[b]Natchez, Mississippi[/b] James Calhoun stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. He wore one of his best suits without a single hair or thread out of place. The suit was a muted brown and had a matching bowtie that complimented his dark brown skin. He had better suits he wore to church, but those were more colorful. Those suits could be seen as gaudy, to the people he would speak to they would see it as proof that he was “uppity.”For today’s task James needed to appear humble to the point of subservient. He was forty-two, born and raised in Mississippi. He knew how to act in front of white people. “You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” James turned from the mirror to look at Whitney. His wife of twenty years stared at him with a look that most people would mistake as impassivity. He could read the sadness and disappointment behind her aloof front. “Baby, I gotta do it. I don’t care how many times they turn me away; they have to see that it won’t be enough.” Whitney stepped forward and placed her hands on his chest. They were rough hands, hands that had scrubbed other people’s floors for over twenty years, hands that had changed the diapers of dozens of little white children over the years while her own three children were at home missing her. James placed his own callused hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She was still that beautiful woman he had married after college just with a little more lines in her face. For his part, he was tubbier and much grayer than he had been back then. She kissed him and wished him luck before he left the house and walked across the yard to his pickup truck. James looked out across the field to where his two sons were busy with their afternoon chores amidst the cotton plants that were slowly beginning to flower. Just a few more weeks before the snowy white cotton would break free of the buds. David, his youngest son, waved when he saw his father staring. “Good luck!” he yelled across the field. “They say the sixth time’s the charm!” James laughed before getting into his truck and leaving. A few miles down the road he pulled over and picked up a waiting hitchhiker. Will Johnson climbed into the truck dressed in an equally respectable suit. The two men exchanged pleasantries while James drove a few more miles and picked up a middle-aged black woman in a plumb dress. “Mrs. Tillman,” James said with a nod as Will scooted over to let the old lady into the cab. “How are you this afternoon?” “I’m very good, I prayed beforehand that we would be successful today. I believe He has heard me and will grant us victory today. God is good all the time.” James and Will shared knowing looks. The two men were weekly church-goers at the local AME church, but nobody else they attended with was quite like Mrs. Tillman. The old widow would occasionally speak in tongues, something that had scared James’ children when they were little. They drove from the country into Natchez proper, a drive that took less than ten minutes. There was barely any traffic in the sleepy little town that afternoon. There was few and far between that worked in town, most of the jobs in the factories were outside of town or across the river in Louisiana. The parking lot beside the Adams County Courthouse was half full, but nearly all the Colored Only marked lots were full. James managed to pull his truck into one of the last free ones for them. From there they went up the backed entrance to the courthouse, up rickety steps that had to be climbed slowly due to Mrs. Tillman’s bad back. Finally they made their way to the registrar’s office. Mack Taylor scowled when he saw the three black people enter his office. He sighed and rolled his eyes as James and the others approached the counter. “Back again?” he asked harshly. “Yes, sir,” James replied with a polite nod. “Y’all may not have much brains, but you make up for it with stubbornness.” James felt Will tighten up beside him. James just smiled and nodded again. “Yes, sir, we figured wouldn’t hurt to try to get registered to vote just one more time.” Taylor wordlessly took three large stacks of forms from behind the counter and laid them on the surface. There was one stack for James, one for Will, and one for Mrs. Tillman. “Fill these out. In triplicate, that means three times.” Mrs. Tillman snapped open her large, plumb colored handbag, and passed the two men pencils. They knew from past experience that Taylor wouldn’t provide them with pencils and neither would any of the county employees at the courthouse. They spent nearly a half-hour filling out all their personal information, despite the fact they had filled the same forms out every time they went to register. “Now time for the literacy test,” Taylor said, laying three tests on the counter. He looked at the clock on the wall to his right, waiting until the little hand passed the twelve. “You have ten minutes to complete the sixteen question test. Failure to complete it in that time will result in failure. One wrong answer will constitute failure. Begin… now.” James looked down at the test in front of him. It was different than the last test he’d taken, they were scared of them remembering the questions between tests, but he knew the general nature of most of the questions: 1. Draw a circle around the first first letter of the alphabet that appears in this line. 2. Draw a line around the last word in this line. 3. Spell backwards, forwards …. 10. Write right from the left to the right as you see it spelled here. … 15. Multiply: 2x(2x-12) 16. Multiply: (7x+3)(2x+6) James finished the test and looked up at the clock. He had just a minute to spare. Will and Mrs. Tillman still had a few more questions to go. It was easier for James than the other two since he had managed to get a fair education at Alcorn State. Will had never finished school, and he wasn’t sure if Mrs. Tillman had even gone to school. He’d been tutoring them for the weeks leading up to the test, but James was seeing that it hadn’t been enough. “Time,” Taylor announced the moment the little hand finished its tenth lap. Will blew and shook his head at James. His test was two answers shy of being complete. Mrs. Tillman had finished, but James could see at least two wrong answers on her sheet. “Fail,” Taylor said when he saw Will’s incomplete test. “Fail,” he said after scanning Mrs. Tillman’s test. He picked up James’ test and started to look over it. James saw Taylor’s eyes darting down to something behind the desk every so often before looking back up at the test. From the way Taylor’s eyes moved, James figured he went through it two or three times before looking at him. “Fail. Y’all come back again.” “Wait, how’d I fail?” “You just did. Y’all come back in a month or two to take it again.” “Tell me which one I failed,” James said. He could feel his agitation starting to bubble up. “I mean, specifically.” “Alright…. Number… 16. The last one here, see?” “Yes,” James said polite enough. “My answer is right, or at least I think it is. I used the FOIL method, Mr. Taylor. That’s what I’m supposed to do there, right? What’s the answer?” Taylor looked at James like he had just insulted his mother. “Your answer is wrong. End of story. Now, y’all need to leave right now.” “Can you tell me the answer, Mr. Taylor?” James asked, again not raising his voice. “Or is that answer key you got behind that desk saying that my answer is right?” “Can you do the FOIL method, Mr. Taylor?” Will asked this time, keeping his anger in check. “Do you know what algebra even is, sir?” “Leave,” Taylor said softly. “Leave right now, [i]boy[/i], or I will call the sheriff’s office and we’ll see how much of a smart-ass you are when you’re spitting out teeth.” ***** “Bullshit,” Will roared once they were back in the pick-up truck. “Language,” James said, looking at Mrs. Tillman. “It is bullshit,” said the elderly lady. “Fucking bullshit is what it was. You’re the smartest man I know, James, and you’re sure as hell smarter than any of those white men that run the county, and they still won’t let you vote. Lord forgive me, but it is a damn tragedy is what it is.” James stayed silent while Will and Mrs. Tillman complained about their treatment at the registrar’s office. He focused on the road and thought about what he would say to Whitney and the boys, let alone look his youngest daughter Sarah in the eye. Sarah was taking classes at Alcorn State like he had, she spent many nights at his dinner table talking about social justice for negroes in the South. The boys and Whitney had let her be, but the way she spoke had motivated James into finally trying to register. To keep trying and keep failing… it just… there were no words. He headed home after dropping Will and Mrs. Tillman off. His pickup was loud enough going down the driveway that the whole family was there to meet him. He got out of the truck and shook his head as he walked up on the porch. “Daddy,” Sarah said softly. “I’m so sorry.” She hugged him and he felt like he was going to cry. “Don’t be sorry. Be mad, baby. I got everything right and they still wouldn’t register me.” “Really?” “Yes. They threw every trick they had at me and I beat them fair and square and they still told me to go home.” Sarah bit her bottom lip and stared at her feet. James knew that look well because both his daughter and wife made the same look when they thought of something and was unsure to say it. “What?” “A couple of my friends from school… we’re going to Jackson tomorrow night to see this man speak. He’s been traveling around the South, they call him the Ethiopian. He’s been talking about Negro rights. I want you to come and tell all the people there what’s happening here.” James found himself at a loss for words. He didn’t want to get up and speak in front of a bunch of folks. That wasn’t him, he wasn’t an agitator. He’d been keeping to himself for years, this foray into voting was not him… but he looked down at his daughter and he realized why he was doing it. He was doing it for her, for Matt, for David. “Sure. I’ll go with you and I’ll speak.” [b]Vancouver[/b] “Welcome to the Friends of Northwest Sovereignty.” Arthur looked around the small room. The dimly lit basement had a half dozen folding chairs in it, only half of those had people in it. There was Alex, a large man with a scraggly beard, and a petite redhead who kept a permanent playful smirk on her face. From upstairs, the distant thump of music reminded Arthur of the party going on upstairs. He had been there just a few minutes earlier, standing awkwardly in a corner until Alex found him. “What’s…” “We’re a political action group,” Alex said with a wink. “Joanna, Chris, and I were all in the same political science class and we just sort of came together, had the same views on a lot of things.” “And the name of the group? What’s that mean?” “What do you think it means?” grumbled Chris. “We want to see the NWC back as its own country.” “A few bad apples spoiled the bunch,” said Joanna. “Seattle was a tragedy, but it was also an excuse to further American imperialism. Our politicians and military erred by getting into the war but that does not mean we deserve to be forced into the United States.” Alex stood up and walked around the basement while he spoke. Arthur found he could not keep his eyes off him as he spoke. “We’ve tried to hold protest and boycotts on campus and around Vancouver, but nobody shows up and nobody cares. All they remember is the war and the collapse after the war. They don’t remember the good times, the strong times. They all prostrate themselves before the US in the name of getting government food and used television sets. ” Arthur felt his excitement growing as Alex spoke. For years now, he had felt the same way about the whole mess with the war and annexation, but he was too afraid to even breathe a word to anyone he knew. Now here he was, with people who felt the same way he did. They were young and passionate and sympathetic. “The time for us trying to do this our old way has passed,” Alex continued. “We need to get more dramatic.” “How?” Arthur asked. “In what way?” “Alex told us you’re an engineering student,” Joanna said. She leaned forward in her seat and brushed her long, red hair from her face. Arthur looked into her green eyes and felt a twinge somewhere. “We like you, Arthur… I like you. We want you to be part of our group… but we need help with something. We need you to build something.”