Great Expectations Chapter XXVIII

To read from the beginning, click the photos on the right.

Chapter XXVIII pgs 177-179

Spiderman was cute, not handsome. A spray of freckles covered his nose, making him look younger than forty-four. He had a daisy between his teeth, another in his lapel pocket, and a third behind his right ear, and he held up his Chinos with a Spiderman belt and belt buckle.

“Hi,” he said.

The smile was really something, thought Johanna, the shy smile of a small boy. Johanna warmed up to him immediately. And, by way of greeting, she ran up to him and wrapped his chest in a hug, as if they’d known each other all their lives.

“I was afraid this would be awkward,” said Johanna. “But I feel as if we’ve always been friends.”

“It’s because of the web site. I already know so much about you, Johanna. I know you’re passionate about truth and freedom. And I know you’re a prophet.”

“A prophet?”

“Someone compelled to shout truth to the world. You’re very lucky.”

“A prophet! No one in his or her right mind wants to be a prophet. They all die ghoulish deaths, like getting stoned or boiled in oil.” She flushed. There was something exciting about him, something almost magical that made her feel powerful. “And you,” she said. “You don’t look at all like what I expected, but you talk the way you write on the web.”

“Let’s get to know each other,” he said, taking her hand in his. “There’s a place a couple of blocks up the street where they serve really good coffee, and sandwiches too if you’re hungry. How does that sound?”

“Fabulous,” said Johanna. “I’m starving.”

First, Homer opened her door. Then he escorted Johanna to a table, and waved his arm towards the bench. “After you,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Johanna. “Formal manners, I love it.” And she scooted onto the bench.

There was a breathy catch in his voice. "You really are a beautiful woman." He looked intently into her face, tapping his finger against his chin.

She giggled. “And you need new glasses.”

“No, I need a ham sandwich and coffee,” he said as the waitress came by to take their order.

“Me, too,” Johanna said, “and chili cheese fries to share.

“Where did you get the idea to do the web site?” asked Homer.

“I felt I had to do something,” she said. “And when my boss wouldn’t let me print what I wanted, well, I decided that the web site was the best I could do. I just wish I could get more people to read it. Or understand what I’m trying to say. I’ll bet most people think I’m a crackpot.”

“You’d have more credibility if you’d let your readers know where you get your ideas. Do you have a source in the FBI or something?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just common sense. But the truth is so ugly that no one wants to admit it, especially anyone who’s backed the president or the war. It’s too hard to admit that they made such a bad mistake.”

“But the details… How do you get access to the details? Do you have a bug in one if the White House computers?”

“I’m no hacker. I only learned how to set up the web site a few months ago. But I do know journalism, and I can recognize censorship. When an article appears on page seventeen that should have made the front page, I know we’re not getting the truth. And I know enough about oil and energy policy and politics and weapons of mass destruction to know that we’re being lied to.”

Once the conversation turned to politics, Johanna was set on fire. “I just get so angry and so…so... I just want to hang a sign over the freeway telling people, “listen!!! Just listen! Use the brains God gave you. Hear what they’re saying in Washington. The spin sounds good, and it’s warm and it’s comforting. But it’s not logical.”

“You have mustard on your chin,” said Homer.

“And then they play the God card. God says you’re holy if you bomb Baghdad. Allah says you’re holy if you crash the twin towers. Christians don’t annihilate people because they might have some bombs that no one was able find in the last ten years. And every time I see another American flag waving off of a freeway…well I just want to shout. ‘If you’re really a Christian, don’t vote for murder.’ All those flags really get to me.”

Homer put down his sandwich. “So let’s do it,” he said. “Let’s start hanging signs over the freeways. They have enough flag material waving around to wrap up a small country. Let’s show everyone what we think.”

“What would we do?” Johanna was just a little apprehensive.

“A sign. A new one every night. And we’ll hang them where commuters can see them, and we’ll put all of them next to the American flags that seem to be proliferating on their own.” Homer’s face suddenly became serious. He gave Johanna a piercing look deep into her eyes. “Are you with me?”

“I guess so.”

“It’s not illegal. No one can do anything to you for hanging a sign. It’s an act of patriotism – exercising your freedom of speech.”

“Do you think they’ll leave the signs up?”

“It’s still a free country. Last I heard. They’d better leave them up or their interfering with our First Amendment rights.”

“Okay. I’ll do it. Tonight. The Morello Street overpass to Highway Four. Then I’ll work my way west on Four – a different overpass every night till I get to Interstate 80.

“Me, I’ll tackle the Expressways. San Thomas Expressway, Lawrence Expressway. I’ll give new meaning to the phrase “Painting the town.” He leaned forward. “I know this isn’t supposed to be a date, but…”

It wasn’t a great kiss, but Johanna savored the taste and the sensation.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?” he asked. He smiled a crooked, little-boy grin. “You’re very sexy when you talk about weapons of mass destruction.” He put his hand on her waist – just below her breast.

“Yes, but no. But maybe we could meet again like this.”

“No reason not to,” Homer promised. His hand lingered at her waist. You have Spidey’s word on it.” He dabbed his lips with his napkin, then picked up the bill and stood up. “We have a deal now, about the signs. You won’t back out on this, will you?”

“I’ll do it. - promise.”