The
Long Dark Night
by
Theodore Marcus
So in a year or two or three
. . .
You're
at a party. Dressed
well, teeth white, freshly pressed, optimistic but nervous. The
usual. You're there to see friends, meet new ones,
celebrate something, re-connect, re-invigorate, you know,
do the thing. A buzzing group meets the eye upon
entry, already you see faces you know, faces you've seen,
others you haven't. The conversation is mixed,
appropriately loud. You've been here before, it's
familiar, but it isn't. One of your chummier colleagues
is there, with her husband; these are folks with kids
your kids' age, going to gym class, the same summer camps,
the basics. There's much in common. She says
they have a relative they want you to meet; you're for
that, new connections, new outlets on life. "Barry,
I want you to meet Elle. She's from your alma mater,
just graduated magna cum from the law school, just moved up from Atlanta." "hi,
how are you", you say, eager to make this acquaintance. So
you're a Wildcat?" "Yep, what year'd
you finish?" "Oh, too long ago to tell,
but we had computers by then (ha ha)." (She
chuckles along, she hadn't actually considered that there
was a time that computers didn't exist, but that sounds
right . . . right?). As the crevasse of Mount Not
Much in Common opens between you, you take one more plunge
toward a safe conversational perch: "so, what
brings you to the big city?" At this, she
perks up (thank heavens, you think, this is warming up),
eager to field this inquiry: "I'm starting
a fellowship with the government!" "Ah,
excellent," you counter, with what agency, the White
House, Congress, State?" "No, no, I've
got a Ridge Grant -- I'm doing the next two years with
Homeland Security's Terrorism Response Analysis Unit,
and after that, I'll be a Poindexter Fellow with DARPA
for a year." "I'm on track," she
continues as you begin to detect the not-so-subtle taste
of your own stomach acid warming the lining of your
esophagus, "for an AGC-HSD/TIA (*Assistant General
Counsel-Homeland Security Department/Total Information
Awareness -- the joint legal counsel's office for the
two agencies) at the end of the 3 year commitment, but
I might be able to cut it to two-and-a-half if I decide
to take the slot at DARPA's GC's First Amendment "Enforcement" Branch." "What
First Amendment Enforcement Branch?", you stammer. "Yeah,
if I decide to go First Level dot 6 Classified,
which is a pain when you think of how long the multi-state
allegiance and security awareness portion of the exam
is, but who cares, right, it's the right thing to do,
right?, anyway, if I do the dot 6 and go Justice,
I can skip rotation through the Social De-brief
Unit at DARPA (it's not as if we didn't get
plenty of that first year in Professor Ashcroft's
class, I mean) -- and all that squalid "First
Impression Privacy and Civil Liberties" docket stuff the
Guantanamo crowd keeps bringing to the Supremes' new "comet" docket
(*from initial pleading through cert petition in
two days, but if cert granted, final judgment within
three days -- a new docket, the brain child of Justices Olson
and Holder).
"Why?", which is
all you can verbalize from the deep, dark well of the
nightmare that now engulfs your spirit. "Are
you kidding?", she asks, with pure sincerity. "I've
been blessed with God-given ability and love from family
and friends all my life. I feel like it would be
a grave sin if I didn't give something back to the community. When
it's all said and done, you know, money can wait. Doing
my part is more important than anything I can think of right now while I'm
young, eager and ready to work. One day, if God wills it, I'll have
kids. What better example for them than a Mommy who's dedicated to
public service. No, this isn't so much a sacrifice, as a privilege
and an honor. By the way, I'd love to keep in touch. Do you have
a card? What's your name again?" She reaches into her transparent "Visi-tek" Louis
Vuitton shoulder bag for a pen. Her glance averted, you slip away into
the crowd, and out the door, collar turned up to the cold, or to her glance,
you're not sure. A taxi ambles forward: "hey, buddy, need
a hack?" says the driver, proudly displaying his Operation World Freedom
-- Pakistani Division jacket. The cab is immaculate, the on-dash Security
recorder clicking your image in the darkness. "No, thanks," you
mutter inaudibly, "there's nowhere for me to go." "No
problem, sir", he replies, "have a blessed day."
And into the evening you turn.
-- Theodore Marcus is an
Atlanta area attorney with prior service with the U.S.
government.
