching her arms up to the sky as she yawned, Mary looked over to the boy with the broken spirit“, sometimes Marshal, the only way to fight the madness of others is with a little madness of your own.” Cupping her hands over her mouth, Mary shouted to her daughter in the huddle“, Alli, run that one play where you do that thing.”

“Okay, mom-- I mean, Miss Mary!”

On the field Allison, broke from the huddle and set the ball on the line. Across from her, Bradley began bouncing up and down like a puppy with too much crystal meth in his system. Setting up on the line, looking over to her teammates, Allison called the play.

“Hand solo on five, set, hike!”

Leaning back, Allison threw the ball straight up, and the rest of her team collectively fell backwards into the mud. The defensive team looked thoroughly baffled. Bradley however missed a beat, snatching the ball in its decent back to earth. The rabid councilor then continued to sprint to the in-zone, and spiked the ball into the ground.

“YEAH, Suck on that!” Bradley screamed back to the other campers.

Half an hour later of Allison running the same play, Bradley and his team were ahead by a wide margin. It was the final down. Allison set up the play, hiked the ball, and let lazily fell backwards, letting the ball roll out of her hand to the ground. Bradley chased after the ball like a newborn greyhound, and performed his ridiculous dance.

“That’s the game! Team Forrester one hundred and twelve, team Arowynn fourteen. How does it feel?” The nearly grown man shouted back to no one.

Allison and Marshal’s team didn’t respond as they’d already cleared the field with Mary, jogging off towards the gym. Bradley, desperately searched for someone to gratify his self-esteem, elbowed one of his teammates“; we really took it to ‘em, huh?”

The kid limped past Bradley to the gym“, who cares, they weren’t even playing.”

Just like quicksand, all of Bradley’s satisfaction was pulled back into the earth, and the man child was left to stew in his own defeat.

When five O’clock rolled around Marshal was as close to the gym door as he could be without Councilor Brad yelling at him. The echoing of bouncing basketballs and sharp squeaking sounds of sneakers beat against Marshal’s brain. The boy resisted the urge not to compare his current mental state in relation to his current sweaty prison, already equipped with padded walls. Again the Scout checked his watch for the hundredth time. Relief finally poured over Marshal as his dad came walking in through the double doors“; are you ready to get that Aviation Merit badge, Scout?”

---

Three sonic booms erupted high in the clearing sky above St. Louis, Limburg Airbase; Marshal's gaze was fixed on the sky. The combined beauty of the afternoon sun making a last minute attempt to break through the passing storm clouds, Marshal’s week was but a bad dream. As a fourth F-15 began to taxi the runway, another great eruption sounded throughout the airfield as the aircraft ignited its thrusters. Racing away at full speed, the wheels of the jet fighter lifted up from the runway, but the remained a few meters above the ground. Reaching the end of the runway, the aircraft pulled up nearly ninety degrees, twisting into an aileron roll as it climbed higher and higher into the air.

The rest of the tour group on the observation deck broke into wild applause. Marshal was speechless. Guiding him by the shoulder, Mr. Sutherland lead his son back inside the football-stadium sized hanger filled with F-15 Eagles in various states of repair. The boy could barely contain himself.

Not breaking from his perfect posture, the Airman leading the tour cleared his throat and bellowed“; introduced in 1988 the F-15 Strike Eagle is THE most powerful aircraft in the world, with over one hundred combat missions flown and zero losses in air-to-air combat. On behalf of The 157th Air Guard, thank ya’ll for coming down. Are there any more questions ya’ll would like to know about the base here, or the aircraft?”

There were a million questions Marshal had to ask, but his mouth was too small to funnel all the thoughts in his brain through all at once. His head moved around like an owl; from the exposed jet turbines, to a wing being lowered by crane, to the F-15 with the ladder leading up to the open cockpit.

William broke free from the crowd to ask“, is it true that an F-15 shot down a satellite while in orbit?”

The Airman turned to William“, that’s absolutely true. In 1985 Major Pearson flew an F-15 at just under sonic speeds launching an Anti Satellite Missile, and effectively destroying its target.”

“So, does that mean these aircrafts are capable of space travel?”

Laughing“, no son, the missile was fired while inside earth atmosphere.”

William sighed and returned his attention back to his Game Boy“, that’s disappointing.”

The Airman didn’t have time to retort as Jake blurted out“, what kind of guns does it have?”

Belting out from rote, the Airman responded“; the Strike Eagle is capable of carrying 16,000 pounds worth of additional armaments, not including…”

As the Airman rattled on, Jake and Denny had ceased to care: resuming their poking war. What really distracted the Airman was Marshal attempting to climb into the cockpit. “Son, you’re going to have to get down from there immediately!”

“Marshal!” shouted a furious Mr. Summerland.

Stepping down the ladder, the Airman met Marshal at the base of the steps. The Young Scout snapped to attention and gave salute“, request permission to board, Corporal?”

Slightly bemused, the Airman replied with a firm“; sorry son, that craft is strictly for trained airmen only. We’d be happy to see you at a recruiter’s station in about ten years though.”

“Ten years?” The boy's hopes were dragged away as Marshal himself was physically dragged from the mighty aerial machine by his fuming father.

---

As Mr. Summerland’s truck pulled into the driveway, Marshal leapt out of the shotgun seat and attempted to storm off into the house. Before Marshal made it to the garage, his dad stuck his head out of the window“, hold it right there Marshal.”

Marshal stopped in his tracks while his stepbrothers passed by. Jake was the first to lob an insult“, wonder how long he’ll have to stay in his room this time?”

Denny piped in“; maybe Greg will take something away from him instead?”

Jake sneered“, Marshal doesn’t have anything to take away, stupid. He didn't bring any stuff with him from where ever it is he came from.”

Clenching his fist, Marshal stalked up behind Jake ready to cold clock him.

Mr. Summerland called again“, Marshal! Front and center, right now.”

The boy dropped his fists and his composure, no longer holding the strong military posture he pretended to hold for the last weak. Marshal’s endurance had expired. His father however was unmoved by his son’s battle fatigue, spinning Marshal around by the shoulder. “Marshal I know it's tough-- what happened an all. That’s still no excuse to talk back to your councilors, or climb around on a jet… that’s no excuse to behave less than a Scout, alright? They can, your brothers can, but you’re better than that. Understood?”

Marshal kept quiet. How could his dad possibly know what its like to lose someone? He didn’t lose anyone, Marshal thought; his dad just ran away to someone else…

The epiphany hit like that missile that killed the satellite.

“Hey, do you understand me young man?”

“Yes sir,” the boy lied, storming off into the garage.

Denny, Jake, and William all sat at the kitchen table watching television when Marshal continued his warpath through the Kitchen, throwing open the refrigerator door. Denny was the first to speculate“, Bet you Greg told him to sleep in the refrigerator from now on.” Marshal pretended to ignore Denny, grabbing two pears from the fridge.

“There’s no room. He’d have to stay in the downstairs one,” Jake scoffed.

Slinging his hiking pack on his shoulder, Marshal stomped back to the door that lead to the garage.

“Running away again?” William asked.

“Going to the library,” Marshal barked, slamming the door behind him.

Jake scoffed“, the library: during summer? What a retard.”