“Hey Carter!” came a shout and I knew who it was without turning my head, which was good as I was experiencing a wash of vertigo at the moment. I’d come home from work and took a moment to relax, sitting on the porch with the feral cats who hang out near our house. We feed them and they allow us to pet them. Sometimes. Anyway, I’d spent a few minutes petting and talking to the one we’ve named Sorrow, but he took off. He’s skittish. I would have gone inside myself but, as I said, the vertigo.
“Hey Carter!” came the shout again.
“Gunner, it’s been a while. Where’ve you been?” I didn’t really want to speak to him. He’s a bit of a troll, always trying to rile me. Always read to condemn me. But I try to be patient. I try to put up with him even if I wasn’t feeling right side up.
“Where’s your American flag?” he asked as he stepped up to the porch. “You’ve got a Palestinian flag, a skull and cross bones pirate flag, and a queer pride flag in your window, but no American flag and I’m just wondering why you hate America so much.
Yeah. That’s usually how it goes with Gunner. “Patriotism is the doctrine that cannot be challenged, eh Gunner?” I said with my head still between my knees. “As it happens,” I answered him, “my American flag is safely folded and put away in a closet somewhere. I have plans to get it out for flag day.”
“To put it up?” he grinned. “Excellent. I knew you'd come around eventually." “No,” I said. “Not to display it. To wash it. I’m going to sit on the courthouse lawn with a bucket of soapy water and spend the day washing the flag. I’ve made up a sign to take with me. Stained with Oil. Stained with mud. Stained with War, Stained with Blood. We are not the good guys.”
His grinned disappeared. “You know, Carter, there are three heavens, but none of them are yours.
Another wave of vertigo washed over me and I closed my eyes to keep from spinning. It’s the end of the world – alive or dead, doesn’t matter. We’ve got to move fast while national security concerns are still beating. There are opportunists waiting and grasping for exploitational exposure. Which is just another method of murder. Clean and simple kill counts. The lower depths of darkness rule here. It is not enough for the burning fire. Not enough for the burnt offerings. The god of this land is not placated without death. Blow it up. Burn it down. It’s a rigor mortis policy long past its prime. It’s all in the CIA monitoring and redacted FBI files.
“All the nations,” I said after the vertigo receded. ALL the nations – this means you, this means us – are as nothing before God, Gunner. Nothing. And no American exceptionalism, no rugged individualism, no protestant work ethic will make a damn bit of difference. That flag is nothingness and emptiness.”
“You’re such a hypocrite, Carter. If you really thought that you wouldn’t have that terrorist Palestinian flag in your window.”
I nodded slightly – too much motion might have triggered another wave. “You could be right, Gunner. I’m a messy bundle of contrarian contradiction. What can I say?”
Gunner huffed and waved me off before storming back to his noisy pickup truck and driving away. I watched him roar away.
Sorrow poked his head out from beneath the porch and meowed at me. “Yeah, buddy. Hang on. I’ll bring out some food for you,” I said as I stood and went inside.
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