Shelter the Sea

by Heidi Cullinan

  This made me smile. I signed the Blues Brother sign to him, and he signed it back to me. It’s something we invented, Darren and me: two shakes, fist closed, then a fist bump together. Our secret code, our badge of honor.

  We still need to make a new video, he added. I’ve been thinking of songs. But they have to be part of our campaign.

  We kept working on the project, with Linda Weaver and on our own, writing our grants and setting up our proposals. We were scheduled to go before the Ames City Council, and we all rehearsed our part in our presentation. Jeremey and Mai were doing great too. I thought maybe when the meeting was over it might be a good time to make plans to ask Jeremey to marry me. I thought maybe once we were done with all the proposals I could make one of my own. We were big time Roosevelt Blues Brothers now, and everything was going to be amazing.

  Or rather it would have been amazing, if it hadn’t been for RJ King.

  RJ King’s full name was Ronald Jeremiah, which I knew because I Googled him, but he kept introducing himself only as RJ King, smiling at everyone and making them laugh. This was the first thing I noticed about RJ King, that he was good at getting people to like him, better than David or even my mom. He only sought out people in suits, especially men, and he tried to make them laugh. Also, RJ King didn’t wear a suit. He wore a cream sweater with three subtle patterns on it with a light-blue button-down beneath it, a pair of tan slacks, and a flashy gold watch that kept catching the light and making Darren jump in his chair.

  Darren didn’t like him. I could tell from the video he watched on his iPad.

  “RJ King. Executive Director, King Enterprises. A pleasure to meet you, sir.” He invited people to lunch, though some people he only offered to buy drinks. A few people he offered to take to the first football game in the fall, but he told everyone they should go golfing with him.

  Whoever RJ King was, he cared about making friends with people in the room. I wondered if it worked. From the way everyone smiled at him, it seemed as if it might. I didn’t want to take that many people to lunch or to games because it sounded expensive and exhausting, but I told my brain to remember the strategy for later to see if I could revise it to an Emmet version.

  When the meeting came to order, we all sat down, including RJ King, though he sat in front next to several people Kaya had told us were important. She’d explained the meeting to us, how a long part of it would be boring and we’d have to sit through it, but I wasn’t concerned. I sat through boring meetings all the time at Workiva. I knew how to listen and count at the same time.

  The meeting was boring, but RJ King smiled the whole time as if it were the most exciting thing he’d ever heard. I listened harder, trying to decide what I was missing, but no, it was still boring. Though I supposed I hadn’t thought much about the way my city worked, all the things that went into government. I realized there were law books and city codes I could read and I would understand the rules of Ames better, and I made a note to look them up.

  Finally we came to the part of the meeting where we were allowed to speak. Kaya went first, which was part of the plan. Kaya smiled as she went to the microphone in the center of the room, positioned so the ring of council members could see. She wore a pantsuit because she said it’s what powerful women she admired wore when they were serious about things.

  “Good morning.” She nodded at the council. “I’m Kaya Kovanen, representing Workiva, who is sponsoring The Roosevelt Project. As you know, Workiva believes strongly in investing in the community, and through several of our employees whom you’ll hear from shortly, we believe this project is one of the best ways we can give back. I’ve provided a dossier for each of you detailing how we’ve already invested in this project and where we intend to invest in the future regardless of what the council decides. Please don’t hesitate to ask me any questions today or in the future. But for now, let me turn the presentation over to the real brains of the operation, our Roosevelt Project team members: Emmet Washington, David Loris, Jeremey Samson, and Darren Kennedy.”

  Kaya mentioned my name first because The Roosevelt Blues Brothers had taken a vote and they’d decided I was the leader and should do the talking. I thought it should be David since he was Mr. Charmer and had better voice modulation than me. This had become an argument quickly, and in the end it was Darren who solved it.

  “Each one of us has a disability that will make able-bodied people biased against us. There’s no point in selecting someone to speak for us based on which disability is most pleasing to the able-bodied people, and anyway trying to please them is counter to what we stand for. I vote for Emmet as our representative because this was his idea in the first place, and he’s the smartest. Plus he has a way of convincing people to do things they don’t want to do. I think this approach could be good.”

  I didn’t think I convinced people to do things, but the others had all agreed with him, and so I was voted leader. Now here I was in my suit and tie, my hair nicely combed and all my social cards memorized as I crossed the room to where Kaya stood at the podium.

  I told myself not to be nervous, but the octopus on my brain could never stay calm in front of all these strange people. I’d given presentations before, and I had some tricks I’d developed with Dr. North, but this was a unique situation. Of course, so were the circumstances that brought me here, and this was what I’d decided to use to feed the octopus today.

  I know this is scary, I told it. But we need to get the council to listen so we can get the funds to help The Roosevelt Project get started, so I need you to rock yourself today. I will spend as much time in the sensory sack as you need later. Right now I need to convince these people I’m a leader. Work with me, octopus.

  I know I don’t actually have an octopus in my head, that this is a metaphor my mom helped me imagine when I was little to help me visualize my autism. But sometimes, such as now, when I spoke to my octopus, I could feel the tentacles stroking the sides of my face, as if it were telling me it understood. I knew I would be okay, that I would do a good job.

  As I crossed the room, I made a point to look at each one of the council members and smile, nodding. I’m aware I don’t do this gesture quite right, that I’m too deliberate, but I’ve calculated it’s less awkward to appear incorrect than to seem standoffish and not acknowledge people at all. Once I’d done this, I acknowledged Kaya too and stood at the podium, placing my hands on the wooden surface. Kaya had told me I could use the podium for notecards, but I had memorized my speech, so I didn’t need cards. I did, however, need somewhere to put my hands so I didn’t flap. I did plan to rock, but I’d practiced and I would do it subtly, mostly pushing back and forth with my hands. Only people on the sides would notice I was swaying, and they weren’t the council members.

  “Thank you for having me.” I paused, smiling as I found an interesting pattern in the wall above the mayor’s head to focus on. “My name is Emmet Washington. I work on the Data Science team at Workiva, and I’m a liaison at The Roosevelt Project. Additionally, I’m a resident of The Roosevelt. I graduated from Iowa State with a double major in computer science and applied physics, but despite several offers from companies around the country I chose to remain in Ames because I wanted to remain near my family and my partner, Jeremey Samson, who is also a member of The Roosevelt Project and a resident of The Roosevelt.”

  I paused, because we had all agreed a pause was right here in my speech. This is the thing about giving presentations. You have to have pauses and know your timing. It’s tricky. And don’t get me started about vocal intonations. But I designed a computer program to help me map the proper places for rise and fall, and once I memorized my technique, I was fine. I think I probably still sound somewhat artificial, but I’m a Roosevelt Blues Brother, so I’m hoping it comes off cool.

  “I was attracted to Workiva because of the company and its work, but mostly I wanted to remain in Ames and live at The Roosevelt, and this was the company that allowed me to continue to do that with th
e best situation possible for me. What Bob Loris created is a unique and wonderful living environment for me and others such as me. It offers us a chance to not only be independent but to have agency in our lives. We aren’t second-class citizens shut away and forgotten, not at The Roosevelt. We are contributing members of this city, this state, this country. We hold jobs, participate in our community, and live our lives.”

  It was time for another brief pause, and I used the moment to check the council members with my camera eyes. My octopus rocked happily, and I let myself hum softly under my breath. Yes, everything seemed to be going well. Which was good, because now it was time to deliver the part Darren had written, which, as my mom would say, had a knife in it. This means the words are pointed and direct, not that I am going to cut anyone.

  “The problem is The Roosevelt is costly to run and expensive to live in. The vision I’ve painted for you just now is pleasant and ideal, but it’s a privilege only the wealthy can afford. Those in our community who need this kind of residential care but don’t have the means are being increasingly left out in the cold, and unlike those of us fortunate enough to be able to afford The Roosevelt, they are being treated as second-class citizens, particularly in light of decisions being made by the state legislature regarding closures of mental health institutions and bills being moved through committee that would award more contracts to private companies instead of allowing the state to run the facilities as it has in the past. While it’s true private companies are picking up the role the state was playing, by no means are any of them stepping forward at the level of The Roosevelt, not with any kind of quality of care. Abuse and neglect are increasing at public and private facilities, facts that members of our project team can personally attest to.

  “The Roosevelt Project’s mission is simple: we wish to be a bridge between public and private efforts to offer residential care to communities like ours. We want to offer safe, positive, affirming living spaces in Iowa for adults, new adults in particular, who need extra assistance in their daily life. We want to help funnel both government and private funds to offset the cost so this kind of assisted living need not only be available to those who can hold down jobs or those whose families have enough income to afford the care throughout their lives. We want to encourage business models that mean there are few to none of these toxic, poorly managed companies promoting alienation and abuse.”

  This time when I paused, I could tell I had the council’s attention. Some of them were interested and maybe excited and others were probably agitated. I couldn’t read faces well, not without looking directly at them and not while trying to contain my octopus, and anyway, I had to finish up. Thankfully I was nearly done.

  I nodded at David, and as I continued to speak, he rolled forward. Jeremey came with him, and they worked together to hand out portfolio packets we’d prepared for each council member.

  “In the proposals being provided to you now, you’ll find outlined a detailed prospectus of cost, analysis, and goals for our project. The request for the City of Ames is highlighted in yellow, but you’ll see also lines where we’ll be requesting money from the state as well. We will also continue to solicit funding from companies like Workiva and other private donors. The information for our charitable organization is in the back of the binder. We’re happy to answer any questions you might have, either today or in the future.”

  This was the end of my speech, and I waited patiently while the council members flipped through the proposals David and Jeremey handed out to them. I rocked in place with my hands, which wasn’t always the most subtle of a rock, I have to admit. It had been a big speech, and my octopus was getting a bit out of hand. When the mayor leaned into her microphone and smiled at me, though, my octopus calmed enough to let me listen to her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Washington. That was quite a testimony, and this is an impressive packet of material. I look forward to reviewing it in more depth when we’re out of session. While you’re all clearly motivated and capable, you haven’t run charitable organizations before. Do you feel you’re prepared to do this cause the justice it deserves?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what she was asking, and my octopus began to get nervous. I glanced at David and made the sign against my cheek for him to take over. He came to the podium, though of course he couldn’t stand at it the way I did.

  That bothered me. There should be a podium for people in wheelchairs too.

  David motioned for Jeremey to hand him the mic, and he began speaking as if he’d planned all along to answer questions now, though Jeremey had to hold the microphone in place for him because his hand didn’t want to cooperate. “You’re right, we don’t have the kind of experience you reference, and no, we don’t intend to do this ourselves. You’ll see in the documents in front of you we have plenty of outside help, largely through connections my father has. But you’re talking with the four of us because we’re the heart of the program. We’re who we want you to see.”

  Now I understood what she’d asked. I motioned for the microphone, and Jeremey passed it to me. “We want you to see not only the four of us and our passion and motivation but also our disabilities. We want you to see our autism and our quadriplegia and anxiety and depression and all the things that mean we need places like The Roosevelt. We want you to see me standing here trying not to flap my hands or rock, trying to modulate my voice and make eye contact and do all the things you find normal, doing all kinds of things to make you feel comfortable. To understand how difficult it is for us.”

  I pointed at myself. “When I finish talking to you, what you think was such a good job will cost me so much I’ll have to go home to my apartment and zip myself into a bag in my closet and hum until the sensory overload goes down. I don’t mind, because this is important. But this is why I spoke instead of Kaya or one of the lawyers or the people who run the charity with more experience. They are all able-bodied. I am not. We are not. But because people in our lives have cared enough about us to help us, we’ve been able to do incredible things. What we are asking is why not care enough about more people in Ames so they can do more incredible things?”

  “Or even everyday things.” David spoke without the microphone, but he didn’t need it. “Able-bodied people aren’t expected to do superhuman feats each time they walk out the door. It should be enough to simply exist. We could start with ending abuse and neglect and giving everyone a more level playing field. We shouldn’t have to tell you we want to cure cancer to get a few extra bucks. We should be able to say we just want to be able to ride the bus like the other citizens in the city. To enjoy life the way everyone else takes for granted.”

  This was true. I hummed quietly before lifting the microphone. “Yes. It’s about the same chance as everyone else. The Roosevelt didn’t get me a job or a boyfriend or any opportunity. It only helped me achieve my goals. The same as the privilege of able-bodied people does every day. This is all we’re asking for: a leveling of that privilege.”

  Kaya had moved into the line of my camera sight, and she made our private sign for Emmet, stop talking now, so I stopped talking. The council regarded each other, a few of them whispering. I couldn’t read their faces, but David seemed happy, so I decided it was good.

  But as I said. RJ King was there.

  As the council whispered, he stood, slowly. When the mayor saw him standing and asked if he had a comment or question, RJ King held his hand out to Jeremey. “Would you pass me the microphone, son?”

  I didn’t like the way RJ called Jeremey son. I didn’t like how he called himself initials, or that his real name was so similar to Jeremey’s, as if he’d stolen it somehow, but I didn’t want to think of him as King or Mr. King either, because then it was as if I’d crowned him emperor of Ames or something. Except King was better than RJ or anything else, so it was what I went with.

  Jeremey passed King the microphone, walking over to him and handing it to him. King held out his hand, smiling at the council now, and they smiled back
at him.

  “Well, that was certainly a wonderful speech, and before I say anything else, I want to thank these boys for coming out and standing up for such a worthwhile cause. Well done, gentlemen.” He winked at all of us, then turned to the council, his expression changing to something more serious. “Having said this, I want to caution the city against rash involvement in such ventures as these young men are proposing, however well-intentioned.”

  A man stood up from the seat beside King, holding a stack of folios similar to ours but with better folders and design. He passed them out to the council members as King kept speaking. “Inside this document you’ll see King Enterprises’ research on how much the The Roosevelt Project would cost long term, and as you’ll note, the drain on the city is substantial.”

  Kaya stood too, walking to the man passing out folios. “I’ll take one of those, thank you.” She snatched one from the man and flipped through it. Her face became complicated. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or scared or both. “Where is your documentation for this?”

  “The appendix.” King smiled at her, and I decided I hated his smile.

  “We want to see one of those too, please.” David had been the one to ask for the document, but when the assistant handing out folders gave him one, he passed it to me instead.

  I examined the notes, wishing I could hum to get rid of some of my nerves, letting myself rock slightly in place as it was impossible to stand there and do nothing. There were a lot of facts and figures in the document, a lot of tables meaning nothing, so I went right to the appendices. At first they upset me quite a bit. I worried King was right, there was no way The Roosevelt Project would ever be able to turn a profit for anyone.