Patriotism
By, Frank Hunter
Fred Barnes is an ordinary man. He works an ordinary job in an ordinary office building somewhere in New York City's financial district. Where exactly doesn't matter, it's all the same.
His relatively ordinary commute involves a trip on the Lexington Avenue Subway Line. The train brings him within five blocks of his office. There is a closer station, but Fred always walks the rest of the way. It gives him a chance to pick up a cup of coffee and a newspaper.
Today is no different.
Fred sits in the coffee shop this Monday morning slowly flipping the pages of his New York Times. It is a genuinely ordinary day full of the crime and violence for which New York is known, at least according to his newspaper. Fred doesn't know much about the world that he doesn't get out of his newspaper.
Today he zeroes in on a story that takes up half of page A4. The headline reads, "President Johnson to Direct More Funding into 'Big Shell' Project." Fred doesn't like this story because he knows it is going to result in a tax hike for him. That would be incredibly out of the ordinary and, of course, uncomfortable. Fred wonders why they should worry about cleaning up the water out there anyway. It can't possibly be worse than the Hudson River.
It typically takes Fred about twenty minutes to drink his coffee and finish his newspaper. After this he gets up, throws his coffee cup away, and tosses the newspaper in the recycling bin by the door. He doesn't really do this because he has any great love for the environment, mind you. He does this because he feels that if he threw his newspaper away with his coffee cup he might attract some unwanted and unexpected attention from the other coffee shop patrons.
Today is no different.
Afterward, Fred continues the walk to his office, passing by a deli, two more coffee shops, and several stores selling clothing or…something else. Fred would like to know what was actually in those stores but the only way he'd have time to check is to forego his morning coffee, and that would be extremely…well you get the idea.
Another thing Fred passes by every morning is a certain back alley that leads out onto the street. The alley is one of those undesirable places that you wouldn't want to be caught dead in, but more often than not if you are caught there that's the state you are in. Fred always passes the alley on the opposite side of the street just to avoid the unpleasant odor it gives off.
Today is no different.
Despite the alley's shortcomings there is one person who calls it home. The man's name is Eli. Mind you, Fred doesn't know his name is Eli because he asked the man himself, rather he overheard a bit of conversation one morning when the man gave his name. Fred always overheard a lot of the conversation that came from the front of that alley.
Eli is an interesting person, a conspiracy theorist of sorts. He stands in front of that alley every morning preaching some new crackpot idea that he came up with the night before, or so Fred guessed. The stories ranged from alien abductions to super-powered humans to the apocalypse. The stories always earned him a little pocket change from passers by, but no one took him seriously. Fred always considered Eli to be the most unordinary aspect of his commute because each day's topic would always be a surprise.
Fred chuckled a bit recalling the rant Eli had gone off on before the weekend. The topic that time was government corruption.
"They control you!" he had yelled pointing at a sharp looking man in a gray suit. "And you! And you!"
"We can't stop them!"
"Politics are a hoax! It's all a show to keep us at ease!"
Fred hadn't yet crossed the street that Friday morning by the time Eli came into earshot. He wasn't sure why, maybe he was feeling particularly bold or maybe he was just curious, but that day he decided to speak.
"And who are 'they,' exactly?" he asked.
Eli looked him dead in the eye, as though surprised he was getting the time of day. Fred saw that his eyes were bloodshot. Eli's mouth moved slowly, mouthing the words as though he were almost afraid to say them.
"The…Patriots…"
"The Patriots?" Fred asked him right back, sparking a flurry of movement.
"Shh!" Eli yelled at him, flailing his arms. "Keep it down, they'll hear you!" He looked over his shoulder, seemingly afraid that some invisible assailant would overtake him from the alley.
"Well, who are these people?" Fred prompted him.
"They're the puppet masters!" he hissed. "They pull the strings connected to everything! Wall Street, the Supreme Court…the White House. The Patriots have power over it all. And it's all," he leaned in close, "right under our noses."
"So the president is really…"
"Yes! A figurehead!" Eli's voice began to rise again drawing the attention of more commuters. "Democracy is a joke! We can't escape their grasp! We're all…their…SLAVES!"
"Don't you think if this were true, people would know about it?"
"I know! But yes! Tell everyone! Spread the word! If we know they exist they can't keep controlling us! The flow of information will set us free!"
Fred began to grow tired of this and a bit uneasy. Plus, if he stayed any longer, he'd be late for work. He tossed the 31 cents change he got from the coffee shop into the cup at Eli's feet and continued down the road to his office. He could still hear Eli's rant behind him.
"They're making fools of us all!"
"America is a sham!"
Fred didn't like the idea of everything being controlled by an invisible hand. Something about it was very unordinary and disconcerting. He took comfort in the fact that it couldn't possibly be true. After all, if something like that were accurate there would definitely be some sign of it in his newspaper.
That was Friday.
Today Fred approaches the alley on the far side of the street again, feeling particularly grumpy about that Big Shell tax hike. He looks forward to hearing what Eli has to say. Fred knows it will at least amuse him for a few moments before he has to get down to today's business at the office.
But today is different.
For the first time in the three years since Eli appeared in that alley, the man was missing. That particular leg of Fred's commute became uncomfortably silent, a void that none of the otherwise ordinary city noises could fill. He entertained the notion briefly that the Patriots may have gotten to Eli. Could he have been right about that?
Forcing a soft laugh, he took his eyes off the empty alley and continued down the street. Eli must have just found some better place to live than that dirty, dangerous hole. Good for him, Fred thought. He continued his trip to work. Other, more important concerns forced their way into his mind. Like what he would do today about that unexpected dip in stock market prices.
And just what were they doing in that Big Shell facility that was so bloody expensive anyway…