Ch3
My greatest wish is that someday this will be studied by historians as a work of social commentary.
Feb 26, 2016 – about 12 hours after a morning phone call
Jeb! was in the basement of his county library, in the darkest corner of the biography section where no one (he hoped) ever ventured. Sitting on a stepstool, he got out his trusty macbook, grimacing at the campaign stickers on the back. He hadn't gotten around removing those yet. Navigating to skype, he noted that Bernie was indeed online.
He felt vaguely nervous. Bernie had sounded preoccupied earlier, and his "I need to talk to you" was foreboding. Hopefully, Bernie intended for this call to make up for his lack of engagement in their prior conversation.
Hey, are you there? he typed. Waiting for a response, he gazed at the books surrounding him. Clinton AND Bush autobiographies? He couldn't have chosen a worse shelf.
"Jeb!" Bernie was here. "It's yoo. I am glad yoo were able to come."
Jeb shrugged. "It's not like I have anything better to do now."
"What about governing Florida?" Bernie was trying to cheer him up. "They need yoo there, do they nawt?"
"I'm not governor of Florida anymore, Bernie. I stepped down in 2007, remember?" Jeb tried to smile. "But thanks."
"No problem. But anyway," Bernie assumed a solemn tone, his face turning graven. "I had to talk to yoo for a very specific reason."
Jeb waited expectantly.
"Jeb, we have got to break up. This relationship cannot go on."
"W—What?"
"Jeb, I am in love with somebody else."
"Who? Who is it?"
"The American people." Bernie paused, then closed skype.
Jeb stared at his computer screen in horror. Numb, he shut his laptop, stuffed it in his bag, rose, and walked out of the library.
He started his minivan and, staring straight ahead, started for home. He didn't notice when people honked at him, or when he ran a red light. He couldn't think straight and didn't want to. He drove right up to the front door, entered, closed the door, and sank to the floor. He sat there unthinkingly until his mother walked by, carrying the mail.
"These mailmen don't know what they're doing," she was saying, to no one in particular. "We never get the mail until so late." She noticed Jeb in his slump. "That's something YOU could have fixed. Pff. I guess not."
Jeb didn't move.
"Hey! What's wrong with you! Have you been doing that marijuana stuff again? You know that hurts our image. Come on." She lightly assaulted the top of his head with her bundle of mail. "Get up. Go do something useful."
As she toddled away, Jeb struggled to his feet. He couldn't just sit there forever. He had to – he had to…
He walked to the kitchen. George Jr. was standing by the sink, eating leftover noodles. Jeb went over to the freezer and began rummaging around purposefully. After about a minute of this, he popped his head up again. He was distressed.
"Do we not have any ice cream?"
"What? No," George scoffed.
He deserved this. This is what he got for cheating on Columba. Jeb took a deep breath, closed the freezer, and bolted to his room. Once inside the sanctuary of his own space, he curled up on the floor and began to cry.
