San Diego State University’s Independent Student Newspaper Since 1913

The Daily Aztec

San Diego State University’s Independent Student Newspaper Since 1913

The Daily Aztec




San Diego State University’s Independent Student Newspaper Since 1913

The Daily Aztec

FICTION: The man who said nothing

By Tom Hammel, Opinion Editor

“Blooms-day! Blooms-day!”

A dull chanting from in here. Bloom is doomed today. Damned. My crossed leg is numb sitting in the leather chair. I’m at the hotel window looking at my reflection and beyond it. My dark eyes are looking back with the distant city lights. Beautiful — and what I see impossible without the porcelain lamp on the nightstand.

Brandt is pacing the hotel suite; I could see him on his cell phone through the obsidian reflection. He stands still, holds his forefinger and thumb over his eyelids and juts his jaw forward. Say something.

Brandt closes the phone in his palms.

Jesus Christ, no.

Rushing through the marbled lobby. Steps. Clenching the sweat in my palms. Posters on the walls, some tattered on the floor. Red and blue confetti. Brandt motions to the doorman. Noise pours into the lobby.

“We polled this thing to death. It was a sure thing. Get Walter on the phone and call them back.”

“Jack, we came within a 4 percent margin.”

“Call them again and verify that.”

Howling from the auditorium.

“I’m not going on stage until I watch you dial that damned number.” Caprice walks through the drapery and holds up three fingers.

“We have two minutes.”

“I just spoke with him. Come on. You know —”

I put my hand on his shoulder, lean in and say through clenched teeth, “Shut the f— up and dial the number.”

He steps back flashing his eyes, and shoves the phone in my hand. Caprice leans from the door. The crowd screams and applauds behind the black drapes. “You have 45 seconds.”

Hit recent messages. Walter. Subject: I’m sorry Jack. Chambers: 52 points. Bloomsday: 48.

Christ. Sit down. Hands shake. Staggered breath. The bass rattles my ribcage through the open doorway. Caprice kneels and holds my cheeks. “The cameras are on, Jack.”

Dignity. I walk a tightrope of thorns tied between mountains over a dark valley. Blood drips from my soles. I walk above the valley of the shadow of nothing, and I fear nothing. Shut up. Shut the hell up. Just listen to yourself. Do you believe all that bulls— worthless spatter droning on between your temples? Tell me.

“Get out there.” Caprice puts her hand softly on mine and leads me to the auditorium drapery. “I’m sorry. You did great. Just read the teleprompter, Jack.”

Part the curtains. Walk past the young boy smiling, ruffle his hair. Kiss his mother on the cheek. Stand at the podium.

Flood of light. Darkness. No faces with the applause. Just wave to it. There. The teleprompter. Speech is rolling. I have white teeth. Smile, to the applause.

“Thank you, thank you everyone. I couldn’t be more proud to be here tonight, among this handful of supporters who rallied to our cause. We have taken our campaign far beyond expectations and have felt the torch of the office in our grasp.

“I have not been granted the opportunity to talk to Ms. Chambers on the phone yet, so I will say it here: Congratulations to you and your campaign for your victory.”

Rolling boos from the dark mass, gawking.

I lift my arms and bellow magnificence.

“Please, please, listen now. Ms. Chambers and I have come to know each other quite well in the passing months. We may have had our disagreements, but she has captivated the minds and hearts of the people, for her dedication to public service and her vision for our state’s future. Please, pledge with me now, that tomorrow we may all come together, look past our differences and rebuild a sturdy bridge between the chasm of partisanship that has kept our legislators in gridlock for so long.”

Collapsing din.

Look left, down the stage. Nod and smile. Turn.

My wife’s eyes fall into the stage light. Ignite green. Majestic. She stares at and through me. Pulls at the corners of her lips. She is repulsed yet muted. A shell — political mannequin.

“Let me just say this to all of you before we part. To watch you contribute your relentless efforts to this campaign during the past several months has truly moved me. I have changed and grown with it all.”

Turn back the years. Go there. Whatever’s left. She and I lay on the couch warm together. She looks into me. “Jack, I think you are going to do great things.”

My eyes adjust to captivated faces. “Yes, all of you have proven that apathy is not the staple of this generation or the next. Together, we have proven that activism and cooperation can hold steady against the grave dangers of cynicism and disaffection.”

“We want you!”

“Jack,” voice soft in the calm. “Believe me, I want to share myself and my happiness with you.”

“To all of my supporters: Our run may have come to an end, but please, do not let yourself succumb to bitterness or disappointment. You have done all that you could to keep this movement alive. I am the only one to blame.”

She stares. I say nothing.

“You gave me the opportunity to serve this great state. For that, I will always be grateful.

“Tomorrow, I’ll begin my search for another opportunity to find greatness, for another chance to surrender myself to the joys of sharing a dream. Never give up hope for a brighter future. Never. Thank you everyone. God bless you all and God bless America.”

—Tom Hammel is a political science senior.

— This fictional story does not necessarily represent the opinion of The Daily Aztec.

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San Diego State University’s Independent Student Newspaper Since 1913
FICTION: The man who said nothing