The Place You Can't Remember - A Short Story

Note: This ain't nonfiction, folks. 

***

Phil sat at the dais in a trance. Here he is, the man of the hour, just as he had hoped and worked for. He was about to be honored by colleagues and friends as the next president of the Making Dreams Happen Foundation. 

He had started working with the foundation about five years ago, after a quick rise through the ranks of Governor Elliot's administration. Phil started out on the campaign trail as a field organizer and was placed in the communications office. He excelled at crafting press releases and was given some minor speech writing tasks. Eventually he was assisting in portions of the second State of the State Address and moved on to an assignment as a deputy regional director. He passed up an advisory role with the governor to start with Making Dreams Happen. He wanted to carve his niche with a "nonprofit."

Making Dreams Happen's mission stated some lofty goal about helping first time homeowners avoid foreclosure and promoting community awareness, but Phil saw an opportunity to expand that - and the hundreds of extensive partnerships with businesses throughout the country. 

"Ladies and gentleman. We've heard from some of the state's leading voices - and that video message from Governor Elliot was just amazing, wasn't it? - but I think it's time to hear from the next president of the Making Dreams Happen Foundation, Mr. Phil Robinson!," Jeffrey Miller, Phil's designee to be his chief of staff, began clapping his hands as his duties as emcee culminated. The audience erupted. 

The thunderous clapping and piercing whistles and cat-calling from the audience caused a noticeable jerk in Phil. He snapped to quickly and stood up smiling. He and Jeffrey shared a split-second glance as they shook hands and laughed and congratulated each other. You couldn't have noticed it from the crowd, but it was there. 

Phil took his place behind the podium and took a small sip of water. Hands were still. Breathing was collected. Mind foggy. "Thank you, all. This is wonderful. I still can't believe I've come this far. I owe a lot to a lot of people." 

He did owe a lot. As he finished that sentence he peered into the audience. From what he could see, there were local, state, and federal officials on hand. He saw his mother and father. His younger sister was with her beautiful family. Look at those adorable little kids. 

How long had he just paused? Snap to it. 

"I always tell a story at the beginning of my speeches when I'm out lobbying - oops, poor choice of words, sorry," the crowd played along with the time-tested "Freudian slip." Never failed. It seemed far faker than usual to him tonight. 

"When I'm talking to my supporters - that's it, yes, my supporters - I recount a story of a time when I was down on my luck. I didn't have all that much money, I had some, and I could buy food and make the rent and even go out on the weekends, so that wasn't the major problem. But, what I didn't have, what I was plain out of, was that little, itty bitty figment of our subconscious, that you can't even detect ordinarily, that gives us direction in our actions. 

"My daily life was a battle for happiness. It wasn't until I became engaged with the community, in the process of service, that I was able to ignite that flame that yearned to burn - I was meant to serve." Applause. 

As he waited for the clapping to come to an end, he looked over to Jeffrey. He was leaning back slightly. He had been nodding along with the speech as he always did. Phil felt a sag in his stomach. How long had he been looking away from the audience? 

"I'm picking up the reigns of Making Dreams Happen after Seth Johnson's simply magnificent ten years. We, as a community, owe him a great deal." Applause. Standing ovation. 

Seth, who was sitting next to Jeffrey, nodded in appreciation with a small smile and tried to hush to crowd. When that didn't work he mock-reluctantly stood to formally bow and blow kisses to the crowd. As he sat down, he wiped his nose with a handkerchief. Phil squinted after he saw Jeffrey's head slightly jerk and lean towards Seth, like he was leaning in to hear a whisper. A slight flush went over Jeffrey, and Phil could sense a glance his direction as he turned back to the audience. He needed to keep focus.

"You know, we do some tremendous things here at Making Dreams Happen. Our partnerships long ago reached into every corner of the state and country. We have literally helped people in every single state in the nation. Helped them save their home. Save their families. Save their dreams." More applause. 

"Until now, that had been enough." Silence smacked Phil right in the face. Eagerness. Anticipation. Phil's stomach was officially flip-flopping. His smile was wide. His eyes fixed. His voice didn't waver. 

"There are a lot of people across the world that don't have the resources we do right here at home. There are lot of people out there that don't have access to food, let alone money for it. There are people out there too disadvantaged to dream - we can make their dreams happen! We are coming to a third world country near you! Thank you, good night!" Explosion of applause. 

Jeffrey was the first to leap to his feet with supporting applause and quickly wrapped Phil up in a hug. Phil shouted in his ear, because the audience was so raucous, "Start spinning the specifics!" After the hug, Jeffrey exited stage left to greet the waiting reporters to unveil the strategic plan. Classic rock piped in through the speaker system and balloons fell. Phil glad-handed the dais and made his way to the front of the stage to meet some audience members that flocked towards him. 

***

Governor Elliot entered the enclosed back patio where Phil was waiting, with an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth. The governor was dressed in Sunday casual attire. He looked straight out of a Palm Springs country club. 

"Phil, what the hell is this crap about you not coming back to the Statehouse?," the Governor walked right up to Phil's chair and crowded him so much that it proved difficult for him to stand up to shake his outstretched hand. 

"Um, that's right, sir," Phil finally found his feed and stood up, the back of his legs sliding his patio chair back into the bay window making a noticeable thud. The Governor shook his hand fiercely. 

"Um? I've never heard you say 'um' since I've known you. Eh, forget it. Sit back down." Phil did so. The governor pulled out a cigar cutter from his pocket and lopped off one end into an ashtray and took the seat across from Phil. There was a book of matches sitting on the table next to Governor Elliot. He removed two and struck them to light his cigar. He puffed silently as Phil watched. "So you're looking for a plush little gig, I take it? My administration won't cut it?" 

"Governor Elliot, I've served you as long as you've been in office and risen quickly and been trusted to do a lot..." 

"Yeah, yeah," the governor cut Phil off. "I know you're one of the biggest reasons why I don't have a chance in hell of not winning re-election. The first third termer in state history. They're going to re-write the Constitution. I know you had a lot to do with it. What did you have in mind?" 

"The Making Dreams Happen Foundation." 

The governor puffed loudly after he heard that. He shook his head. "Are you looking to pick a fight with Seth Johnson?" 

"No. But I want his job within five years." 

The governor chuckled and changed what leg he was crossing. "Boy - I taught you this game too well. You'll get in. I'll make him let you in, but he is going to hate you and fight you and will probably beat you in the end." 

"But you and I know that's not what will happen." 

"Why is that?"

"Because you taught me all too well." 

***

"Governor, this chicken shit has done me in and you can't even mention me in a God damned, random-ass interview for the Gazette?! My future doesn't matter? You're an asshole. You and this Robinson jackass that I've had to put up with five years and now he's taking my job. Grade A asses. You've pissed me off something fierce and I wish your career a miserable, public death. Shove it!," Seth Johnson slammed the phone down so hard it broke the desk unit. 

Seth opened up his closet door in his plush office and removed the striking jacket that completed his suit. "I should've run against that jackass when I had the chance. God dammit," he muttered as he smoothed out his clothes. He looked over to the man sitting across from his desk. His most trusted adviser. "Well, Jeffrey, looks like you and I are out on our own."

Jeffrey Miller stiffened. He had been dreading this moment for months now. "Mr. Johnson, I'm going to serve as Seth Robinson's chief of staff here at the foundation. I didn't want to tell you until you had talked to Governor Elliot."

"You knew the governor was lining up support for my ouster?" The incredulous look made Jeffrey's innards squirm. Then the look of realization on Seth's face broke his heart. "Shit, I'm too old and soft. You were in on it the whole time. You're shit, too." 

***

There was one last press person that Jeffrey was going to let have access to Phil, and it was going to be one question and one question only. Local college paper. Wet behind the ears kind of kid that Phil always loved helping out with a quote every once in a while. Phil greeted him with a firm handshake and smile. 

"What's your name, buddy?" 

"Steve, um, Steve Post. I'm from Marsh University." 

"Alright Steve - you get the last question. Hit me."

"Um, Mr. Robinson, how did, when did you, what was your mindset, um, back when you first wanted to serve?" 

"Steve, can you speak up there was some noise back there and you stumbled a bit - don't be nervous buddy. I'll make sure you get a good quote, don't worry." 

"Well, when you, uh, when you give your speech about service - I take it very personally and it drew me to you in the first place and, uh, I kind of sense that it means a lot to you even though you say it all the time, you always have such passion behind every word and it seems, uh, to reinforce why you do what you do." 

Phil is swimming in the young reporter's earnest words. He's trying to put himself in the mindset that this young inarticulate-yet-idealistic kid is framing for him. "Ok, son, what's the question, though?"

"What did it really feel like when you first decided to serve? When you decided to help others? To serve our community?"

Phil looked into the reporter's eyes. They were wild with excitement. He stayed focused on them for several moments. This kid was inexperienced, but he had the right idea that even the most seasoned reporters fail to utilize consistently. This young student that wrote for the local college wasn't going to say one more damn word until Phil responded. Whatever he said next would be the quote. 

A wave of thoughts rushed over Phil. Phil had little memory of his undergraduate days. He could remember going to rallies and knocking on doors for his favorite political candidates and writing letters to the editor and staying up late to watch election results on TV. He could remember the general things, but not one specific emotion or moment that could possibly answer this question. 

He thought about all the shouting Governor Elliot did with his staff - himself included. How many staffers had been reassigned or fired for little errors that didn't matter at all. He thought about how many were left by the wayside for those that were more "loyal." He thought about the hours he spent doing opposition research against dozens of political candidates - some even in primary battles where he was working against his own party. He thought about pushing Seth Johnson out the door before he was ready to ease on down the road. 

He looked back into the reporter's eyes again. 

"I can't remember." 

***

Scott.