To Have Danced with American Aristocrats

“Hello?” He sounded like he was trying to hide the call, maybe from his new girlfriend, I thought.
“Vitalis!” I was excited. “You actually answered the phone!” There was a pause. “Vitalis I need
your help!”
“My help? With what?” he asked, calmly.
“I trashed Evelyn’s house and went to jail!” I blurted out. “Will you meet me at the church? I
really need to see you. I’m freaking the fuck out.”
“Wait what? You were in jail?” He seemed amused. He was so calm about it all, I was beginning
to panic about my entire situation.
“I TRASHED EVELYN’S HOUSE AND WENT TO JAIL!” I repeated.
He started to chuckle.
“It’s not funny, Vitalis!” I yelled. “I WENT TO JAIL!”
“Well... wait, what? Why did you trash Evelyn’s house?” he was asking, I felt like I could see him
leaning back and getting comfortable, possibly having a little snack on the other line.
“Will you meet me at the church?” I begged him, as I peered down at it from Tom’s window.
“What?” he was asking. “No. I’m not meeting you at the church. Tell me why you trashed
Evelyn’s house.”
I think he mentioned having a girlfriend and I was screaming how I didn’t give a fuck; I’d do
anything for him and I just really needed his help.
“We were at a bar,” I said, “and I dropped out of graduate school. And I came home. And we got
into a fight about politics...”
“About politics?!” He asked, surprised at the plot twist. Who knows what he thought we’d fight
about. Boys? Dresses? Nail color?
“YES!” I was screaming. The burrowed terror popped open alongside the second bottle of wine.
“And I was saying how I fucking hate the government and she was saying how great it all is. She called
me a welfare queen and I told her I was raped in the Navy. I had done some coke[In Ink99]. And then I
trashed her house and went to JAIL.” I kept repeating the word JAIL. “JAIL, Vitalis! JAIL!” I did not
want him to have such a calm, collective demeanor about it all.
He was laughing! “How do you like politickin’ now?” he asked.
“WHAT?! I went to JAIL!” I screamed. “HAVE YOU BEEN TO JAIL?” It almost sounded like he
yawned or something.
“Are you YAWNING?” I demanded.
“Are you DRINKING?” he demanded. “Yeah it’s late.”
“YES I AM! I’m slamming this here wine right out of the fuckin paper bag! I’m losing my SHIT,
Vitalis! I’m fucking going to have a nervous BREAKDOWN!”
“Wait, you were RAPED?” he asked. That’s the only sentence he seemed daunted by. He was
actually really kind. If he wanted to be, I suppose. He was sentimental. I’d mostly just spoken to him in a
flurry of post cards and letters. The last one I had sent him was one from the ship on which I wrote “I
LOVE YOU” in capital letters at the bottom and underlined it. I never heard back from him again and was
embarrassed. Now he had a girlfriend.
“Vitalis! I fucking HATE IT HERE!” I screamed. “I can’t do this anymore.” I felt on the verge of
tears, as if they might finally come, but they didn’t.
“You can’t do what anymore?” he asked. “I can’t believe you were raped,” he said. It seemed to
hurt his heart.
“I CAN’T DO FUCKING AMERICA ANYMORE! I CAN’T DO THIS! THEY ARE ALL
CORRUPT!”
“Who is they? Who are you talking about?” He followed my madness with such grace. The
pressured speech, the rage. I think I was always just a muse to him. Like some everchanging piece of art
he pondered about from afar.
“Our senators and our presidents,” I said. “That’s why everything is such a mess here.”
“Well yeah,” he admitted, as if I was ranting about the sky being blue on a sunny day or water
being wet.
He had read the book about the NFL player who joined the army. He tried to understand me the
best he could.
“VASSILIS, I WANNA TALK ABOUT POLITICS!” I was screaming.
“What about it?” he asked, growing a bit more impatient with my lunacy.
“THEY ARE ALL CORRUPT! OUR COUNTRY IS RUN ON PURE CORRUPTION! IS THERE
ONE, Vitalis, JUST ONE, just one senator left that isn’t absolutely CORRUPT?” I yelled into the phone,
“Please tell me if there is JUST ONE!”

He was sympathetically trying to follow along with the distress as much as possible.
“Who are you talking about? Bernie?” he asked.
“Who’s that? Bernie? Is that a name, Vitalis? It sounds like a dog’s name!” I said, “Is that a real
person? Or is it a Muppet? That’s a real senator?” I asked.
“Well, his name is Bernard, but yeah they call him Bernie,” Vitalis said. A pause of annoyance at
this entire conversation. I don’t think he wanted to have a conversation about politics. A deep sigh,
“He’s
an independent from Vermont...”
“I can’t believe his name is fucking BERNIE! What the fuck?” I kept on. “So he is the only
Senator who isn’t corrupt?” I asked. I never heard of him and thought his name was ridiculous.
“Yeah. I guess. He refuses money from Super PACS,” Vitalis said. “He hates them.”
“Ah yes. Your precious SUPER PACS. How are those working out for America?” I was so angry,
“All these motherfuckers are straight up bought. Can the unions keep up with the corporations? Do
Americans have a voice anymore?”
“So what do you want?” Vitalis asked. “Where is this conversation going?”
“I want you to get his ass up there!” I screamed, “Please Vitalis, PLEASE. DO THIS ONE THING
FOR ME.”
“Do what?” he asked.
“GET HIM TO RUN FOR PRESIDENT!” I said.
Vitalis let out a half laugh at even the thought of it. “You want to hand-pick a presidential
candidate?” he said, bemused. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”