neverland

they hadn't meant to go there, but they did. they stumbled across it on their way to santa barbara, or the wine country, or one of the many trips they went on spontaneously to escape los angeles and sit silently in the car, listening to sad, sweet, lonely music. edward put his tan, strong elbow out of the open jeep window to smoke a cigarette and wizine watched him, slept, sung along. these were the days that weren't yet riddled with unknowables, with fear. these days were certain and calm, the answers lingering there without having been called into being by questions.

edward decided where they would go, what general direction, and wizine was happy to pack a bag and ride. on this trip they headed north and a couple of hours outside of los angeles they passed through a tiny town called solvang. it was made to look like an old dutch village, the storefronts and hotels and restaurants were alpine cottages straight from the cobblestone streets in germany or austria. wizine was astonished. how could such a strange place exist so close to where she lived? how had she never heard of it, never seen it in films, never been taken there before? edward parked the jeep and they got out to walk around. they ate latkes in a restaurant with potted flowers in the windowsills and blonde women dressed in dirndls. this can't be real, she said to edward, and he smiled and said, oh but it is. the town seemed to exist only on this one street, with the mountains surrounding it, highways and emptiness all around for miles.

they didn't say much to each other on these trips, or in their relationship in general. they weren't bored, it didn't collapse because of that, and years later when wizine would think back on that time and that car and the nights they slept next to each other, the one thing she was sure of was that they were loved by one another. loved in a young way that pities, that needs, that understands but doesn't appreciate. they were together, lost and lonely in the meanest city on earth, and the togetherness they created saved them both from total desperation.

they had meant to go to solvang, edward had planned that part. he adored anachronistic people and places and characteristics: a proper mustache on a 23 year old man, a banjo, suspenders, note pads and paper strewn about the bedroom. he had heard about solvang, unlike wizine, and he wanted to show it to her because he loved seeing her seeing new things. she absorbed what was in front of her so fully she sometimes looked like she was in pain. there was hardly anything he loved more, though he never articulated this to her, than putting something new, something different, something unbelievable like a dutch town in the middle of california, in front of her face and watching her eyes become arms and hold it all close to her. it made him want to cry. so much of her did.

after a few hours in solvang, edward looked at a map while smoking a cigarette and decided they were going to take side streets through the mountains to get to his friend's house in santa barbara. he didn't care how long it took. these were the kinds of declarations, the things he believed in, that at that time did not bother or upset wizine. she accepted his need to be in control, to take credit, to do things the hard way just because it looked better, without the slightest bit of worry or disdain. that would come later, in a fiery current of worries and disdains, but for now this was the togetherness that saved them, that pulled them out of the icy water when they had decided to leap from a bridge, when they decided to jump off a cliff. there was nothing to be criticized then because the alternative was certain death.

they started out of solvang, it was dusk and the microphones were playing. the wind was whipping wizine's hair around and she was happy. neither one of them wanted to go back to los angeles. that was always the worst part about their weekend adventures- diving back into the dirty, washed out soup of it. that was the quietest time of all.

for awhile they passed by nothing, just dry mountains and trees on either side. the road winded around twists and turns, they only saw two or three cars. and then, after turning a bend and starting to drive down a straight stretch, they saw a gilded gate with a long, uphill driveway. in cursive script above the gate read "neverland."

edward slowed the car down. "holy shit," he said and laughed. "i think that's where michael jackson lives." wizine had heard of neverland but didn't believe this was it. it can't be, she whispered.

there was a little gatekeepers house off to the side. edward pulled the car into the area in front of the gate. an older man wearing a solid blue uniform emerged with his hands behind his back, slowly. edward and wizine got out of the car.

"hi there," the man said. "welcome to neverland."

"hi. i think we came here by mistake, but is this where michael jackson lives?" edward asked.

"i don't think anyone's ever come here by mistake. and yes, this is michael's home, though he's not here today."

"wow," wizine said. she and edward looked at each other and laughed.

"you two big fans?" the man asked. he seemed excited to have someone to talk to.

"we..." edward started, not knowing how to finish.

"the biggest." wizine said. "thats why this is such a surprise. we were just on our way to santa barbara. just happened across it."

"my, my. thats a story for the grandkids aint it. you two got a camera? you need to remember this."

wizine went into the jeep and pulled out her fathers old nikon camera. this would be one of only a few pictures she had of her and edward together. she handed it to the man. "just press that button," she said.

she and edward ran over to the gate and stood in front of it. the structure was massive, over twice their height. they both turned around and looked up at it before posing for the picture. edward put his arm around wizine's waist and pulled her tight. they were both giddy, giggling.

"one, two, three, neverland!" he took the picture and smiled as he returned the camera to wizine. "yes ma'am," he said. "thats one for the grandkids."

super duper tuesday

coraline was quite impressed with herself, waking up early on a saturday and taking a bus to rhode island with a bunch of strangers to canvass for barack obama. this proved how much she wanted him to win, this was an act above and beyond the call of duty. she would tell her children about it in twenty years, she thought, tell them that she was a part of it, a part of it in a major way. she didn't just read the op-ed articles or attend the occasional phone bank. she went to a battleground state! she pounded the pavement!
she sat next to a window and pretended to read her new yorker as people were filing onto the bus. a conversation erupted about when hillary would concede. a black middle aged woman wearing at least a dozen buttons with images of barack obama, his wife and his daughters, with phrases such as "the dream lives on" and "america's first family," said that if we win big on tuesday its over for her.
"i know we thought that on super tuesday, that we could all rest and go on with our lives after that all happened. but this my friends, this is super DUPER tuesday and this is the final showdown!" she laughed an earnest, meaty laugh and slapped her denim covered thigh.
"amen to that," an elderly black man sitting in front of her murmured. "i'm too old to be riding on buses to rhode island. this better be it."
there were people in their early twenties, closer to coraline's age, but most of them were in pairs or groups. she felt a certain kinship with the lone travelers, the teenage boy with his massive headphones on sitting in the very back row, the earthy looking woman with wild brown curls and crocs on.
what an adventure, she thought to herself as she watched port authority pass by, the new york city streets turn into highway, the buildings become trees, land, fields. she watched as connecticut, a place she had never been before, a place that she thought of as pallid and still, became real. the land was dead and icy but she understood it now, and it excited her, as new things often did.
the bus dropped them off at a small strip mall in a suburb of providence. the headquarters was an empty insurance company office, which was simply a large box of a room with three tables, upon which was a neon splay of dunkin donuts. piles of people's belongings hunkered in corners.
coraline made small talk with other new yorkers. an italian dad from the bronx, wearing a black leather jacket, asked her what she did.
"i write grants. for a non-profit. its a very uninteresting job really. pretty boring. what do you do?"
"i own a limousine service. heard of the 553-4444 commercial?" he sang the numbers, as the scantily clad women on the grating but memorable commercial did.
"oh yeah! wild! everyone knows that commercial. you must have a genius marketing person."
"just me, baby. just me." he jauntily popped the remaining bit of a frosted, sprinkled donut into his mouth and gave her a smile.
the field organizer, a wispy blond boy with thick, black rimmed glasses, stood on a chair to command everyone's attention. he explained what they were going to do that day -- go door to door with a printed out list of all the registered voters in the neighborhood, ask them if they knew who they were voting for, and try to convince them to vote for barack obama if that wasn't already their answer. the field organizer, named McKee ("not mickey"), asked everyone who was comfortable to set out on their own in order to cover more ground. those who weren't could go in pairs.
coraline tried not to make eye contact as people were pairing up. this was just the kind of thing she needed to do alone. small talk wasn't her strong suit.
an extremely tall black man approached her. she smiled awkwardly as if to say, im not interested. instead he said, "hi there, i'm jeff. would you like to team up?"
oh god, she thought. no. no i wouldnt. my therapist would tell me that its alright to want to do things alone, that sometimes its ok to put your own wants and needs above those of strangers.
"sure!" she replied.
"i just think that you can get us in the door, with the blonde hair and all, and i can make the sell," jeff said. "i just got promoted to bank manager at wells fargo, i'm highly trained on how to close the deal."
"great," she said, avoiding eye contact. "lets go!"
they piled into a car with other teams and were dropped off at the corner of peach and rosalyn. they were in the middle of a very quiet, very residential neighborhood. the houses were small but there were yards and multi-car garages. coraline guessed this would be considered upper middle class. it was starting to snow.
"say," coraline began. "i'm keen to just get through this list as fast as we can, so why don't we split it up. ill do the even side of the street, you do the odd?"
"well i think we might be more effective as a team. lets do the first together and see how it works."
"ok" she said, and grit her teeth. "whats the last name of this house?"
he made a joke about a house having a last name. "McEwan."
they walked up three stairs, to a small two story house with a honda civic parked out front. coraline rang the doorbell.
a man in his early forties with a perfectly groomed mustache opened the door, leaving the screened door closed.
"hi, are you mr. mcewan?"
"yes i am. who's asking?"
"hi there. im coraline, and this is jeff, and we just came down from new york on behalf of barack obama. we were just wondering if you knew who you were planning to vote for on tuesday?"
"I do, but i don't believe i'll be telling you." mr. mcewan shut the door. from her various phone banking experiences, this was not surprising to coraline.
"so mark 'REF' for refused to answer. oh well, that'll happen."
"Here's the thing, we need to get in the door. so maybe the first thing off the bat would be to ask them if they wouldnt mind letting us in for awhile."
it was snowing hard now, and neither one of them had an umbrella.
"well jeff im just not sure if we have time to sit down with every person. im getting worried about this snow, i think we should split up and meet at the end of peach street when we're done." that's right, coraline thought to herself. take charge of the situation! don't let this crazy needy bank manager dictate your experience!
she leafed through the packet and found the addresses for the even side of the street. "sound good?" she said cheerily.
"um, sure," jeff said, clearly deflated. she felt guilty for a fleeting instant and thought about sticking with him. but then she thought about the snow and the hours it would take to get through this list at the rate he wanted to go.
many houses were empty, so coraline left a pamphlet about voting times and locations. in some houses, she could hear activity inside the house, but the people inside refused to open the door.
most of the homes had spring decorations on the doors and in windows: st. pattys day clovers and leprechauns, easter bunnies and eggs, paper cut outs of flowers. everything seemed so benign.
she spoke with one woman who was voting for hillary because she cared about people like her. one man came to the front door and told coraline that he doesn't want to vote for hillary or obama, because they don't believe in the one issue that is central to him-- being pro-life. they talked for over ten minutes, about roe versus wade, about how devastating any abortion is, about all the other issues at stake, until finally the man's wife came to the door and said, "ed. dinner is ready" and glared at coraline like she was asking for money.
"well," ed said, "i should go. but i do thank you for coming all this way just to talk to folks like me. ill think it over."
when coraline asked one young mother, with a toddler at her ankles, if she was planning to vote for barack, she replied, "who else would i vote for?" coraline wanted to hug her, she wanted to cry with gratitude.
one young guy in a jersey and shorts answered the door, said his parents werent home. coraline asked him if he was old enough to vote and he said no, though she clearly thought he was.
"ok," she said with disdain catching in her throat. "well if you know anyone who can vote, please tell them that barack obama is the best candidate." as she was turning to walk away she slipped on an icy patch and fell down four stairs on her bottom. she looked up and the guy was still at the front door, propping it open with his knee. his face betrayed no emotion, no recognition of what had just happened. coraline picked herself up, found the clipboard and her pen, and said, "im fine. really, im fine."
the snow had let up and after a couple of hours they had finished the list. seven people she had spoken to were voting for barack obama. six were voting for either hillary or a republican, and one middle aged woman who lived in one of the bigger houses had told her that she wouldn't vote for that terrorist if her life depended on it. coraline said, "well, your life does depend on it. so i'm glad you've thought it through." then she sat on the curb and cried for a minute. she didnt care if the woman saw.
back at the insurance office, people were dethawing and discussing sleeping arrangements. there was a bus going back to new york that night, and though coraline was planning to stay overnight to canvass more on sunday, she was tempted to take the bus.
she asked a man in his thirties, with what looked like prematurely greying hair, if he knew about the sleeping situation, or what they were supposed to do for the rest of the night.
"i could use a drink," coraline said. she meant it.
the man replied with a laugh, "i hear you. i think that everyone is supposed to sleep at a gymnasium in providence...thats what i've been hearing."
"sounds inviting," coraline replied.
"yeah well i lucked out...i have a friend who lives in town. im going to meet up with him later and crash at his place."
they chatted for awhile, coraline found him to be funny and smart, if not necessarily attractive. his name was ian, and she desperately wanted him to invite her to go out with them. it was funny how quickly she switched -- during daylight being alone was inviting, necessary almost. as soon as it got dark, as soon as she the night became a possibility, she wanted companions.
after nearly an hour of standing around, waiting for instructions from McKee or someone else in charge, Ian said: "it probably wouldnt be a problem if you wanted to crash at my buddys place. ill call him and see if he can come pick us up, because it doesnt look like we're leaving anytime soon."
"oh god that would be amazing!" coraline squeezed his arm. "thank you!"
am i being dangerous, she wondered. is this a bad idea? she decided that spending the night in a strange city with two grown men who you have only known for a couple of hours probably looks bad on paper, but the reality of it was as harmless as the houses on peach street, with their bunnies and their pastel colors. ian and his friend had gone to brown; ian was a practicing lawyer in new york; he was dorky, sweet, friendly. and she wanted so badly to not sleep on a gymnasium floor. and she wanted so badly a drink.
ian called his friend and returned with great news. "turns out he's house sitting for his cousin, so there will be plenty of space for us to crash there."
ian told coraline about his friend chuck, chuck who has incredible potential but who is stuck in providence, jobless, waiting for a big break. "he can't have a job like the rest of us. he has these ideas, these ideas for advertising businesses. he'll spend hundreds of dollars getting business cards made that proclaim him to be the founder and CEO and hand a few out, and when no one calls he scratches it and starts again. it can be really, well... really frustrating to be his friend."
"yeah i can imagine."
"but he's great, he's a laugh. i shouldn't have told you all that."
finally a van took a load of volunteers to the campaign headquarters in providence, which was straight out of a movie about the political movements of the 1960s. barefoot, attractive young people flitted around like hummingbirds in a huge, high ceilinged office on the corner of a busy street in downtown providence. the two sides of the office that faced the street were floor to ceiling windows, upon which someone had painted the blue and red face of barack obama. it gave coraline chills.
she and ian sat down to call volunteers to ensure they were still coming for election day. coraline called someone on the list who was five feet away from her, making calls herself. she and ian laughed, but the girl seemed angry.
soon chuck was there in his haggard blue volkswagon golf. he idled outside of the building until they came out. ian held back the passenger seat so coraline could crawl in.
"hi!" she said. "thank you so much for this."
chuck was too tall for the small golf, and also greying like ian. he was jollier, looser than ian, and instantly more irreverent.
"so i hear you want to get drunk. am i mistaken?" he looked at her in the rearview mirror.
"no sir you are not. take me to a bar"
and so he did. the three of them got along easily, sitting in the middle of a chain irish pub. ian and coraline exchanged stories from their day canvassing and chuck shook his head in dismay.
"this is not something i would ever do. going door to door to strangers houses? hell no. its dangerous! were you with other people?"
coraline explained her situation with jeff; ian laughed. chuck looked horrified.
"oh please, it was the sweetest little neighborhood ever! no one was going to hurt me!"
"thats where the crazies live. all those firefighters and cops. they have weapons. im telling you, that wasnt safe."
and then chuck spent half an hour describing his new business to them-- a consulting firm that would exist solely to help companies redesign the lobbies of their offices.
"the lobby is the key, man. you only have one chance to make a first impression."
he handed them his card and coraline snuck a glance at ian, who was smirking.
the card read:
First Impression Design
Chuck De Groot
Founder & CEO
they were multi-colored and the logo was impressive. he had clearly spent a long time and a lot of money on these cards.
"thanks, man. good luck with this one. it sounds like a winner."
chuck cheers-ed to that, and said he had a good feeling about this one.
and then they, of course, talked about barack obama. ian was optimistic, chuck spewed the latest statistics, especially about his dim prospects in rhode island. coraline said tuesday would end it, the end was in sight. she hadn't yet faced the deepest fear, lurking there inside of her, that it could go the other way. she was still, and would remain until that super duper tuesday, truly convinced that the worst was behind them all.
they drank and talked, the bar started closing around them. they walked to a famous hot dog and burger truck that was usually there until the early hours of the morning, but couldn't find it. they walked past the capital building, they toured the charming streets of downtown providence. coraline had to find a bathroom in the lobby of a hotel, chuck worried that she would get in trouble so he stood guard outside the door.
"this is probably drawing unnecessary attention to us, you know," she called from inside the stall.
"that certainly did," he said back.
chuck drove them, woozily, to his cousin's house which overlooked a golf course. it was huge, a five bedroom mansion that looked old from the outside but had recently been renovated. his cousin had three kids, they were all away on a skiing holiday.
"i lucked out finding you guys," coraline said as she stepped inside. it had been months since she had been inside a proper house, let alone slept in one. the counter tops, the note pads, the placemats, the book shelves, the framed paintings. it made her feel, ever so briefly, sick for home.
chuck brought them beers and the three of them sat on the couch and watched TV. flipping through the late night offerings, they stumbled upon footage from a live rolling stones show. it must have been from the late 60s, coraline guessed. she didn't want to offer that thought, in case she was wildly off the mark.
"this is unbelievable" ian whispered. "i didnt know this existed."
they watched it separately, they didn't say anything more. at some point mick jagger welcomes a huge crowd of people onto the stage, and they all sing "give peace a chance."
coraline couldn't figure out how all of those people were related to one another. there were children, there were old people. there were black people, and white people, and asian people. there were people dressed up in suits and people who looked like hippies. they weren't all veterans, they weren't all musicians.
after the song was done, ian said "did anyone know this existed?"
chuck said, "no man. but that shit was-" he shook his head, like he was confused "incredible. i want to watch it again."
but they couldn't. they just kept watching footage of the rolling stones, at some mysterious concert, just having played a song that was not theirs with people who did not belong together. and then the concert ended and a infomercial for an exercise machine came on.
they got ready for bed. ian was going to sleep upstairs, and coraline would sleep on the couch so as not to disrupt another bedroom. chuck got her pillows and blankets, and turned off the tv for her.
"get in," he said. "ill tuck you in."
she did, although through the haze and colors of the evening a bit of worry was popping out.
she laid on the couch and pulled the covers up to her ears. chuck made fists and tucked the covers in around the length of her body. then he sat on the edge of the couch next to her.
"good night," she said.
"so you really think hes going to win?"
she nodded. "yes. i know he is."
"and you really think going door to door in some irish suburb of providence is going to help him win."
she nodded again. "of course it will."
"even when i was your age, i couldnt have thought about it like that."
"i bet thats not true."
"yeah," he let out a short breath and patted her leg.
"it will work out," she said, as if she were tucking him in. as if he were a child, confused and frightened, and she were the one who knew the answers. "this time it has to."
he kissed her on the forehead and went to his room.

the day after super duper tuesday the agonizing realization that this battle, this first battle, was long from over set in. coraline threw up four times at work, told her boss she had to leave, and walked the 72 blocks home. she spent hours looking for a clip of the rolling stones singing "give peace a chance" on youtube, but she never could find it.