Sweat pouring, breathing stilled,

  nobody blinking.  The plane seemed to be floating, impossibly. 

  A whiteboard filled with acronyms and squiggly colored marker lines. 

  A short person, fanny-pack over abs of steel, arms crossed, glasses fogging. 

  Machines clicking, levers popping, radars blinking (i)now you see us, now you don't(i). 

  "What's she doing out there?" 

  "CAN Y'ALL HEAR ME?" 

  Nobody said anything. 

  "(i)Good.(i) I really wantcha to land my President on the top of my head!" 

  A stifled cough burst into a clogged-pipes chest fit. 

  "I flat-topped just for the occasion." 

  "Then we'll go (i)home(i)?" Someone asked like a ventriloquist. 

  "Let's get that Daddy home first.  Then we've got like six movies starting to film in town today." 

  "No shit," somebody yawned. 

  An announcement announced the taking charge.  First question: What's the Threat Level here? 

"Where are we?"

  Two uniformed drivers changed places.  An Officer stepped out of a backseat.  Sandy swivel of boots on street.  Regional commanders huddled on a street corner acknowledged. 

  "Did your coffee stay level when he drove?" The female driver asked the Officer.  A slight nod.  "Not sure I can top that," she said. 

  "Mind if I smoke?" A slight (i)no(i) to the "shirts" that had approached. 

  Another vehicle pulled in slow and almost silently.  An imposingly tall man got out and backed his butt against the fender.  The commanders came closer.  One asked, "What's the supposed (i)problem(i) on the wire chatter?" 

  The tall man shifted the weight on his knees sighed.  "Apparently COBRA has been compromised.  Infiltrated actually.  But the cultural attachè here has word from D.C. on this." 

  A woman in a trenchcoat got out of the passenger side of the vehicle.  Hands on the top of it.  "It's just a program," she recited the message from D.C. 

  "But it's not," someone said. 

  "But (i)it is(i)," someone else said. 

  "Of course it is," another someone said. 

Most of the dollar bills

  had been folded in some way.  Many had George Washington sporting a mushroom head. 

  "What do you want done with your dollar?" Someone called to someone standing on a light-up platform.  "Towards Spaghetti," came the answer as the person copied a list of songs played onto a slightly rearranged list. 

  One man smoothed the folds, another piled.  Two women with newspaper rubberbands on wrists counted and re-stacked the dollar bills. 

  "See the evil eye?!" 

  "Don't call George evil." 

  "Can if I want to." 

  "True but lame." 

  "That's the best part," a hand pointed to the phrase "In God We Trust".  Two people smiled at each other, relieved to have come to agreement about some stuff in the world. 

  "What's up with these other symbols?" Asked a foreign medical student. 

  People were quiet, implying (i)fuck if I know(i). 

  "I like to think of those as on a scale," one man ventured. 

  "Egyptian v American?" 

  "Fed v Executive branch actually." The man focused on unfolding the bills of money as people looked at him maybe wondering (i)who thinks about stuff like that(i).  "We'd all be slaves to a dollar bill for shared spaghetti if the Feds were the only ones in charge of the money.  Like (i)commies(i).  But with an Executive branch to uphold my individuality in this big mess, I get to eat steak!" People looked at him.  Then he looked around the table, eyed the most beautiful single woman, and asked her, "Would you like to join me?" 

  "Sure would.  But my boyfriends have other plans for me." 

"What's the discussion about?"

  "Sounds (i)heated(i)." 

  Several people were in the dorm hallway, kind of a tired-but-resting pile of (i)going to get to eat(i).  (i)Dawgs(i).  That's how we say it in Jersey." 

  "Her feet." 

  "You live in a cow?" 

  (i)ssssshhhh(i). 

  Behind a dorm room door an older child told the little kids, "Show him.  Show the man how we do the Dougie." 

  "But we need our pajamas on!" 

  The man's eyebrows went up and down. 

  "Just pretend." 

  Kids started to get in the beds and there were more kids than beds so some wound up shoved on the floor.  "Pretend the floor is your bed." 

  "Where is this going?" A woman demanded to know. 

  "No where since it's hard to pretend while being so stared at." 

  "What is it?  This Dougie thang?" 

  "Sort of a dance or orchestra of children getting proper for bedtime.  Even smiling and just falling asleep!" 

  "Why call it a man's name?" 

  "HE'S THE BEST ONE!" A small boy crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue at the woman.  "I can be ugly too Lady." 

  "Where is the man?" 

  "On another bone dig," a little girl in pigtails said.  "He's a Science guy." 

  "Is it the Science academics coming now?" 

  "We want you to open the door and get (i)our(i) grownups now."  

  One of the mothers in the hallway pushed the door open from her keyhole peek pose.  She sign-languaged "Everything okay?"  Some of the kids went into yoga poses. 

"Why'd you tie our feet together?"

  She answered the question with her own question.  "What did it teach you about the (i)pace of ambition(i) and reality?" 

  Some people took out personal journals and wrote responses.  

  "Can I see what you wrote?" A guardian of a transgender child asked.  "You're not my partner, so no Allie." 

  "But I need insight into this type of child." 

  "There's probably a reason they put that one with (i)you(i)." 

  "Do you see this?  And they're in charge of the food." 

  "It's happening everywhere.  Riots even.  Nobody can seem to manage getting along." 

  Not really comprehending blinks. 

  "Why don't you just sit with a third party and talk to your kid?" 

"Well, you tell Ursula then,

  to move her fat ass!" 

  "I will not.  You're not acting very nice!" 

  "It's a war sweetie.  You can kiss (i)nice(i) goodbye." 

  A nickle thrown at a spitoon atop a broken down pickup truck quietly alerted.  Cartons of paper, ink, and equipment were covered with tarps.  

  "I was having a visit with my son." She hit a shin on a crate and swore.  "Open this," she indicated the unopened crate.  Two people went towards it with crow bar and hammer.  "Did we sweep all this crap?" A uniformed asked.  "Here's the prov-en-ance paperwork." A shaking hand dug the form out of a skirt pocket under an apron. 

  "We're all calling you Ursula now, just so you know." 

  "Not all of us." 

  "Why? Because it was her idea?" 

  "(i)Children!" 

  "Wire's saying you people have the whole seaboard shut down." 

  "We didn't do that," a flak jacketed man said into a flashlight like a microphone. 

  "It's still the real thing?" A woman asked a counterpoint man. 

  The spitoon alert rang deeply, sharply.  A woman's voice followed a smack on skin sound, "Put the gun away.  I don't know much but ya'aint s'posed to shoot at that." 

  "How am I holding it up?" 

  An arm on a shoulder and duck between layers of cammo and window.  "See those headlights?"  She nodded once she did.  "That's a convoy.  Country-style, but a convoy no less."  

  Tires and headlights had replaced a dark night sky's stars and roaming lights in the view from a dug out/fox hole.  "Snug in there?"  The two people were sucking the juice out of a mango.  "Put these on as soon as you can." Two helmets came off the stack.  "She had no idea anybody even ever heard of her.  Let alone considered her what they called her." 

  Lips smacked and a belch.  "The Queen of War Correspondence." 

  "I think it's too soon.  So keep your eyes on her." 

  "She gets mean when people express care.  Trust me." 

  "Care anyway.  And come home to me." 

  "Thanks," a St. Christopher metal held close to a lightstick glow.  The person repeated, "Come home to me." 

"What is it?"

  A phone held out. 

  "I'm sorry.  No, I'm not sorry.  I'm running out of patience.  Sorry." 

  (i)Cough. Look at this.(i) 

  "I'm not giving you my contact info again.  I already did.  Didya get drunk again and delete us all?!" 

  "Is that Brit?" 

  "Drop kicked." 

  "Did she see this?  Does she know you recorded this?" 

  "This is not my footage.  This is on something someone's calling YouTube." (i)Gawd(i).  "You think I would violate one of us?  Sell out (i)my(i) Country?  She saw it." 

  "Not sorry, (i)fuck you(i)." 

  Something like parakeets alit from a nearby tree with a squealing chatter.  "Everyone take a breath." 

  "Fuck you too.  Sorry." 

  "In what context did she see it?" 

  "We were in holding and 

  "You were in the slammer?" 

  "She couldn't fathom why she couldn't remember what happened after 

  "In the slammer with famous people?" 

  "The ninjas showed up." 

  "That's cool." 

  "Where'd (i)they(i) show up?" She whipped out a tiny tape recorder. 

  "Where the gunners and Airmen chill." 

  "Was I there?" 

  "You tell me.  That place was filmed from about seven angles." 

  "Can I borrow that?" 

  "Sure." A plastic baggie was held out.  Phone deposited.  A latex glove used to zip it up.

"DON'T TELL ME THAT."

  "Okay, I won't tell you that's why no hug.  There's been too much fighting." 

  "You want the chair?" 

  "Crutches." 

  "But the broken ribs." 

  "Here." The woman had been sitting backwards on the metal folding chair. 

  "Can you explain?" 

  "Not fully like lots of detail." 

  "A more generic version?" 

  "Can't be too generic these days.  Ranks infiltrated." 

  "Sit down." 

  "I'm fine." 

  "You should know better'n to say that word to me." 

  "I should know a lot of things better." 

  "You did this to yourself?" 

  "Pretty much.  D & D." 

  The women with chairs stopped coming over. 

  A higher up in the Red Cross asked, "Sunburn?" 

  "Shame." 

  "Get up." 

  "Aren't you just a plain writer?" 

  "Nice to see you too." 

  "Cigarette?" 

  "Yeah." 

  "No I mean, do you have one?" 

  "LOOK.  I'm only going to tell you this.  Something.  This something." 

  "Oh really.  I've heard your flapping lips are bigger than the Eastern Seaboard." 

  "There's (i)bloodsport(i) going on, and, to be honest, it stems back to a (i)not a gaffe(i)." 

  "I really think you should talk to the other one." 

  "I don't agree." 

  "That doesn't matter here." 

  "Is Madeline the other one?" 

  "What?" 

  "Her," pointed, and so hand-smacked. 

  (i)Play it cool.(i) 

  "How's your day?" 

  "They'd like to see you upstairs." 

  The two people looked at eachother. 

  "Both of you then." 

  "March." 

  "How were your travels?" 

  "Kay, yours?" 

  "Was going well until," louder then, "A presidential hopeful got stuck in a sumo wrestling seminar." 

  (i)Shut up.(i)  A Corps had also joined the march. 

  "Oh hey.  Yeah.  Now nobody knows who (i)embarassed(i) who and Mr. Fave Popular seems to have sparked a trend." 

  "Shi,ut the front door." 

  "Let them know okay." 

  "I'll think about it." 

  "Don't worry, I'll put her back." 

  "That's what you said about the last one." 

  "Where is that one nowadays?" 

  "You're barking up the wrong tree buddy.  I'm not a lawyer." 

  "Can you give me a day or two?" 

  "Can you help us sort this shi,ut out?" 

  "Does it involve being in or out?" 

  "Of course not." 

  "All of stay right there." 

  "Like we're going anywhere." 

  (i)Going nowhere fast.(i) 

  Briefcases plopped onto a table.  Outer garments plopped onto a chair. 

  "Wake up sweetie.  This could be our ticket." One girl lifted her head, the dried blood from her nose cracking as she smiled dreamily. 

  "I'll just interview whosever at the table," a hansome young man was led into the room saying. 

  "YIKES!" He tried to cover his facial expression with a pen held up to block a little (i)achoo(i).  "That's a lot of women."  No answer.  "They are all women, right?" 

  "Correct."  Other men came into the room.  One in a Hawaii'n shirt dumped the outer garments off the chair.  Another man picked up a white silk scarf.  "Mine was wearing something like this (i)before(i) the nightclub." 

  "Anything else?" 

  "We were somewhere near a car roundabout." 

  "No, I mean was she wearing anything else?" 

  The man blushed redpurple. 

  "I like to imagine." 

  The man reached for something and came at the man with an imaginary something.  "I oughtah" 

  "HONEY!  YOU'RE STICKING UP FOR ME!" The naked woman giggled. 

  He dropped the imaginary something and fell on one knee outside of the cell bars.  "Is that what you need me to do (i)love(i)?"  She stood.  A tearful nodding emphatically.  The other women cleared out of the way. 

  "Okay, that's one." 

  "One what?" Someone asked. 

  "Resolution!" 

  "Who else is in here because of (i)conflict(i)?" 

  Someone raised a hand but put it down again.  "Chickening out?" 

  "Not mine.  The conflict." 

  "Time's up.  I sure hope you're sober." 

  "I didn't drink a drop of alcohol." 

  "Drugs then?" 

  "Nope." Behind the counter put an envelope and a Mason jar of water on the counter.  "See if my watch is in there.  My mama gave it to me.  If it's gone my heart will be broken." 

  "Let's look in the car." 

  "You got a car?" 

  "Rented one." 

  Outside the meeting room door two voices could be heard.  A male's but high-pitched and a woman's, low.  "Apparently, they got all the footage." 

  "Oh. My. God." 

  "That would be a lot to go after." 

  "What do you want my group to do, Sir?" 

  An MP head shoved at the door.  "It's knock now or never." 

  "Enter." 

  "Oh hi Linda." 

  "Are you hear to talk to me?" 

  "No m'am." 

  They just looked at the person who'd entered.  The MP filling the doorway behind. 

"Any advice?"

  The man lept onto a boulder, peered through nocs at a now-calm ocean.  "Try not to hobknob with the hoightytoits." 

  "Who are they?" 

  "Well, most of them, the "hurricane party" crowd, they don't know yet, the effects of the storm and all." 

  Two square miles had quickly become "the camp".  People had unknowingly, mostly, re-erected their neighborhoods only without walls, without streets. 

  One woman had thrown soaking wet clothing items at spots from the fringe to the water truck and would touch these with barefeet en route to and from "the chore".  "Blind as a bat," a man in waders told.  "Least that's my guess." 

  "Any family nearby?" We asked the questions on the form.  And got a multitude of answers that were in no way verifiable.  "Well, there's Aunt Milly but she don't talk to me anymore." 

  "What'dya do?" 

  "She's dead.  Been buried now 'bout seven summers.  If the cemetery didn't wash away." 

  "Where is it?" 

  "Just south a the store." 

All rolled into one "federal"

  like that, and under orders of politicized superiors, things were getting downright dangerous for everyone. 

  Some of the first let's-recycle-an-old-phrase "tea parties" were organized by not organizing, veritable impromptu performance art.  "Metal tea's just fine for me," a musician clacked through a throat so parched someone wetted a loofah and patted it to her lips.  What had been a carefully orchestrated help people get home safely was shuffled into hunt and capture...even debt is a sin.  People at state lines in work circuits and routine travel shuddered and rearranged business strategies and long-term plans. 

  The Chinese were quick to benefit from surveillance and trapping, isolating floundering Americans in fish bowls. 

  Someone meatcleaved a one centimeter slab of bologna for the lunch rollup du jour.  "Honey, did you see this in this, excuse me," one man shook a dosing man's leg, "What is this?" One of the man's eyes was slurred.  Droopy from being tailed and chased through a rocky, gone-to-seed field.  He cocked them open snarling Don't touch me, one opened extra wide, the other telling of health and hard to hide.  "Did, they, do this to you?" The man shook some sort of typed magazine in the air.  He himself taking on a tremble at what he'd been reading.  

  "Honey.  Honey.  Look at me," said the man's wife.  He reluctantly did so.  "Now give me the literature.  And point to what's upset you so."  He crumpled the booklet.  Real slowly he backed away from her, from the others in the room.  Nooo.  Nooo.  No.  This can not be happening here.  In this home.  In OUR HOME. 

  Another man with pistol and dagger in tall boots, revealed, secured two slabs of the meat and a fry pan size hard tack "biscuit".  He started to yawn but stifled it and said, "This is that part.  No one is immune.  There's a total breakdown of trust." 

  Avenging academics one man ducked low and said while a woman almost mounted him cheerleading-style, so that when the Professor turned around fully, eye-ing the pair like the last two pins in a bowling game, she was able to ask the woman, "Were you talking to me?" 

  Rows and rows of butterflies stapled to index cards were spread out on all the tables in the Naturalist's place.  Privately owned and operated.  The pair chanted a GO TEAM, GO and locked arms in a sidestep, stage left, stage right, center, and bow.  "I hate it when they staple my specimins." The professor shook her head tragedy ever so slowly. 

  "Do butterflies have eyes?" 

  "If so, are they viscous?" 

  "You two better see me in my office if this is about sabbatical or leave or just need a break so I don't kahboom." 

  "Which campus?" 

  "Concerning which degree? The campus." 

Turning it inside out.

  The man said he'd been called all kinds of bad things.  And, that "Cherokee" people grasp that and recycle the vibe.  Called "something else" as voters on national TV, for example, he'd taken it in and considered it an honor.  

  Like the remaining Forest surrounding the storytellers in a world of bulldozing.  An honor to experience the place, the gathering of people, all kinds, humans amongst trees not chopped down, not replaced.  Honored.  Honored by existing.  Not an equality of existence, but existing nonetheless.  Surviving through time.  Enduring. 

  "I've seen the light." 

  "Did he try to convert cha honey?" 

  "The Rabbi?" 

  "Pull it in," the young woman in the cammo pants told the youth.  Someone stirred the campfire.  She'd stepped up onto the elusive "bridge" everyone was talking about in whispers.  Someone made a cup of coffee for a woman who looked really young but already had grandchildren.  She'd sat in her home for several days and been politiked.  Her daughter was furious that she'd given away every last stitch of food and drink.  Acting like a host.  The daughter didn't spit, but made the sound. 

  Cars rolled into the alley of tents.  Grown children made way to family and friends. 

  "I've seen D." 

  "What'd he say?" 

  "Not much.  But I could tell, he's proud of us." The someday world class white man politician/diplomat looked at dark faces dancing in the firelight.  "All of us." 

  "He seemed interested in everybody having their own story.  Seems to think that's the truth about America," a blonde woman still in a rafting life vest also interpreted.  "Did you go rafting?" 

  "Naw.  But this makes me feel safe." 

  "How could you not feel safe?  You run with all those patriots, don't you?" 

  People sat up straight.  Covered flesh with towels and one man covered his groin area with a skillet.  

  The young woman in the cammo pants stepped closer to the fire so her voice would carry.  "The bridge is all around us." Eyes widened and narrowed, looked around at the silent giant trees.  "When we leave here each as ourselves, we make the bridges by walking them." 

  "We do," agreed a derby-wearing man.  "We do," said a pair of youths sitting near him.