Local Lit

In three months, Dan had met with a couple of dozen community organizations discussing Emad’s case, and then Claudia’s case. He had traveled to neighborhoods in the city where he had never gone before. Church groups were particularly sympathetic. He’d go wherever he was invited and had spoken in small storefront churches, and in large stone ones. People in Southeast identified with Emad, knowing what it was like to be the target of a criminal investigation based on one’s race. People in Northwest identified with Claudia. While they did not approve of prosecuting a man because of his religion or ethnicity, they were horrified by the idea of going after his lawyer.

Letters started appearing in the local Takoma Voice, City Paper and even the Washington Post, calling Emad and Claudia victims in the “war on terror.” Dan had, of course, drafted the letters himself and asked people to send them to the editor, but still, there were lots of people willing to sign their names to the cause. He was working on his right-wing friends to try to get something in the Times, but so far he hadn’t been successful.

On a Sunday afternoon in April, twenty activists crowded into the living room at TLC to listen to Dan outline his strategy. His plan was simple: daily protests in front of the U.S. Attorney’s office demanding that the cases be dropped. A daylong vigil would not be possible most days, but even a pair of respectable looking people outside the office at the start or end of the workday or over the noon hour would attract attention. With twenty people committed, if they each agreed to two shifts a month they’d have the weekdays covered for an entire month.

The meeting went smoothly and finished in less than an hour, probably as much a function of the nice weather and the longing to be outside than anything else. Dan passed around a sign-up sheet and filled up all but two week days during the month of May, which was only a couple of weeks away. They scheduled another meeting in two weeks and everyone made a commitment to bring at least one other person to the meeting, thereby doubling the number of hours they could cover.

Dan hadn’t told Paul, Rita Jane or Claudia about the daily vigils, assuming, correctly, that he’d get better media coverage if the plan were not being organized by the defense lawyers.

“You were brilliant,” Dave said after the crowd left. “I knew you were good in bed, but I had no idea you were such a good public speaker.”

“Lots of practice, I guess,” Dan grinned. “I’ve been an organizer since high school. The first demonstration I organized was a protest against the school administration for violating Title IX by spending more money on boy’s sports than girl’s sports.”

Dave laughed, “That must have gone over well.”

“The girls loved me,” Dan said. “Of course, they weren’t the ones I was interested in.”

He reached over and touched Dave’s hand. He felt content. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time and he knew it was because of Dave. The day was warm so they sat on the front porch of Dan’s unit drinking cold beers and talking about everything and nothing. Neighbors had come by curious to meet Dave. He had introduced him as “my friend Dave.” It was such a euphemism. But what should he say, “This is my lover Dave” or “This is my boyfriend Dave?” It was much too early to say partner. He thought boyfriend would be okay, but they hadn’t talked about it yet. After mulling over the issue Dave realized he could just ask Dave what he thought instead of worrying about it. He couldn’t remember if he had ever felt this comfortable in a relationship before.

“Hey, what should I call you? Are you my boyfriend?”

Dave reached over and took his hand. “I hope so.”

And it was that easy. They were boyfriends. The next time a neighbor came by Dan said, “This is my boyfriend Dave.” He wondered if everything would be so easy with Dave.