Reflections: History of the Free World
Lynn Jepsen
Elle asked me to come for show-and-tell. I asked her if maybe she
wouldn't rather have one of her parents come, or her Uncle Josh, or maybe
one of her agents could talk to the class about a job with the Secret
Service. When she looked up at me and smiled, pleading, "Rae, please!" It
was pretty tough to say no. Funny, but that same look has kept everyone
wrapped around her little finger for the past ten years. Since she's only
eleven, I've got to believe she was born knowing how to use that look -
it's a weapon, I tell you.
Her teacher pointed me in the direction of a chair, which makes me feel
about two feet tall - as if I'm not short enough to begin with - and
tells me I've got as much time as I want as soon as they finish with the
social studies lesson. I wonder if they skipped ahead, or if it's just
coincidence they're discussing Presidents Bartlet, Cordova, Glasscock,
and Seaborn. It's sort of funny. I mean, I still remember Uncle Sam
crying when President Bartlet died, but these kids, they weren't even
born then. Hell, most of their parents probably didn't even know each
other then.
Listening to the third grade version of American history is enlightening.
I'd forgotten people actually do dream of being President someday, and
these kids, they've got such an idealistic view of government. They'll
grow out of it someday, Elle probably sooner than others, but for now,
it's the real deal. "And now class, we have a special guest with us
today. Donnatella, would you introduce her." Elle scrambles to the front
of the room, and grins at me. Now, that grin, she learned that from her
father.
"This is my cousin Rachel, and she used to work for my dad and my Uncle
Josh, but now she works for EMILY's List." A bunch of small heads with
wide eyes swivel in my direction, and I try to act graceful on the trek
to the front of the class. There's a stool there, and I perch on top of
it, and Elle disappears back into her seat. Well, might as well start
from the beginning.
I was about five years older than you guys when my Uncle decided to run
for president. My mother thought it would be a good experience if I
helped him. The hand of a little boy in the back shoots up then, and I
pause and point to him. "Is that like when my mom tells me going to the
library is a good experience?" His nose crinkles then, and I chuckle. No,
no, I actually loved this. It was sort of like a movie, and we were the
good guys. Battling against the enemy was great. Then, when we won, I got
to work at the White House.
"What did you do?" The question is shouted out, and before I can think of
an answer they'll understand, Elle turns around and answers back, "She
kept my Uncle Josh from blowing up Congress." Oh my. I've got to tell
Uncle Sam to stop exaggerating when he tells her bedtime stories.
*
"MOM! DAD!" Elle tears through the house, bellowing loudly and I shake my
head. A new agent at the door shakes her head softly. "Spirited, isn't
she?" You have no idea. By the end of the week, you'll understand the
phrase "energetic". Uncle Sam is sitting in the living room with Josh and
Elle is bouncing around the room, regaling them with tales of her day at
school. "Hey Rae!" Josh grins at me, and motions towards the table.
Pictures of Josh at the cemetery are splashed across the newspapers, and
I have to wonder if people ever stop being fascinated with Bartlet's
people. It's turning into JFK all over again. I mean, eighteen years, and
they think the anniversary of his death is front page news.
"How's your mother?" I nod, noncommittally. She's fine. Dad's fine. If
they could be fine while in the same room, life would be good. Ramon and
I are giving serious thought to throwing in the towel and eloping.
Fortunately, I don't have to answer, because the ruckus at the front door
grabs everyone's attention. Diana and Aunt Lisa are yelling about
something and Elle scrambles off Uncle Sam's lap to hurry out of the
foyer.
"Mom! Can I spend the night at Ana's? Dad said I had to ask you....." Her
voice drops off them, and I can't imagine what could provoke that kind of
reaction from the tiny tornado when they come into view. Aunt Lisa's face
is this mask of..... I can't really remember a time she looked like that,
although Megan might. Meg still remembers when Uncle Sam got sick and
came to mom's house. That was back when we lived in DC. I was only seven
when we moved, so I don't really have clear memories of that. There's a
lot of things from those old times I don't remember. I do remember
meeting President Bartlet once though.
Diana is dragging Aunt Lisa into the kitchen and sitting her at the
table, but she's hasn't said anything yet. Something's going on. After
eight years working in the White House, I can sense these things. I can
sense a lot of things, and the tension in this room is rivaling the
tension in the Oval during the war. "Aunt Lisa?" Diana shakes her head at
me, and fixes me with this.... "Take Elle upstairs. Is Sam here?" Yeah,
he and Josh. You should know that. "Send them in."
Come on Elle. I pick her up and we poke a head into the living room on
the way up the stairs. Someone will tell me what's going on eventually. I
just wish they'd do it right now. "Will you help me with my homework?"
Sure kiddo. What is it? "I'm supposed to make a family tree." A family
tree? I didn't think they did things like that any more. "I'm supposed to
find out where everyone's from and what they did." What they did? "Yeah,
all the jobs they had, and facts about them and stuff." Okay. Shoot.
"Dad." Well, your dad's from Southern California, just outside of Long
Beach. He's the oldest of two children and he was a lawyer and wrote
speeches for President Bartlet. Elle's scribbling on a notepad, and she
looks so much like Aunt Lisa, I can't believe she's not their's, well,
not in that way. Even down to the green eyes that are just the right
shade - and that posture. I half expect her to sprawl across the bed, and
start sprouting trivia about the history of the free world and family
trees. "What about mom?" Let's see, she's from London. She's a few years
older than your Uncle Paul, and she visited her dad all the time in
Virginia after her parent's got a divorce.
She asks about Aunt Lisa's parents then, and I can tell her all about her
grandmother, but I actually never met her grandfather. I know he was an
FBI agent his entire life, and during the years he was married, he worked
for Scotland Yard. I know he died the same day President Bartlet did, but
I'm not really sure how. It never seemed like a good time to ask about
the assassination, and the press only covers so much. When she asks about
Momma and Uncle Sam's parents, I hesitate. Gramma is still alive.
Ancient, but alive, and she's fun to visit, mainly because we can get
away with anything, but I know she and Aunt Lisa don't get along very
well. I think it has something to do with Elle, but I'm not sure.
"What about Dad's dad?" Okay. This is my hint to make myself scarce. I
smile then, and it's forced, and I'm sure she can tell the difference,
but I tell her to talk to her dad, because I don't know much about our
grandfather, and what my mother told me isn't something I'd repeat,
especially not to Elle.
We talk about various Seaborn relatives for almost two hours before I
convince Elle that no one will mind if she sneaks into the den and turns
on the news. I know Aunt Lisa hates it, but the kid likes politics. What
does she expect from a kid in this family?
I can hear muted voices in the kitchen when I walk her downstairs and
park Elle in front of CNN. Heading back across the house, I pause in the
entry way between the kitchen and the dining room. Diana and Josh are
almost shouting at one another, and Aunt Lisa is sitting on a stool at
the bartop counter, drumming her fingers on the Formica and flipping
through a manilla file folder. I don't see Uncle Sam until I shift my
gaze to the window. He's standing in the back yard, leaning against the
ladder to Elle's tree house. They built that last summer, and believe me,
watching Josh and Uncle Sam fall out of the tree made me wonder how
exactly they commanded the armed forces.
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