America: Chapter 19
The Abernathy Trilogy
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 19
Justin
"My friends and countrymen, you may have heard the news. Boston--and indeed the entire Massachusetts colony--is under siege." Beszick's basso voice resounds around the cramped cellar where we, some three dozen head, are gathered.
"The latest of Britain's obscene laws," he continues, "are more intolerable than ever. He's closed the port of Boston and usurped their governor, replacing town council members with his own royal puppets. Private citizens are made to quarter unruly British soldiers. I've even heard of women being raped by the very soldiers they give shelter to, and the bastards go unpunished, as they are now immune to colonial laws."
A collective shudder is issued by all the women of the room. I glance around for the first time and notice that there are more people here than I thought. In addition to the forty or so that surround Beszick in the room proper, another dozen are crowded in the stairwell, trying to hear, if not see.
The cellar is dark and hotly cramped, but we dare not open a window or light another lamp. These meetings grow more perilous each day.
"The time has come, men and women of Baltimore, to act. Boston cannot fight England alone. What is happening there now will soon happen here, and we cannot fight them alone either. But if the colonies were to unite...stand together..." He reaches inside his coat pocket then, and produces a letter. Holding it in the air he looks around the room, encouraging us to see it for all its incendiary mettle. "I have here in my hand an invitation, to a secret gathering in Philadelphia. Revolutionary leaders from every colony are asked to attend, and we will draft a petition to the King himself, demanding the repeal of these unjust acts. For the first time, we will band together, and use our collective might to force the King to listen!"
"And if he refuses?" shouts a voice from the crowd.
"Then," says Beszick gleefully, "he must prepare for war."
A rousing cheer sounds among the crowd, and Beszick rides its crest. He jumps on top of a paper crate, shouting from the base of his chest. "It is time to let the King know that we will no longer abide his tyranny!" Another cheer, louder, a tempest of red human energy. "If he will not treat us as British citizens, then he must forfeit his claim to us!"
Uproar shakes the foundations of the building, men on the stairs pounding their heels against the creaking boards. Everywhere around me, calloused, careworn fists are raised into the air, buoyed by cries of "Unite!" and "Freedom!"
After the meeting, the other boys and I stay with Beszick, talking--listening--long into the night. I watch them, their eyes glazed, beset by ideas of glory, or honor, or the pure masculine charge of action. I...am not immune, I know. But where Amos and Ralph and Francis have lofty dreams to propel their spirits, I have the absence of dreams. A bleak, yawning nothingness, to which choosing any action seems a burden. So I chose the first one available to me.
Glumly, I wander home after the meeting, behind the buoyant bodies of my friends. Amos hangs back though, a wary eye turned occasionally to me. Ever since...that night... he watches me, though he has never mentioned what transpired. I am blessed for his silence; I couldn't bear to discuss it.
Gratefully, though, he has kept a watchful distance. I might even attribute his attentiveness more to friendly concern over my depressed mood than to amorousness. I think--hope--that what happened between us meant very little to him. Indeed, I have witnessed the capriciousness with which he regards physical relationships. Ralph and Francis are the same; In fact, I'm rather certain that all three of them have lain with each other at some point or another. It seems to be rather a trifle to them.
Unlike me, for whom that rueful night meant a great deal: the end of everything.
Abernathy, Abandon, America
by Kristen
America
Chapter 19
Justin
"My friends and countrymen, you may have heard the news. Boston--and indeed the entire Massachusetts colony--is under siege." Beszick's basso voice resounds around the cramped cellar where we, some three dozen head, are gathered.
"The latest of Britain's obscene laws," he continues, "are more intolerable than ever. He's closed the port of Boston and usurped their governor, replacing town council members with his own royal puppets. Private citizens are made to quarter unruly British soldiers. I've even heard of women being raped by the very soldiers they give shelter to, and the bastards go unpunished, as they are now immune to colonial laws."
A collective shudder is issued by all the women of the room. I glance around for the first time and notice that there are more people here than I thought. In addition to the forty or so that surround Beszick in the room proper, another dozen are crowded in the stairwell, trying to hear, if not see.
The cellar is dark and hotly cramped, but we dare not open a window or light another lamp. These meetings grow more perilous each day.
"The time has come, men and women of Baltimore, to act. Boston cannot fight England alone. What is happening there now will soon happen here, and we cannot fight them alone either. But if the colonies were to unite...stand together..." He reaches inside his coat pocket then, and produces a letter. Holding it in the air he looks around the room, encouraging us to see it for all its incendiary mettle. "I have here in my hand an invitation, to a secret gathering in Philadelphia. Revolutionary leaders from every colony are asked to attend, and we will draft a petition to the King himself, demanding the repeal of these unjust acts. For the first time, we will band together, and use our collective might to force the King to listen!"
"And if he refuses?" shouts a voice from the crowd.
"Then," says Beszick gleefully, "he must prepare for war."
A rousing cheer sounds among the crowd, and Beszick rides its crest. He jumps on top of a paper crate, shouting from the base of his chest. "It is time to let the King know that we will no longer abide his tyranny!" Another cheer, louder, a tempest of red human energy. "If he will not treat us as British citizens, then he must forfeit his claim to us!"
Uproar shakes the foundations of the building, men on the stairs pounding their heels against the creaking boards. Everywhere around me, calloused, careworn fists are raised into the air, buoyed by cries of "Unite!" and "Freedom!"
After the meeting, the other boys and I stay with Beszick, talking--listening--long into the night. I watch them, their eyes glazed, beset by ideas of glory, or honor, or the pure masculine charge of action. I...am not immune, I know. But where Amos and Ralph and Francis have lofty dreams to propel their spirits, I have the absence of dreams. A bleak, yawning nothingness, to which choosing any action seems a burden. So I chose the first one available to me.
Glumly, I wander home after the meeting, behind the buoyant bodies of my friends. Amos hangs back though, a wary eye turned occasionally to me. Ever since...that night... he watches me, though he has never mentioned what transpired. I am blessed for his silence; I couldn't bear to discuss it.
Gratefully, though, he has kept a watchful distance. I might even attribute his attentiveness more to friendly concern over my depressed mood than to amorousness. I think--hope--that what happened between us meant very little to him. Indeed, I have witnessed the capriciousness with which he regards physical relationships. Ralph and Francis are the same; In fact, I'm rather certain that all three of them have lain with each other at some point or another. It seems to be rather a trifle to them.
Unlike me, for whom that rueful night meant a great deal: the end of everything.