Trump Sky Alpha by Mark Doten

Author:Mark Doten [Doten, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-55597-877-8
Publisher: Graywolf Press
Published: 2018-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

I had been with Sebastian for an hour or more, and I had nothing. I moved the lamp, I tipped it over the bed, turned up the shade so all of its light was directed at his golden eyes.

I thought that the guards would come for me. I touched his face and turned it to the light.

He smiled vaguely. He said, What type of bulb? It’s Edison. One of those bulbs in hipster bars.

I told him that he was correct.

I can’t really see, but I feel it, the quality of the light.

Do you remember when we spoke? I was with TechMinder then.

Who are you with now?

New York Times Magazine.

They still have that? That’s very nice.

Mr. de Rosales, I know that even when I spoke with you, you felt very passionately about the growth of the internet, and resisting the internet’s colonial tendencies.

He released an acrid, wheezing laugh.

Resist! he said. Resist! Hashtag resist. Were you a member of the hashtag resistance?

Under Trump?

Yes, under Trump.

Well, there were policies for journalists at some of the places where I freelanced. But no … I don’t think that anyone would have considered me a member of the resistance, hashtag or otherwise.

You just let it happen?

I did what I felt like it was possible for me to do. I wrote about net neutrality, the spread of fake news, Cambridge Analytica. I covered stories in the Trump era.

So you just let it happen.

You think I should have marched more? You think that would have made a difference?

I think that someone should have done something … more.

Then he began to drift, to make sounds … he said resist again, and laughed.

When he woke next, I said: Birdcrash.

His face looked as though it had been slapped.

You’re Birdcrash, I said.

I’m not, he said, with something like disgust.

I see, I said. You’re not, are you. You know who is.

They’ve been interrogating me for days with more at their disposal than you’ve got.

Okay, I can see this is useless.

I agree.

There’s one more question, not about this. One I’m just personally interested in.

A last question, he said.

Why did you get in the car?

What car?

With the man who molested you.

Sebastian tensed in the bed.

I said, I assume it was flawed writing. First book. Maybe a mistake in the plot. It didn’t make much sense.

It was an ugly thing to say. Sebastian rolled his head to one side and he shivered. I wanted to take his hand, to apologize, to withdraw the question. Instead I looked down at him, thinking of Prospect Park, thinking of the password, and I sat very still.

He said, It wasn’t a mistake. It happened. He pulled over. He just kept talking. He asked me why I was looking at him like that—did he remind me of someone? He said whoever I reminded him of, that man must have been a bad man who had done something wrong to me. He told me to get in the car, we’d find him, and we’d make sure that that never happened again.

Why didn’t

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