The Death of a Democracy

 

Jim and Denise Crace along with their four young children paid a visit last night for a barbeque and some play time with our two kids.  It had been a regular event between our two families over the past couple of years but we had drifted apart recently, mostly due to the rising rancor that had evolved during Jim and my political discussions.  The women had decided to put a hiatus to the family gatherings until the political season reached an end and when less politically-charged times resumed.  However even though the elections were completed, it seemed that Jim and I were still at odds over the outcome as our ire continued to boil with the slightest provocation.

 

In an attempt to keep the family relationships strong for the children’s sake, Denise and my wife, Jill, decided to put on an early holiday get-together where the kids could rejoin their playful friendships while the husbands would hopefully set aside our political acrimony through a link of common interests; a championship football game involving a team we both followed closely.

 

Everything seemed to be going well as Jill and Denise watched over the children’s activity while preparing the half-time feast of chicken wings, hot dogs and hamburgers.  At the half-time break and with food in hand, Jim and I had wandered into my den to look at the new aquarium I had installed.  It was an excessively large tank that had become the wall between my office and the family room.

 

As we viewed a nondescript roil of activity at the top of the tank, Jim suggested that if I floated a couple of baseballs on the surface it would give some of the amphibians in the tank a refuge to crawl on.  I retrieved three softballs from a drawer that had been left over from a 4^th of July co-ed game played in the park a few years earlier.  Each ball was a different color representing the colors of the flag.

 

“Is everything about the flag for you? God I’m sick and tired of your jingoistic patriotism in everything you do?” muttered an increasingly irritated Jim.

 

Ignoring his comment I put the colored softballs into the tank, the churning slowed and the individual characteristics of the different species in the tank became clear.  Small turtles and frogs had made their way up onto the softballs, leaving behind larger specimens of turtle and fish swimming separately and more peacefully beneath.  “It works,” I said.  “They like the colors even if you don’t.”

 

“We’ll see, we’ll see.”

 

With the ensuing calm a new fish emerged from a cave in the bottom of tank.  At first they were relatively small.  “Albino eels!” Jim proclaimed. “Where did you find those?”

 

Before I could answer that I had no idea, large, serpentine specimens of the eels meandered out of the cave, twisting their way up into the tank.  Their action was hypnotic at first as the size and beauty of the motion captured us all in a sense of awe.  I could see through the glass that the children had discovered the aquarium and were mesmerized by the activity from the family room.  Suddenly, an adult eel struck, engorging itself with one of the larger tropical fish that had happened to swim by.

 

“Yeah, those critters are not great for a community tank.  They are always armed and ready to destroy everything in their path.  There are not very many fish that will survive their onslaught once they are gathered in large numbers, riled up and ready to fight. They will take over and destroy everything.  They are a lot like your political party… destroying everything that is good in our country.”

 

I shrugged and threw out a quick barb, “It’s your people in the streets with guns, scaring all the good people in our country.  I have no idea where those eels came from.”   I did not know where the eels came from. I didn't put them in the tank. Anyway, what I could do to save the tank but the half-time show had ended and we needed to return to the game.  “I guess that’s a problem for tomorrow. Perhaps things will calm down once, the fish all settle in to their new surroundings.  Let’s get back to the game.  It looks like we can win this one.”

 

In the meantime, the wives were relishing the relatively peaceful gathering of families, as peaceful as six children will allow.  The kids were outside on the trampoline while the women watched from the patio enjoying a couple of after-dinner glasses of wine.  Suddenly a scream erupted from the family room and Denise shouted, “Where are Caroline and Demi?” Everyone rushed to find out what was wrong.

 

Caroline, Jim and Denise’s oldest, was standing in front of the aquarium banging on the glass of the aquarium screaming, “Leave her alone!” Rolling around in the bottom of the tank, wrapped in sheet that looked tattered and grayed like old parchment paper, was the youngest of their family, Demi.  The water was boiling with activity as the eels repeatedly attacked the shards of her parchment encapsulated body. 

 

“How did she get in there?” I asked. “Somebody call 911.  Help me get her out.”

 

Very calmly but filled with rage, Jim looked at me and pronounced, “I knew nothing good would come out of this ‘party’.  Nothing good could ever come from people with your views.  I knew the minute ‘HE’ won the election that our lives would be destroyed.  This is your fault and my lawyers are going to have a field day.”

 

I tried reaching into the tank but the embroiled eel would not be dissuaded.  I sat helplessly and watched Demi Crace die.

 

 

Note from author:  Last night’s politically-induced dream of helplessness.