The iCongressman by Mikael Carlson Page B

election, but
I see his point.
    “Yeah, they care,” Vince counters. “People elected you to
come here because they believe in you. They’re down on you now because you
stopped engaging them like you used to. They’ll hear you out though, especially
if we show them the people who run the system are using it to prevent you from
accomplishing what you came here to do.”
      “So, what you all are
saying is instead of legislating and representing the people of our district
who sent me here, you want me to enlist their support to start a revolution
that fundamentally alters how the U.S. House of Representatives operates?”
    “If that’s what it takes, yeah, that’s exactly what we want
you to do,” Vince states, outlining clearly where we all stand on the matter.
    The congressman isn’t buying the argument. He has always had
a romantic vision of government that the media and his colleagues constantly
derided as naïve over the past year. He would have been perfectly at home at
the Constitutional Convention. Unfortunately, there is no facsimile of Madison,
Morris, or Sherman serving in the Congress.
    “Vince, do you have any idea how many revolutions in world
history have failed?” the congressman fires back.
    “I know one that didn’t,” Vanessa intercedes. “The American
Revolution succeeded against all odds, unless my high school history teacher
taught me wrong.” Ouch.
    “That brilliant history teacher must also have taught you
that the colonists were dead in the water without help. You realize there were
more French at Yorktown when the British surrendered than colonists.”
    “Darling, if getting help is the only basis you have to
debate this with us, then your argument is pretty weak. If you want allies,
let’s go out and find them.”
    The congressman doesn’t want to add himself to the long list
of new representatives who have wanted to rock the boat only to fail. I get it,
but sometimes you have to break something to get it to work right. It’s
counterintuitive, but true, and although Congressman Bennit is a brilliant
debater, he’s out of excuses. Vince recognizes it too. Scoring a victory
against him is a rare feat for us. The resigned look on his face mirrors the
one he wore on the day he made the bet with us our junior year.
    “Viva la revolución !” Vince adds,
a wry smile creeping across his face as he tips his beer in salute for the
fight yet to come. We all follow suit, but in the end, I don’t know if the
congressman has the will to follow.

-NINE-

 
    MICHAEL

 
    Millfield High School hasn’t changed a bit. Not that I expected
it to in the year and a half since I left. A lot of time has passed since the
last day I worked here, but it still all feels so familiar.
    I pull into the parking lot and find a spot reserved for
visitor parking near the front door. This is a first for me. In all the time I
taught in this building, I never used the front door in an effort to avoid the
troll who hides in the main office.
    “My, my, the prodigal son returns.” Speak of the Devil. What
are the odds of a man who rarely leaves his office happening to be standing at
the front door the day I walk in? “I didn’t think I would ever see you back
here, Michael,” Robinson Howell sneers.
    “Robinson, I think you meant to say Congressman Bennit , not Michael. And it’s good to see you outside
your office, now that it’s 2:45 and the students and
most of the staff are gone. I’m glad to see your confidence level is
improving.”
    His face goes beet red in a manner that only I seem to be
able to bring out. Good to see I’m not losing my touch. He looks like he’s about
to come up with some semblance of a response when Charlene Freeman walks out of
the main office.
    “I hope you boys are playing nice for once,” she cautions,
knowing full well we aren’t.
    “Yes, ma’am. Robinson here was just
telling me how wonderful it was having me back in the building and how he’d
love to have me