A Vulgar Display Of Power

“That goddamn maniac!” Carl screamed as he sped out of the driveway. Downtown was thirty minutes away, probably fifty with traffic.

“We’ll never make it,” I thought, but Carl drove anyway—drove like the hounds of hell were gnashing at our bumper.

“Call him,” he demanded of me.

“He won’t pick up.”

“Robin! Fucking call him!” The car jerked left as we ran a red and got on the highway. Horns rose behind us in an angry crescendo. I grabbed my seatbelt and clicked it in place. Carl kept pushing the pedal. 60. 65. 75. 85.

“Ease up, you’re gonna crash.” Headlights passed us as a stream of apparitions in the haze of the night. Darkness came in and out of the car as lampposts shone in short increments.

“We have to get there. Why haven’t you called yet?” The leather sighed as Carl's fingers dug into the steering wheel.

“Are you fucking listening? He won’t pick up. It’s no use.”

“No use? Do you understand what he’s about to do? That note wasn’t a goddamn gag Robin! He’s going to war, he’s-” And here he went on ranting about smoke and chaos and the FBI. Something something Guy Fawkes. Or maybe it was another name. It’s all a blur, honestly. All I can remember is the speed. We could have died in an instant, inertia carrying us to our death like clouds carry rain, the splat of muscle and bone delivering a gruesome thunder.

Somewhere between fatal fantasies, I thought of the note.

“Vic?” I shouted outside his front door. Me and Carl were out when he called. We rotated houses for our weekly movie night. That Thursday, I had spent all morning erradicating dust, but Vic insisted we screen at his place.

“Guess we’re on snack duty,” Carl said when he picked me up. I thought nothing of it, for unpredictability was the only habit Vic kept. Nothing was consistent with him: when he woke up, what he ate, how he felt. Well, I guess I’ve lied. He was always in black, no color, save the occasional grey tone.

“It’s the only way I feel comfortable,” he told me once. He never greeted us at the door either. If he was expecting company, he left the door unlocked, as a gesture meant to invite us into the space. Still, it felt polite to announce ourselves.

“Vic, we’re coming in!” I called with my chest pressed against the warm edge of two pizza boxes. Car held the door as I stepped into the living room. The lamp and TV were twin flames blazing in the simple home. I set the pizza on the table while Carl sat down with a can of pop. On screen, the weatherman warned of mist and wind sweeping through the city.

“He must be in the other room reading,” Carl said absently. I took his blatant disinterest as my cue to go drag Vic out of his small library.

“Don’t touch the pizza until I come back.” He waved me away.

“Robin!” Carl screamed as he slammed on the brakes. We were gridlocked a few miles from the city. It was so close that I could pretend to hold the skyline in my palm. Its most grand spires were stabbing into the clouds, blood falling in the form of fog.

“God dammit!” I cried as I scanned the growth of windows. Nothing yet. Nothing yet, thank God.

“Drive in the HOV.”

“It’s no use,” Carl said. I got out of the car and stood on the hood. I couldn’t make out anything eight feet beyond me.

“As far as I can tell traffic is fucked from here to the exit,” I said as I climbed back in through the window, “I can only see lights inching forward. There must have been an accident.”

“Do you think he…” It was a ridiculous thought, Vic derailing traffic like a supervillain, but my threshold for antics had widened in the last hour. He was a lean guy, not very muscular, but creative, a skill made dangerous by his desires. 

I looked down at my hands and realized that I was trembling. Still trembling from when I found his note.

I was struck by the musk of aging text as the door swung back. The ground was strewn with empty pens and scraps of paper. Vic always said writing was like dreaming; discovery and creation happened in tandem. His work was a mix of fiction and essays, all political in varying degrees. The fiction followed violent characters with militant agendas and groups dedicated to some progressive social cause. Vic was an editor by profession, but he could never get his own writing to make a profit.

‘They can’t stomach me,” he said after the thousandth rejection letter.

“They can’t stomach the truth.” Carl thought his work was crude, pulpy for the hell of it. I wasn’t a fan of his style, but I couldn’t deny that Vic was a visionary. Intelligent, to his detriment maybe, but incredible with words. I always said the world wasn’t ready for his art. This never really satisfied him, but it was all I had to offer.

When I saw the note scrawled on a sheet torn from one of his journals, I figured it was an excerpt from his latest project. Vic held his rough drafts close, but I couldn’t help sneaking a peek before he caught me. I picked it up gently and felt the fine texture of his stationery. 

All at once, the world around me vanished. What I read in his signature sharp strokes arrested me with terror. My head filled with helium as I sank into the dark forest of his mind.

Dear Friends, 

I was born under the bitter desolation of December, to a society of equal climate. Even in that era of marginal freedom, it was already too late to turn back. It can be argued that liberty died ages ago, in a back alley where none of us could object, and by the time we got to the corpse, it was a pile of maggots and rot. But on a night like tonight, you can still feel it. They cannot rip it from the sky or zap it from the soil. It’s the urge, when the clouds move vast and greedy, to march with them. With the moon as our Lady, we will take the sky. Honor the names Justice and Liberty.

I wish I could remove myself from this system. It wasn’t made for me or my people. Rather, it is a system made against us. The slot machine that will never yield. They call me a bad actor because I refuse to play my role in a circus of torment, refuse to bend to any form of convention, refuse to see the value in anything that furthers or ignores the new age slavery, the chains that bind us, squeeze us, crush us. Few win the game, and in every loss, there is a cruel victory for the other side. To quote one of our recent watches, “the only winning move is not to play.”

Now, I’ll put us in check. They give us fake wars, hoping we forget the real fight. We throw stones at shadows and miss the real enemy. But there will be no more infighting. Violence begets violence, but so long we’ve let ourselves be trampled. No more. We're all rotten. All stagnant. 

I can write every day, but I look outside and see the same abyss, the same people living and dying for a sun that will never shine. Words have only failed me, so I’ll abandon prose, once and for all. So often I talk like a soldier and live like a nun, but tonight the bark will match the bite. I’ll do more than those Nazis in Washington ever could, and with a better cause too, because I know who the real enemy is. 

We citizens are the reason society exists, the walls that give the ceiling something to stand above. We hold all the power, give the consent that keeps the wheel turning. So many great men and women before us have refused oppression, refused slavery, refused genocide, yet as we stand in the modern era, evil festers freely before us. Our fighting spirit has been crushed into vapor.

From this day forward, I revoke my consent, and I revoke it with violence. Fire. Every tool of destruction I can muster. Downtown, there is a monolith to evil, the perfect target for my civil wrath. This will be a vulgar display of power. The only way to set us free. 

I’m sorry to ruin our screening, but keep your eyes fixed on the news, and enjoy your pizza. My house and all my things are yours. Tonight, I live and die for you. I know I’m not always the most agreeable, though tonight I suppose I’ll be at my most disagreeable. Robin and Carl, I love you. I hope to see you again, dear friends.

It was signed “V” at the bottom. Carl came behind me to see what was wrong. The tremors in my hands made it hard for him to clutch the sheet. In hindsight, we had no reason to believe him, beyond a mutual understanding that Vic was lonely, and loneliness could drive a person to dark places. Despite our disbelief, the principle stands that if a person goes up to the roof and says they’re gonna jump, you open your arms and brace for impact.

As I ran along the road, I found my hands had settled. In my desperation, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Vic. My eyes were glued to the skyline, two stars shining through the dark sky.

One ring.

My heart was clawing out of my chest.

Another ring.

I couldn’t breathe against the chorus of shouts rising from the thousand cars before me.

Another ring.

Then, a long pause.

“Robin.”

“Vic! What did you do? Where are you?”

“Are you still watching Robin?”

“Vic, we’re stuck in traffic, please talk to me! Don’t do anything drastic!”

“Desperate times, Robin. Desperate times and desperate measures.”

“Victor this is not a game! There’s another way to solve this! Another way to make change!”

“That’s not true. That’s never been true. Only violence can be the crucible for progress. History repeats tonight. I’ll finally be a man of my word.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but if you go through with it, your life is over.” At this, he sighed.

“It’s that damn tower. It’s a blight on this city. I’m going to sink it into the river. I’m going to prove that we can touch them.”

“Robin!” Carl called behind me.

“How would you even…”

“Did he pick up?” Carl was breathing down my neck, trying to listen in on the conversation, but Vic had fallen silent. In my speechless state, I handed him the phone.

“Vic? Look you fuckin maniac, I don’t know who you think you are but- Don’t hang up on us bastard, you’re schizo power fantasies have gone too far! We- time for what? Vic, stay on the line. Victor. Victor!” In a fit of anger, Carl threw my phone to the ground.

“Believe me, you’d do the same.” I looked back at the city, trying to steady myself as wind barreled across the road.

“What now?” I asked as Carl gripped his hair with his eyes shut tight.

“We have to call the cops,” he said with so little hesitation that I felt ill.

“The cops? Are you fucking crazy!”

“No, but he is. He’s either going to hurt someone else or himself, and we cannot let that happen.”

“You’ve always had a problem with him,” I spat, “You never liked him because you can’t understand him.”

“Robin, don’t be ridiculous,” Carl sighed and gripped my shoulders, “I’m hurt too, but he can’t be saved.”

“Don’t patronize me.” I shoved him back.

“Victor is our friend. My friend, at any rate, and I will not let you throw him to the wolves. He just needs to be talked down, that’s all.”

“Talked down from what?” My eyes flickered.

“What did he say to you just now?” Carl asked. His face dropped in response to my silence. 

“Robin, we might not have a lot of time. What did he say!”

“Give me your phone.” I stuck out a hand.

“I won’t until-”

“We don’t have time, like you said, and he doesn’t trust you,” I fired. Still, he hesitated.

“The phone, Carl!” He took his phone from his pocket and unlocked it. The screen hummed as I dialed Vic.

One ring.

I shuffled in place as traffic continued to crawl.

Another ring.

I tried to form sentences, but syllables became mountains. What I could possibly say to bring him back to us? I began conjuring something satisfactory when…

“Carl please understand that-”

“It’s Robin.” There was silence on the other end.

“Look, whether you come to me, or I come to you, we have to find another solution to this. You’re really scaring us, Victor.”

“You won't be able to get to me. Disrupting traffic was far easier than I imagined,” I heard something snap into place on the other end. “Besides, they’re already looking for me, I think. I’m afraid I’ll never see you again, Robin.” I imagined men in black, stomping through hallways, the echo of their boot heels the very voice of death.

“You have a life here. I can’t watch you go through with this. I mean you…” I turned away from Carl.

“It’s terrorism. If you’re serious about it, that is.”

“Robin… That tower is a symbol of oppression over the free people of this nation. We live in a state defined by deception and death. They bring violence to holy grounds. They kill children for profit. They've made men disappear in the night. I've seen footage. Do you know it was us that inspired the Nazis? We’re the blueprint for all that’s despicable. The working class should be feared, and tonight we will be. Tonight it will all be correct. Maybe for the first time.” I wiped the tears from my swelling eyes.

“Vic, you know I understand but... it’s the property of the president. This’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“All work is dirty which makes something clean. You and Carl are written into my will. I... I'll miss you. Carl was always too-”

“Stubborn.”

“But you always got it.” We both searched for more to say, but understanding had been reached.

“Goodbye, Victor.”

“Goodbye, Robin.”

“Goodbye?” Carl got in my face.

“We’re not getting to him,” I told him as I put the phone down.

“What is he going to do…” I looked away.

“Robin!”

“He’s gonna blow up the tower on the riverfront. He said security is already looking for him.” Carl snatched the phone from me.

“I’m calling in a bomb threat. Robin, you’ve always given that guy a little bit too much grace. This is real life, and real people are going to be hurt. Have some goddamn sense.” A million impulses ran through my head like gunfire. I thought of every atrocity Vic had ever shown me. The charred bodies and false values. I remembered the essays I adored in the font of his hand, and how phrases stuck to my brain like grass held dew. I could see his black jacket and sunken eyes, bringing every violent word to reality. Creating and discovering. The sun shone over a world shaped by his hand and it was beautiful.  Beautiful because it was true.

“Hello dispatch, my name is Carl Lee, and-” I snatched the phone and yelled “crank call!” into the receiver.

“Robin don’t!” The phone must’ve flown thirty feet before hitting the streets below us.

“Believe me,” I said, my face plain as a chalkboard, “You’d do the same.” My ear rang as Carl smacked me across the face.

“You stupid bitch! What’s the fuck is wrong with you?” A wave of vomit surged within me as my knees locked.

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you get it yet? Can’t you see!” Aggressively, I tapped him thrice on the temple.

“Vic is right. We might not like it, but violence is the answer. This is how we make things better.  It’s always how we’ve made things better” Pride and pain screamed on either side of my head.

“I don’t pretend to know much about this world, but I know enough to know that something must change. So we’re going to do what he wanted in the first place. We’re going to watch.”

And that’s exactly what I did. There, on the highway, I watched Victor make history. Carl ran off to beg a stranger for their phone. I looked to the skyline, still veiled in the blood of the sky, exist in completion one last time. Breath left my body as the burst came. The boom hit us all the way from there, like a behemoth woken from its ancient slumber. A dark skyscraper swallowed the view, and then another, even bigger and more encompassing than the first.

Those phantom towers, twin columns, stood taller than the one they grew from. I still couldn’t tell you how he did it. Believe me, they’ve asked. It wasn’t enough to bring the thing down, but months later, we’re all still reeling from the damage, the bitterness of the message lingering in our mouths.

Vic never made it out of the building. His body was an ant hill. A dozen holes created a morbid network of tunnels. They hosed all the brain and muscle away. He never got a proper burial. Still, there are things exploding in me, exploding in us all. His will isn’t done yet, this I’m sure of. There will be copycats and revelations, riots and war. There will be unity and change, ultimately a better tomorrow, because he dared to dream in red. I could never be so brave as to find a home in his footsteps, but before long, I’ll be right there with him, on the death march to tomorrow. He was the vessel for the dream of an entire nation, and soon I will make him proud, tracking ink and blood as I bring to life the prospect of tomorrow.