Who's framing who? Was the

  winning question for the grownup/kid essay contest.  For us, the question came to light in a nightmarish joking kind of way as various neighborhood men decided upon career. 

  "Dick, I mean, Richard, uh, why is your dog drinking our toilet water?  Did you not come home last night?" 

  "Tailed.  And whoever it was is still in the neighborhood." Both dog and man panting. 

  I will say that "escapades" and "techniques" used amongst civilian population made us all collateral damage and disposable in the Nations' fight for "supremacy".  It fueled the danger until the men and women insisting on law and order in the Homeland got themselves properly attached to established organizations of America.  This didn't eliminate the branches of "justice", it made us briefly "great" again. 

Dad called it "the dummy".

  Sometimes it was a man, sometimes a woman.  Scrutinized either way.  How a cloth hangs; how it might clash; how a color or texture might look (i)if there were miles more of it for my fat ass(i) a lady said.  With pushpins in her mouth mom just listened and got a lot of insight, like peeks, into people.  How they thought about stuff, and almost like, what they were expecting out of an outfit. 

  One morning Dad got his bathtowel stuck on the thing.  It came off.  The dog was following Dad and a couple of the kids were following the dog.  "DAD!  What are you doing?" A little girl asked.  A son smacking a butt cheek like the dining room was a locker room. 

  Another morning the dummy was being punched by a brother who was letting loose on the thing.  Parents just listened and came to know that child was having a problem with a teacher.  (i)Okay,(i) mom tried to explain, (i)I hate you is okay to say to the dummy, but not the real teacher(i).  Mom wheeled the dummy into a corner and threw the Afghan on it.  Afraid of it's power to have unleashed so much anger in the small boy. 

  It stayed there for a little while until she made a performance of inviting it out of the corner and to dinner so people could (i)apologize(i). 

  Sometimes the dummy would be posed and drawn.  Sometimes mom would sew arms and legs onto it.  And she used it more than once to make it look like someone was home when Dad had to stay at work late and she wanted to go to sleep like us.  

  "MOM CAN WE USE THE DUMMY?" One sweaty, red faced kid was getting an idea as other boys were relaying the story of finding a dead body, seeing it was shot, and being like plagued with the (i)mystery(i).  That was how the dummy got it's first and only hole that wasn't a pin.  (i)Trajectory,(i) a beautiful woman with a penchant for mystery named technical words for such things.  Next morning the dummy had mom's lipstick on it until mom cleaned that off and put it in the closet. 

They'd taken more soft targets.

  Enemies within the Country were falling away from defending the Republic.  Falling away from Judeo-Christian values.  Falling away from family.  It wasn't difficult to lure.  Trap.  Soft kidnap.  Blackmail.  Disappear.  It would've been unthinkable to the Greatest Generation for this to happen (i)here(i).  

  The house behind the old oak tree with the yellow ribbon around it had stayed mostly dark.  Curtains pulled tight.  The smell of nicotine like cans of tuna not rinsed out. 

  "Why (i)one nation under God(i)?" A kid asked a weathered old man dropping off a trashcan of dogfood.  "On account of the Commies," the old man said.  "They're like one bunch of groups of brutal animals under a couple dictators." The man spit and the plug of tobacco slipped out too.  He picked it up and let his fingers wipe off the dirt.  Put it back in his mouth.  "War changed a lot of our men into brutal animals too.  It's a pickle.  We're having to relearn how to fear God and obey outtah respect.  This is a real mess," the man pulled at wire mesh put over a hole in the wall out back.  It had become a squirrel's nest.  People knew that but didn't want to mess with a missing man's property. 

  "OW, OWIE, GOSHDARNIT," the man had cut his finger and sucked on his own blood.  He had bloody teeth when he winced, then smiled.  "I know where we can get a bandaid!  Come with me." 

"What are they waiting for?"

  By dawn's early light someone was trying to scrape an American flag sticker in tact from someone's car window.  Also, people were sharing sticks of Juicy Fruit and Big Red. 

  "Where's Dick?" Somebody asked.  "Hmmmm...maybe with Jane.". Nobody laughed.  

  Only one girl had a picture of the man in her photo album billfold.  

  "Have you seen this man?" 

 

The sound cut out on

  "REMEMBAH YOUR GOAL," the self-ascribed "political animal" had raised his arms like the Brazilian Jesus. 

  "Guy thinks he's the Savior of the world," one guy commented at a monitor.  "Maybe of the masses.  Turn it up," said another guy.  "Doesn't get any louder." 

  Two Corporate women were trying to guess how their boards would vote on uniforms when the elevators fritzed. 

"Can you take the houseplant please?"

  "No." 

  "Your trailer's too small?" 

  "It's an RV." 

  "Because you want it to die?" 

  "I have no deathwish for the plant." 

  "Oh.  You won't help me because it's not what you want." 

  The houseplant was left behind. 

  "Just got in." 

  "Smooth traveling?" 

  "Long story." 

  "Gist?" 

  "Supposed to bring organic matter for under the scope." 

  "You could bring yourself." 

  "How about that?" 

  "Fine.  I'll let you dismember it when we get outside.  I just vacuumed." 

"Construction's not done."

  "Perfect," said the tall man with a basketball under an arm. 

  Eventually the man cleared his throat and admitted he was kind of making this up as he went along.  (i)Tasked(i) with creating (i)an exercise(i). 

  "What's the point?" 

  "This is about, well, it's (i)not(i) about (i)why(i) you believe whatever you do, it's about (i)how(i).  Like how we are able to believe whatever we believe." 

  "I believe I could kick yer ass on the court," said a guy with Converse sneakers around his neck. 

  "Show us how!" Said a tiny buff woman who took off a jacket and made "a basket". 

  "You're on," said the exercise leader. 

"Okay, we'll talk."

  "It turns out a lot of them don't even know what Socialism is really." 

  "Some people just can't do things for themselves.  They feel lame." 

  "Some just are in an ANTI- mood.  Nothing worked for them very well in life and they're railing against whatever 'systems' they detect." 

  "Like who to blame?" 

  "Yeah." 

  "There's a lot of hurt." 

  "And no healthcare." 

  "It's not helping to call anyone who doesn't agree with you (i)crazy(i)." 

  The men weren't shocked but didn't either seem to know how to process the information.  "That's (i)entitlement(i)," a bitter personality said.  A younger man got up from the roadside table.  "I can't do this anymore." 

  "What do you mean?" 

  "I mean there's nothing left to rip apart.  The dogs, it's like any conversation is just into the dog's teeth." 

  The three reps from the three parties looked at the table.  None were all that ferocious as seen on TV.  But neither was any one of them willing to give an inch. 

  "So that's good right?"  

  People expressing physical discomfort. 

  "I mean it's like so-called peace, like there's a party for everyone!" 

  It wasn't a "secret" meeting.  But it wasn't negotiations.  It was informal and it was more or less to make some sort of public statement that politics is not war.  Even though in sentiment it comes close.  This was a pivotal moment (i)off the record(i) in the gearing up to be less violent.  Our own Country needed to start with being (i)less violent(i) or how could we entreat with Countries producing hitmen and terrorists? 

  "Shall we endeavor to dissect our ideologies?" A moderator asked once people had made the choice to participate or not. 

  "Dissect away," said somebody. 

  "Well, I can't be invasive here.  I don't know any of you.  I don't know what you believe." 

  "We're going to be out of here for lunchtime, right?!" 

  "I CANNOT accept that it's all the same God." 

  (i)Whoa,(i) the moderator got up from the seat and took up a whiteboard marker.  Wrote God in quotes on the board.  It looked little in a field of white. 

  "Let's list religions under that," a man who'd seemed indifferent to conversation said. 

  "What if we don't have a religion?" A guy asked. 

  "Are we defining ourselves here?" 

  "I'm just the moderator." 

  "If we are defining ourselves, how is that informing our decisions?" 

  "Put (i)political(i) up there." Someone said. 

"We work, take care of eachother,

buy dollar store crap, and sleep," the guy explained.  "Like duh.  That's what life is." 

  "I guess it must be so coming from you." 

"You can't go on this one." A man pulled the

  proverbial ripcord.  "Don't just leave." 

  A middle age man had photographs of dead civilians tacked up on the portable cork boards. 

  "He just wanted to," another man started to say. 

  "It's yet more reason." 

  "Reason for what?" 

  "Reason to know these are really bad world leaders." 

  "Some of us have known that for a long time.  But can't seem to agree on what to do about it." 

  "You're aging yourself.  But that's true.  If anything." 

  "Let's go get dinner." 

"It's too starched," one woman

  said to another.  "Poor thing." 

  "It's a be nice to each other phase, (i)remember(i)?" 

  "Yeah.  You're neck's all red." 

  "Almost a redneck." 

  The Quartermaster began signing allotment paperwork.  Clearly came to an issue and motioned specific people over to the field desk. 

  "Pick it up," one citizen said to another.  The citizen crossed his arms.  "PICK IT UP," a soldier barked.  The citizen kept his arms crossed.  A woman soldier bent and stabbed the piece of paper with a paperclip fish hook.  It had blown across the parking lot a little ways away from the field desk.  Since it wasn't butting in, the woman soldier had decided to act.  "What is it?" A journalist called out.  Of course the woman soldier wouldn't say.  Gave the paper back to the others at the folding table. 

  A voice exploded the still early morning soundscape.  A man.  "I PUT IT THERE!" 

  People looked at the man, minds trying to comprehend on top of higher fuel costs and then, higher food costs. 

  "YOU COULDN'T HAVE.  THAT STUFF WAS IN THE BRIEFCASE," a voice shouted. 

  "THE BRIEFCASE HAS BEEN COMPROMISED.  SECURITY, (i)SECURITY!!(i) 

  Some soldiers rushed towards the briefcase only to move everyone and themselves away from it. 

  The military had moved off and left the drawing of a hockey stick where the table had been with an ARMY keychain on it. 

  "What would be the point?" 

  A man reached for the piece of paper.  Took up the keychain and the drawing.  Contemplated. 

  "I think this has more to do with lazy assholes." Another man said. 

  "Did I ask you?" 

  "We're in a parking lot.  In America." 

  "How so?" Yet another man asked. 

  "Resource wars amongst lazy assholes who don't want to work." 

  "What about all the people who DO WORK and can't eat?" Asked a woman. 

  "We don't count in any of this," a kid with abundant bangs hanging over eyes looked up at the hockey stick drawing still being held up in the air. 

  A car drove up and sliced into a parking space.  Guys got out.  All tall, chested, and pointing fingers like guns. 

  "DON'T EVER COME HOME AGAIN!!!! IN FACT IT'S NOT YOUR HOME ANYMORE!!!!" 

  "WHY DID YOU BRING UP THE WORK THING????" 

  A big sigh.  A look at a watch. 

  "Because I DO." 

  "Here's lotion." 

  "For the bucket?" 

  "For your neck!" 

  "You know what else I learned today?" 

  "People suck and then we die?" 

  "Well, that, most people do.  But, in a wartime in Colonial days, the men were all militia and military, and," a drink of water, "They didn't have to let civilians vote." 

  "Really?" 

  "Apparently." 

  "So...we're just young people on the bottom of a big fucking pile of assholes." 

  (i)Sleep came easy(i).