Requiem - 1. Requiem

Caressing the old and battered watch, studying this treasured memento of your first campaign, you hear again its faithful ticking, keeping cadence, as it always had, with your heart.

You have attained the lofty pinnacle of power, but at what bitter cost? The price, oh, the price... A lifetime of lies, the true self subsumed, locked away, banished to the darkest recesses. Outwardly you portray, as you must, the confident air of success, of dignity and wisdom, a presence crafted with care to fit your seniority and image, woven as carefully as any suit from Seville Row, though far easier to tarnish or bring to utter ruin.

How often do you admit, even to yourself, your true nature, or your true desires? Even now, at the twilight of your life, after fifty long years in the public eye, can you admit to your inner, secret self what you are? Or has over three-quarters of a century living a lie deprived you of even that last vestige of honesty?

With great difficulty, mindful evermore of your physician’s dire warnings, you enter that august chamber, the very air heavy with the weight of history. Taking your seat, a seat you have held for nigh on thirty years, you run your gnarled hand over the ancient oak, pondering, as you had so often in recent days, upon your legacy.

Over twenty years in the House and thirty more in the Senate; but what is your mark upon history? Were you honest, which of course you cannot be even to yourself, you would recognize a career noteworthy for its mediocrity, tempered only by political expediency. Oh, you swept to your first victory on a tide of high-minded idealism; of that, even your critics would attest. However, like an insidious cancer, the never-ending quest for re-election soon brought you to compromise your principles; a vote here, a position taken there, all too soon becoming one of the self-serving ilk you had so oft pledged to fight.

The years, the long and weary years, wore on; taking their toll. After so many decades worshiping at the altar of political expediency, your long-forgotten idealism cast off into the dark and dusty cloakroom of your mind, do you even know what you stand for?

Furtive liaisons, followed always by the now-familiar emotions of shame and fear, had become your way until the frailties of age had at last ended that phase of your life, allowing you the comfort of your own begotten lies. Can you realize, even now, what it is you really are?

The greatest price was paid by those around you; a failed marriage, then another, followed by yet another. Your children; bitter, alienated, never understanding, for how could they? You dared not explain.

A life without love and thus bereft of an inner, higher meaning that might, just might, have allowed you to retain your ideals, to strive for the greater good as you so often pledged, yet so rarely did, or even cared.

You knew this vote was coming. At first, it was hardly worthy of your attention; political expediency demanded that you vote against it, your decision thus a foregone conclusion. However, as your doctors made exquisitely clear, you no longer need concern yourself with re-election; your last campaign is done and over. That in itself ought to have granted you the freedom to resume your old ideals, but habits die hard, and lies die harder still.

The vote... it nagged at you, tugging on something, of what you did not know. That something, though, is your conscience. So long buried, so long subsumed, still it lives in the furthest reaches of your mind.

Through the long committee process, you had watched, hoping that the legislation would never attain the floor; thus avoiding the need for your vote. This, however, was not to be; the bill had cleared the committees by the slightest of margins, reaching the floor through parliamentary legerdemain, your colleagues lining up in support or opposition. Long experience allowed you to judge that it would be close, so very close, yet still you wondered at the disquiet in your mind.

Your hope that a colleague would attach an unpalatable rider or earmark was soon dashed; the bill would come to the floor, unhindered and unencumbered. Still, your vote should be easy enough; the god of expediency is quite clear in its demands.

The old chamber echoed with the sharp rapport of a gavel, breaking the wordy exhortations pro and con as your colleagues, as they were wont to do, voiced opinions and positions meant for cameras, not the chamber, for sound-bytes rather than the vote itself. You certainly did not intend to speak; why should you, with so little to be gained, no political motive for you to take a public stand. Your days, drawing to a close as you well know, have been dedicated to the pursuit of your legacy; a library bearing your name here, a federal building there. In this vote, for you at least, there stands no profit, no gain; far better that it should pass or fail with nary a word from you. With no axe to grind, no horse in this race, it is not your fight, or so you outwardly let yourself believe.

The clatter of the Speaker’s Gavel jars your attention; the final call as the vote itself looms. To your shock, and in no small part your horror, your body betrays you, aching joints protesting as you clamber to your feet. You had no intent to rise, not that you could admit, even to yourself. With a sweep of your frail arm, you acknowledge your possession of the floor, as a slight but nonetheless persistent tightness clutches at your chest.

Loosening your tie, taking a sip of water, you cast your eyes about the chamber as you begin to speak. Your gift for oratory, once renowned, had fled with your ideals so many decades past. To your mild amusement and nagging concern, you judge your opening remarks eloquent, the old fire returning, one last and final time.

You speak; your position, as intended, unclear, “My learned colleagues,” you so softly roar, “I ask that you consider the facts, for facts can have no shades of gray. They are, or ought to be, our sentinels and guides. Consider, if you will, that throughout much of history the terms ‘queer’ and ‘pervert’ have been indelibly attached to those who follow the lifestyle which we here address this very day. For our children’s sake, for our honor, we of the Senate must make the correct decision. In the fullness of time, society changes, then changes again. Some day, perhaps, a spirit of greater tolerance may prevail, but that day is not this day. Our decision must be based on the here and now, on society as it exists today. Too many oppose any change, any alteration of their precious institution...”

Weighing your words with great care, you prepare your coming lines; a standard, prudent call to defer any change, to defeat the bill, for what other position could you publicly take?

Louder, though with a harsh echo of frailty, your wizened face beginning to flush, you pause for effect; the pressure in your chest burning now, spurring you to haste as your inner battle comes to the fore, “For the sake of the many, not of the few, we must remember history, and learn its harsh lessons well. For the sake of the many, we must remember...” a pause, unplanned, breaks your words, the vice gripping your chest serving stark notice that your time is finite in more ways than one. Thinking of the past, those parts of it that so many chose to forget or ignore, along with your own past and the forlorn thoughts of what might have been but now could never be, the war within comes forever to an end. Your decision, a shock even to yourself, is now clear as a penultimate calm steels your nerve, “We must remember Justice, above all else; Justice for all, not of the many, but for all. Too often, our role devolves to that of being mere guardians of the status-quo, the greater good sent sacrifice to the high and lofty altar of political expediency.”

A murmur spreads throughout the room, expressions of confusion, of surprise, filling the stately chamber as your colleagues realize that you do not intend to take the anticipated route. A minority of those gazes turn towards concern as you loosen your collar further, your visage pallid as the agony in your chest becomes too great to discount, though ignore it you do, for ignore it you must; the fight, one you never prior dared embrace, is joined. “‘For the children’; that high and lofty creed, is one oft spoken within these hallowed halls. Yes, for the children, be they our sons, be they our daughters, but for all our children, for are they not all worthy of Justice? Marriage may seem like a small thing, but marriage denied is the very measure of inequity; the last bastion of the last acceptable prejudice. For surely we all agree, prejudice based upon color is wrong; so too it follows, and we must acknowledge here this day, that prejudice based upon whom we love is wrong.”

Fighting to remain on your feet, your embattled soul at last finding ease, an ease belied by your failing voice; “We must not succumb to religious bigotry, for that selfsame bigotry has found use, throughout the dark corridors of human history, to support slavery, to support racism, along with a host of other shames long since forsworn. No, we must act, for the children; those living, and too, those yet to be. Countless lives have been lived in fear, lives wasted in hiding, or in lies, forced to conceal their love and in so many cases never knowing love, which may be the greatest loss of all. Think of the children, then, of the sons and daughters who will face denial, self-loathing, hate and worse, think of so many lives wasted, wasted in denial and deceit, lives like theirs... The pain and loneliness that they have felt...

“No, not they. In truth, for that pain and loneliness...” the crushing agony, so great that you can barely speak, ends, and with that end comes courage, for you know what it is that is ending. With your ultimate breath you impart, “...the word I must use is we –” as your watch ticks on alone.

The deed done, purpose served, free at last of the weight you have borne these many long years, a faint, unnoticed smile graces your face, lost amidst the erupting bedlam caused by your collapse, as that final darkness, descends.

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