The Speechwriter. Sid Crowe

Transcription

1 The Speechwriter Sid Crowe

2 Copyright 2014 Sid Crowe All rights reserved. ISBN: ISBN-13:

3 Disclaimer The views expressed in the following chapters are not that of The Author but rather the views of the person narrating. Authors are not to be confused with narrators. Should you have any disagreement with the subject matter or would like to speak to any of the characters personally, it would be advised that you contact them directly. They are not represented by any form of agent. All of their contact info can be found in your local phone book. A Note From The Author The purpose of writing this novel was to give you a clear picture of what did indeed happen in the year This book was sent back in time to warn the world of what is to come. If you do not have a clear idea of what will happen or what needs to happen to prevent a great tragedy, it can be found in less creative terms on my website

4 Chapter 1 I picked his picture up, like I did every night before bed and remembered his eyes. I kept his mother s day poem beside my bed. Whenever I missed him I would read it. Thomas was an amazing kid. I guess all mothers say that about their son but he amazed me. I ve never met a 12 year old who could make sense of things like he did. I knew if his life was spared, he would have grown up to change the world. Unfortunately, the entire world would only remember him as a number in a school shooting. Twenty three kids were murdered on April 11, 2019 at Baymen Heights Middle School in Nebraska. I ve read the police reports countless times over and the psychological analysis on the young man who did it. I don t know why but I guess it s a mother s instinct to try to get to know as much as possible about what happened that day. I read every article on mass murders in the past 20 years. I couldn t blame the murderer as much as I had to blame the environment he grew up in. The State issued me subsidized therapy sessions because they thought I had no one to speak to this about. I had my dad but Thomas father was long gone and he had no idea that the shooting even took place. I feel sorry for him because he missed out on a remarkable young man. I guess he had his own reasons for leaving. I can be a bit stubborn and unconventional as my dad puts it. Sometimes I wished Thomas father Dave was around. Not because I missed him in particular but because it would be nice to have another person in the house. But then I realized how happy I am to not have to deal with an immature man. Instead of taking care of one boy, I would have had to take care of two. As I was looking Thomas his picture, I remembered a day that he came home and asked me why do people shave? He always had intriguing questions like this and I encouraged him to keep asking them. In this particular case he argued that people are obviously born with hair in different places. It s only natural, he said. Our conversation concluded that people just shaved because other people shaved and they thought that s what people liked. And people did indeed like it but only because others liked it. Thomas admired men who styled their facial hair. He called them sculptors. I would read Thomas a story every night and would stop just before the climax. I would tell him to think about the story as he fell asleep and tell me what he dreamt about in the morning. I heard that this was done in many different cultures and I thought it would be a fun thing to try. Thomas loved it. He would wake me up in the mornings and say how he became the hero at night and how he battled his way through different obstacles. His stories were always more entertaining than the real version. The imagination of children is something that has always impressed me. It was almost 10pm and I had to wake up at 6 to get to work at the café. If I went to bed after looking at Thomas pictures I would always have a dream about him and wake up sad. So I would read before I fell asleep. My dad and I are both autodidacts which is basically someone who teaches themselves everything. My dad is an author and a quite successful one. He wouldn t let me go to college because he 2

5 thought it was a scam so he taught me to read. He taught me to be curious. It hasn t really paid off because I work at a coffee shop making just enough money to pay the bills. But, I can keep entertained. I can do that quite well. Tonight I was reading the book called Man on Wire which is the story of how a man named Philippe Petit broke into the world trade centers and set up a tight rope between the two buildings and walked between them without any safety equipment. My father recommended me this book. All he does is read because he is basically retired. Petit was dad s hero because he too was an autodidact and an artist. There s no school that teaches engineering principles of how to set up tight ropes between high rises. This book was entertaining and inspiring. It made me feel that creating art was a noble virtue and it should be done for the artist s entertainment and no other purpose. That s why I wrote poetry. I did it for myself. My eyelids started to feel heavy as I was reading about Philippe and his friend almost getting caught when they were inside the World Trade Centre. He spoke about how the guards were passing by and they were hiding under a tarp. I could not imagine what a rush that must have been. The feeling of knowing how close you are to your dream and how one mistake can end it all. It s not like this was a very serious crime but it would have been a shame had they got caught. It was time to sleep so I put the book down, turned off my light and rested my head. * * * I took a deep breath and looked at the clock. It was 5:59 AM. I don t know why but for the past three years I woke up at this exact time. Friday mornings were always the busiest at the café. I worked at a place called Danny s Beans. It was a standard coffee shop that didn t offer any specialty coffees. There were no lattes or espresso, just light or dark coffee. I had worked there for five years and before this I was a waitress at a local restaurant. I was forced to find a steady job since I had Thomas. This was able to cover my bills and it was predictable. Coffee shops don t go out of business. If I worked hard, I would be safe. I overheard two men discussing gun regulations and the most recent school shooting. They were both speaking intently but the café was so busy that I had to move closer to eavesdrop. In the year of 2021 there were 25 mass shootings that have killed 10 people or more. It was a hot political topic. One man had a dark brown suit and salt and pepper hair with a thick moustache that, at one point, must have been fire red but at his age now it more closely resembled ashes. He spoke with a deep raspy voice and he insisted that guns should be carried by teachers to defend themselves and the students. The other man was clearly more calculated, I thought, in his appearance and in the way he spoke. 3

6 In his slow manner of speech he repeated that firearms should only be used for what they were intended for the army, police officers and a select few hunters. Without noticing, I had crept so close that I was within arm s reach of the two men. I heard my words escaped me: We don t have a gun problem. We don t have a gun regulation problem. We have a people problem, Gentlemen. These words seemed like they were waiting on the tip of my tongue for a moment like this. I continued against my will. More guns are not the answer and less guns is not the answer, either. I have yet to see a gun plot a mass murder, then pick itself up and carry it through. Look at the history of mass murders over 90% of them have been carried out by males. Why? I took a deep breath as both men opened up their posture to me. Advertising and media has gotten out of control. It has become too effective. We ve built this impossible image of what men ought to be how they should look, how they should act, how they should interact with their peers. The media has done such a good job of making men insecure about being insecure. So now what? They re told to man up and to be a man and I ask you, what does that mean? Be a leader, be strong, and don t take shit from anyone? God forbid them to feel fear, to cry or to be homosexual. At this point, I felt how I usually felt about this topic deeply passionate. Right now my thoughts were forming into words. The brown suited man tried to add his two cents when I said I am not done. I continued. This picture is painted of what a real man is and I m sorry to say but that picture is only a coward in disguise. It s a man who is too cowardly to be himself. Nine out of ten men do not naturally feel like this ideal man that is portrayed. This is especially true for young men. So they put their mask on and act like someone else until they forget who they were in the first place. And some men. Some men are so afraid of who they re becoming while wearing this mask so they try to stop. These men try to be themselves which scares the hell out of all of the other men who are wearing their masks. And in their fear, they beat down the man going against the grain trying to be his true self. This act of beating down men can be so brutal that it makes one want to end their own life. This, again, is especially true with younger men. And some of them cannot justify taking their own life without going down with a fight, which is something else the media has taught them. In this case, they take as many others down as they can and there you have it; mass murder. I continued. You see, all these people want is acceptance. They need to be accepted for who they actually are. They don t need to be told by their father to suck it up when they scrape their knee and cry; they need to be told it s ok and that we all feel pain. This is the main problem. There are more problems, yes, there are more problems like pornography but that is a whole other talk gentleman. 4

7 You know I said This happens to women too except we re too afraid to be un-womanly to act out as men do. We re told to accept this image, put on our makeup, and do our hair. But trust me we feel the same as these men. I didn t know what possessed me say these things but I did and it felt great. It was the same satisfaction I got from writing. It was a self-satisfaction not caring what the others thought. The gray haired gun lover couldn t help himself so he protested: That aint true. What would you know, you re just a lady. Not all men don t wanna be a real man! I stared him in the eyes and said: Why do you wear a suit? And a tie? Who was the genius who thought all grown men should dress the same and wear a bib? Do you think that looks good? Is it your decision or is it tradition? When is the last time you actually made a decision? The man squinted and said I don t need this crap. Good day Samuel. He got up and left. I didn t realize that Jon, my manager was behind me during this discussion. Although every word I said resonated with him, he put his mask on and tapped me on the shoulder and said Anne, you cannot treat a customer like that. You scared the guy off. I cannot have this take place in my café for heaven s sake. I am going to need your name tag, Anne. I m sorry. You can t work here anymore. I will write you a letter of reference. The other man I ranted to was still sitting and he interrupted Jon by saying I m sorry sir, there will be no need for that letter you speak of. Miss, if you sit down with me, I would like to offer you employment. All of this happened so quickly. I lost my job and was offered a new one within seconds. I let out a deep flame that had been burning in the bottom of my soul for the past three years. It felt liberating. I ve spoken like this to my father before but that was it. Speaking my mind in front of a stranger felt great. I took off my name tag and as I handed it to Jon I felt an intense relief. It felt as though I had just finished hiking up a mountain and was finally able to set up my camp and rest. There was nothing left to carry. I sat down and looked into the man s eyes. My dad always said the eyes are the window to the soul. I didn t know if I believed that but I knew that the eyes don t lie. He extended his hand. The movement seemed precise and efficient as if this action was a confession of his character. I met his had with mine. I delivered an assertive handshake. Not aggressive, yet not passive. Something my dad taught me. Anne Math I said. 5

8 My name is Samuel Mann. I m the Governor of Nebraska and I was moved by your words. I need a speech writer. What do you say? I didn t know how I felt about people in politics. I always thought that they were corrupt. I never paid attention to the campaigns because I thought that no election has ever been won by one vote so why bother? At this point, I needed a job and I thought about writing. I replied skeptically. I don t have any experience. Samuel said jokingly I heard someone say once that experience is a comb that nature gives to bald men. He continued Please, take my card. I would like you to start Monday. I have a very important speaking engagement in a weeks time and could use your help. You can call me at this number any time of the day. But please let me know before Monday. I took his card and carefully examined it. It was made of rigid paper and had a turquoise saying in italics underneath his name. It read doing what is right. I would like the sound of those words if I believed them to be authentic. I didn t know if I did yet. I ll call you before Monday. I said. I got up and started to walk home. Samuel s business card was tucked away in my wallet but I felt heat radiating from it. It wasn t a real feeling of heat. It was just my subconscious telling me to look into this opportunity. The full version is available for free download at sidcrowe.com in PDF, Mobi and Epub. 6