Sequel to Love in the Revolution
After making love, political consultant Ben Montgomery asks his lover, professional cartoonist Jamie Drexler, to go beyond mere pillow talk and tell him a story. Jamie channels his creative genius to fantasize about a life in which his future husband has been granted powerful gifts needed to challenge the forces of reaction.
Ben and Jamie both knew from their involvement in the 2016 presidential campaign that, when justice and grace are denied to one person, they are denied to all. Superheroes are not just part of American pop culture; they are as legitimate a form of cultural history as the gods of Ancient Greece and Rome were to those civilizations.
When Jamie creates a superhero who is more than mere cosplay, can Ben sustain his political job while Jamie balances the responsibilities of serving as his beloved’s sidekick? Or will Jamie emerge a hero in his own mind?
“This is West Texas. We’re lucky we were even allowed in here, much less not beaten to a pulp.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Have a sip of water and enjoy the air conditioning before we head back to the car.”
I wanted to make a flippant comment, but as I was about to say something, there was a minor explosion coming from the kitchen area. “What was that?” you asked, rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand.
“No clue,” I replied, helping you back to your feet. “Are you ready to leave now?”
“Yeah,” you said, flipping me the keys. “You drive this time.”
I was about to catch the keys when the doors from the kitchen opened and a middle-aged lady burst into the dining room area screaming from the top of her lungs, “¡Mis bebés! ¡Mis bebés! ¡Se llevaron mis bebés!”
“What’d she say?” I asked.
“I think she said something about someone taking her babies,” you said, continuing to rub your head.
The lady ran around the dining area in frantic circles. With a cautious glide, you came over to where she stopped, reached out, and was able to gently calm her down. “Who took your babies, ma’am?”
“ICE took them!” she shouted, in a thick Spanish accent.
“ICE?”
“Sí, ICE. I’m an American citizen, from Puerto Rico. I’m not illegal. But, ICE, they don’t care. They just see some tan or brown skin and think ‘illegal!’”
You placed both his hands on her shoulders and said, “We’ll get them back.”
“How are you going to get them back? Once ICE has them, they send them back across the river. My babés are Americans!”
You carefully escorted the panicky mother over to our table. “This man will take good care of you, while I get back your babies.”
The lady gave me a cautious glare. “Who is this ...” When she turned around and noticed you had vanished, she continued by saying, “Hombré who thinks he can defeat ICE?”
I smiled and escorted the lady out of the restaurant, bypassing the throng of homophobic waiters, to the rental car. “Ben is a good man. He has ... um ... unique methods. Trust me.” When we both entered the car, I continued my train of thought. “Do you know where ICE is located?”
She pointed in a southwest direction and said, “Ten miles that way.”
“Well then, ten miles that way we go!” I said, turning on the ignition.
The mother placed a comforting hand on top of mine. “Where is your Ben?”
I smiled. “He’ll be there before we get there. Trust me.”
While you were running out the back of the restaurant, you noticed the deep ridges of tire tracks heading away from the vegan dive. After hearing our rental speed away, you ran behind the restaurant’s dumpster and checked to make sure no one was around or watching. Then, in the loudest, most Yiddish-sounding voice you could muster yelled, “YUGE!”
