I worried if this was a good idea. I worried if we were good enough to do this. I worried people think we were awkward or weird, not the cool Roosevelt Blues Brothers we knew we were. I worried they would laugh at us and the magic we always felt when we put on these clothes and sang this song would be taken away.
And then the stage manager told us it was time to go out and go to our places, and I had to tell the octopus to be good, because it was showtime. It hovered over my head, trembling as the curtain parted and the lights hit us.
The music began, and The Roosevelt Blues Brothers did too.
This is why we did all the rehearsals, because there was something about wearing those costumes, our music playing, that made everything okay. We simply followed the song and let it carry us through the routine. At first I simply moved like a robot, but as I saw the audience was excited and happy for us, I relaxed and let my Elwood show, especially when I had my solo dance. I got brave when I danced with Jeremey too, my heart racing as I spun him and dipped him. Darren and David were getting into it as well—we were all having so much fun. So was the audience. It was everything we’d ever wanted the performance to be. People were clapping along and swaying in their seats, smiling at us.
When the song finished, they cheered and stood up, whistling and clapping for a long time. It was time for me to go make my speech, a modified version of what I’d said to the city council, but I couldn’t move at first because I was so surprised by how many people were there and how happy they were to see us. How much they enjoyed our dance.
Maybe we have the algorithm after all.
I wasn’t sure. But for once my octopus wriggled in excitement, not fear, as I went to stand behind the podium, and when I rocked in place and let out a hum before I approached the mic, it was because I was happy, not because I was scared.
Our Roosevelt Blues Brothers Tour went well wherever we went.
The format changed after the first performance, and now I came out first and gave my speech before joining the other Brothers on the stage and doing our dance. We often did press interviews afterward, and sometimes we talked to people from the audience, but Bob and Kaya always carefully controlled who approached us and how. David did most of the interviews since he was the most social, though he started keeping Darren with him, insisting he needed his wingman. I began to think he was trying to get people to see Darren as more of a person, because since he was quiet they often ignored him and didn’t ask him for interviews. David also made them be patient and wait for Darren to type his replies on his iPad, though sometimes he translated for Darren and read his sign language for the interviewers.
I did some of the interviews too, but usually I was too overstimulated after the speech and the performance to do much and had to schedule them for another time after I recovered. Jeremey didn’t do any, not during the events, though he did agree a few times to talk to people about Mai and how she’d helped him with his social anxiety. Dr. North got involved too, not as our therapist but as an expert in the field, talking about the importance of mental health care.
This was my mother’s doing. She had been helping too, though not like Bob or Kaya. She’d been building up support for The Roosevelt Foundation by talking to other doctors and people in the medical profession about the importance of a strong mental health network in the state and why we need to stand up for it before it’s completely dismantled. So when our first performance got the media interested in writing stories about the importance of mental health facilities and how positive impacts can make a difference in the lives of patients and the communities, my mom was there with experts lined up to do interviews, and one of the most popular people to do those interviews was Dr. North.
I enjoyed listening to his interviews. He sounded the way he did in our sessions, and I wondered if he was giving therapy to the reporters and they didn’t know it. I decided this was something he would do but didn’t bring it up as I didn’t want to point it out and ruin the surprise. There were a number of stories in the news now about our performances and about the mental health facilities closing, a lot of interviews about us. We were a viral Internet hit again, though this time there were all kinds of videos of us, from the Dallas County event, and one in Johnson County, and another in Cedar Falls, and another in Fairfield.
We did a great deal of traveling in April and May, and I did get somewhat tired of it, but it was an important cause, and so I did my best to accept it. Sometimes we had to stay in a hotel, which wasn’t as nice, but I always roomed with Jeremey which was fun. He preferred the hotels, especially when they were bed and breakfasts and we had fancy rooms, but most of the time we had to stay at actual hotels because the bed and breakfasts weren’t accessible enough for David’s chair.
When we were in eastern Iowa, Darren got excited because he knew a lot more about everything since this was where he grew up. I did too, but I hadn’t been there as long as he was, and his parents still lived there. We also stopped and saw Darren’s family, who were happy to see us. They hugged David and Bob too, and they cried as they thanked Bob for giving Darren a better place to stay. Bob didn’t cry, but his voice was gruff and his eyes damp as he told them he was doing all he could to get more young adults such as Darren a safe place to live.
We stayed at Darren’s house in Iowa City, some of us anyway. David went to a hotel with his dad and Kaya, but Jeremey and Darren and I stayed at Darren’s house. Darren showed us his old room and his computer collection, toys, and the things he’d collected. He’d always enjoyed tech, especially computers, and he had some interesting pieces, including some old hardware from the 1980s that couldn’t access the Internet. He showed us some fun 8-bit games and computer software programs that used to be advanced but were less complicated than a coffee maker nowadays.
Mai liked Darren’s house because they had a fenced-in backyard, and she and Jeremey had fun while Darren’s family barbecued. While the family cooked and Jeremey and Mai played, Darren signed me a story about something he’d read online, about a girl with cerebral palsy who lived in Connecticut who had been almost killed by her grandparents when her parents had left her with them for too long.
Why did they try to kill her? I signed this to him, because he was using his iPad to show me the news article. Did she do something bad?
No. But her disability is severe, and they were tired of caring for her, and the parents kept leaving her behind with the grandparents while the parents went away on vacations. The grandparents got overwhelmed and angry, and when they couldn’t get anyone else to help take care of the granddaughter, they decided they would get rid of her themselves. They tried to make it look as if it were an accident. They wanted the insurance money and to not have to deal with the hassle anymore.
I thought of how much of a hassle I had been when I was young, how I had kicked and hit and bit and slammed my head into walls until I’d been able to control my octopus better. I felt sad and had to hum and rock. Those are bad people, those grandparents. I hope they go to jail.
I think they will, but, Emmet, this is another problem The Roosevelt Blues Brothers need to help. There are too many people who think it’s okay to hurt people like us, to call us burdens, to tease us and kick us and try to kill us. Even people who are supposed to love us. Once we win with RJ King and the legislature, can we try to do something about this?
Sometimes I still wasn’t sure we were going to win, but I didn’t want to be negative and say so. I nodded and signed yes too for emphasis. You know we’ll keep fighting. We’re The Roosevelt Blues Brothers. Nothing can stop us. I didn’t know how we could help people like this girl yet, but we could find a way. When I was with the Blues Brothers and Kaya and Bob, I felt as if I could do anything.
Darren barked a laugh and held his hand up for a high-five. I met it and grinned back, and then we sat together, rocking as we watched our friends and families have a quiet evening.
I didn’t always enjoy the traveling. I missed my apartment and my train track
s and my routine, but I enjoyed believing we were doing something important, that though I couldn’t put it into a formula, it seemed as if an algorithm was working. We did have some data, the number of people who had joined the foundation as donors and people who had pledged to call their representatives, and Kaya had been in contact with another, more political organization tracking the projected vote totals for the bill. It was complicated because they had to lobby the representatives and the senators both, though the strategy they were using was to kill the measure in the lower chamber so it didn’t go higher. What Kaya said was if it passed the Iowa House, it would definitely pass the senate and be signed by the governor. So we had to stop it now, or there would be no stopping it.
Everyone kept telling me they were sure we would win, that the bill wouldn’t pass, and I wanted to believe them. But to be honest the fact that we had to lip sync and dance and I had to keep giving speeches and put Darren’s and my autism and David’s quadriplegia and Jeremey’s social anxiety on display to get people’s attention made me realize how much people had been ignoring us all this time. I had been aware of this truth my whole life, but our tour helped me see it in a new way, and sometimes I felt hopeless and angry. Why did I have to get on a stage and perform to get the same rights as other people? Part of me thought it didn’t matter, this was what I had to do to win, and then I wondered if I was another version of RJ King, if this was me cheating on the algorithm.
I asked Dr. North about it in therapy, and I could tell my question surprised him. His eyebrows quivered, and he put his hand over his mouth, which is his big-thinking gesture. I rocked and waited for him to answer.
“An astute observation,” he said at last. “But no, I don’t think it makes you the same as RJ King, not in the way you imply. There is some similarity, I suppose, in that you both manipulate public opinion for your own use. But this is true in essentially all communication. I’m manipulating your thoughts right now. The key, however, is I go to great lengths to invite you to consider possibilities, not scold or lure you into false ideals. For example, I would ask you to think about the difference between your presentation and King’s. Your part of the presentation in particular. You offer your story and your feelings, and then you step aside, inviting people to make their own choices. You do your best to present a compelling argument, yes. But then you don’t remain involved. How do you think King compares to how I see your method?”
I considered this. “King is more aggressive. He tells people how to think. It doesn’t sound as if this is what he’s doing, but I’ve watched him a lot. Darren discovered videos of him at events online. He uses his smile like a weapon. People who are moved by social cues are distracted by it and don’t notice that when he smiles he’s telling them how to think and feel.”
“I would agree with you, having met the man myself. Is his behavior similar to how you think you behave at your events for the foundation?”
“Hmmm. No.” I rocked and hummed some more, the simple idea of such a thing upsetting to me.
“Then no, Emmet. I don’t think you’re anything like RJ King.”
I decided Dr. North was right, and it made me feel better. I had another question for him, though, and I hoped he would be able to be as much help with this one as well. “I also wanted to talk to you about proposing to Jeremey.”
Dr. North smiled bigger. “Yes? Have you decided you’re ready?”
“Yes. But I also decided I need to make it special for Jeremey when I ask, except I don’t know how to do it.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Special how? What do you mean?”
“Jeremey is sentimental. I’m not, and I don’t need anything fancy to happen when I ask him to marry me, but I think Jeremey would enjoy it. Except every time I try to come up with something he’d like, I end up rocking and humming in my sensory sack.”
“Have you tried talking to your mother about this? Or are you trying to not talk to your mother about this?”
“You know my mother. She would get too excited. Plus it doesn’t feel grown up to have her helping.”
“I’ll allow you this point. Though I would advise you to let her help with the wedding. She excels at that kind of planning, and neither you nor Jeremey will find the finer details of it to your liking.” He tapped his finger on the side of his cheek. “Well, let’s break it down. What are the types of things you know you need to include, and avoid, in your proposal for Jeremey?”
“It needs to be romantic, but not busy or crowded. In fact I think it would be better if it were only the two of us.”
“There, that’s one part of the decision made or narrowed. Somewhere private. All right, we have private and romantic. Next element?”
What else would Jeremey want? “He would want Mai to be there.”
“Arranging Mai’s presence would be easy enough. What else?”
It was tough work, and he asked me a lot of questions, but the questions made me think, and in the end I had a good idea of what I wanted to do, how I would ask Jeremey. Now all I had to do was make the arrangements and actually do the asking.
“Thank you, Dr. North. This conversation was helpful.”
“My pleasure. Do you have rings chosen, or will you save those for the ceremony?”
“I have rings, engagements bands, and wedding bands to add for the wedding picked out. I haven’t bought them, but I know what I want to purchase.” Jeremey would want something on his hand while we waited to get married, and I did too. If he didn’t want them, we could exchange them, but I knew Jeremey would appreciate the ones I’d picked out. I knew what he liked.
“Then the best of luck to you. Except I’m quite certain you’ll have no trouble getting the answer you want out of your young man.” He winked at me.
I didn’t wink back, but I smiled as big as I could. Because I was pretty certain too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jeremey
Emmet was up to something.
I didn’t know what, but he was planning something, no question, and I was fairly sure it didn’t have anything to do with The Roosevelt Project for a change. We were still doing events on the weekends, but not as many as we had been—it was June now and the legislative session had been extended because they hadn’t voted on several key pieces of legislation, including the bill deciding mental health funding. We’d decided to keep up our lobbying efforts but tone them down ever so slightly so as to save our energy before the big vote, when we’d make another push. “Stay relevant but don’t drown the issue,” was what Kaya kept saying.
So what Emmet was so busy rushing around for, being secretive and flustered about, I had no idea, but he roped other people into it too plenty of times, and I’ll be honest, I was jealous. He whispered with Darren or David and even Sally and Tammy, and I didn’t know why or what for. When I asked him what was going on, he gave me the hand sign meaning he didn’t want to talk about it, but that upset me since he was talking to every other person in our lives about it, just not me.
Everyone else ran off on secret missions with Emmet, and I ended up sitting in the lounge or out on the playground equipment, where I ran into Stuart a number of times. I didn’t mind Stuart, not the way I know Emmet did. Stuart was younger than we were, but not by much. He had autism too, and he was even more nonverbal than Darren, more severely locked inside himself and unable to communicate. When we’d first moved into The Roosevelt, he’d mostly screamed in order to speak, but now he got right up into people’s faces, breathing heavy and staring into space beside their heads.
Stuart was intense, yes, and Mai often had to remind him to give me personal space, but it didn’t bother me to be with him. I have a soft spot for autistic people now, having made friends with so many, having fallen in love with someone with autism, though Emmet’s autism is so different. The thing is, Emmet is different, and he isn’t. Sometimes when I sit with Stuart, I feel as if I can see Emmet in him. I can’t help wondering if Emmet and Stuart aren’t more alike than they
are different. I don’t know why I think that, but I do.
I half-waited for Emmet to comment on how much time I was spending with Stuart, but whatever he was working on had him too distracted to notice. I almost asked Emmet directly what he was up to. But then one day when I woke up from my nap, I saw a message from Emmet beside my bed, printed in the special font he uses for the notes he leaves for me.
Meet me on the roof, and bring Mai.
I frowned at the piece of paper. The roof? Of the building? Of The Roosevelt? I didn’t know we could go up there. How did I do that? But when I got out of bed, before I could think of who I would ask to figure this out, or before I could find my phone to text him, I saw another note, this one on top of a towel on my dresser.
Take a shower.
I smiled and picked up the towel, and then…well, I took a shower. This was an old game, Emmet telling me what to do, and I played it, because I knew if I kept following his commands, there would be new instructions, and eventually one of them would lead me to the roof. Indeed, when I got out of the shower, on the back of the door was a suit—not my Blues Brothers suit but another nice one, this one a soft gray with a pink tie. It wasn’t something I would have picked out for myself, but I appreciated it.
Wear this, the note said. So I did.
I followed notes all through the house, guiding me into shoes and cufflinks and putting a leash on Mai to bring her along as we went down the hall and to a door I had thought led to storage but it turned out opened to a set of stairs taking me to the roof. The stairs were creaky and dimly lit, making me uneasy, but as I neared the top I heard music playing, and when I opened the door, I saw little white lights, the type you put on Christmas trees, except these were all white even on the strands, and they were wrapped in tulle. They covered the archway by the door, some posts in the center, and as I came around the corner, I saw another arch, this one something someone had clearly put up, something that couldn’t possibly be on the roof on a regular basis. It had more white lights and tulle and a sort of sheet over the top, and fake ivy, and behind it the sun was setting, making the world appear as if it were set in a movie or a fairy tale.
Shelter the Sea Page 15