RED AND OTHER members of the Progressive Student Alliance were hanging out on Goodwin Green, an open space near the center of Devon’s campus. It was surrounded by ancient elms, now showing the slightest hint of cooler weather to come. The group sat down on a spot where the grass hadn’t been worn by Frisbee throwers.
“I’ve got a hacky sack, if anyone’s into it,” Robbie Ochoa said.
“Dude, don’t be such a cliché,” Red said. “No one’s played hacky sack since the Clinton administration. Besides, I have something better. He pulled out a cellophane wrapper and carefully unfolded it.
“Gummy bears?”
“Special gummy bears, from Colorado, where this particular kind of gummy bear is perfectly legal. Mock not, or I will not share.” Red passed around two gummies to each person. “In these, we will find inspiration.”
“Do we eat both at once?” someone asked.
“Live for the day, man,” Red answered, popping them into his mouth. They all followed suit.
Gaia was staring into the distance, as if looking for something. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Lie back, it will come.”
“I don’t feel anything, either,” Gabe Amato said.
“Hey, dumbass, we just took them about thirty seconds ago. Just shut the fuck up and let it come.”
“I feel like you’re being a dick, Red,” Gaia said. “Remember your first year here? I think people were playing hacky sack then.”
Red ignored her. They lay in silence for a bit, trying to discern any shift in their perceptions.
“Wait, I think I feel something,” Robbie offered, looking at the sky with increasing curiosity.
“You guys act like you’ve never been high before when, really, it’s been what, eighteen hours?” said Red.
“Never done magic gummies, man,” Gabe said.
This prompted giggling.
“Let your minds go, my brothers and sisters, and imagine our future together. The PSA will rise up and be a feared presence on this campus. We will make them listen.”
“Listen to what?” Gabe asked, still staring at a cloud, one that now looked a great deal like a friendly clown.
“To what? To the plight of the oppressed. To the will of the people. To every brother of color who’s been gunned down by the blue and every sister ever held down by the old boys and their patriarchy. To every lake and every tree that’s ever been poisoned by big corporations at the altar of mammon. To every gay, lesbian, queer, trans, bi, or questioning person struggling with their identity. To every Muslim brother, afraid of being attacked by fascists for their beliefs. To our giant fucking megaphone that will allow no sleep as long as we live in a society that oppresses the less privileged.”
There was a pause as they took it in.
“Shit, man, could we just maybe pick one of those?” Robbie asked.
“Red’s big-picture, Robbie. Focus is not his strong suit.” Gaia’s voice had a curious edge.
“We need to do it all, to address the entire matrix of oppression. But Robbie’s right. We start small—and build. We need to sow the seeds of chaos, only then can we tear down the prevailing order. My friends, this campus is asleep, and we are the alarm clock.”
“Testify!” Robbie cried. Gabe made a trilling noise like an alarm clock, which drew some giggles. At that, the group fell silent for a time, focusing on the changing cloud patterns. They swirled and danced against the blue sky.
“Man, you guys should have seen Gaia sticking it to this prof the other day. English 212,” Gabe said, breaking the spell.
“Thanks for noticing, Gabe,” Gaia said.
“What are you talking about?” Red asked, only faintly interested. He was more interested in the chimerical effects of THC, descending on him like a pleasant fog.
“I feel like it’s a class about white supremacy,” Gaia said. “I mean, we don’t read any writers of color. I said something about it, and this dick totally blew me off.”
“True dat,” agreed Gabe. “You guys ever read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn?”
“I don’t know … in eighth fucking grade maybe? Why?” Red said, still trying to decide if he was interested in the conversation. The fog beckoned.
“We’re reading it for class. Book’s a piece of work.”
“Why?”
“The N-word is all over it. Like, every page,” Gabe said.
“Fuckin’ A it is,” Gaia added.
“Seriously?” Red was still trying to remember if they’d read Huckleberry Finn back at the Buckley School.
“Seriously, bro. Book’s a trigger fest.”
Red sat up, willing the fog away. “You have a copy?”
“Sure as hell.” Gabe rolled over and fished the paperback out of his backpack and tossed it to Red.
Red flipped through it, pausing to read different passages. “Who’s the prof?”
“Russell, something Russell.” Gabe, once again supine, was trying to make out the shape of a particularly vexing cloud.
“Never heard of him. White dude?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Tenured?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Well, how old is he?”
“I don’t know. Thirties, I guess?”
Red grew excited. He needed to get in touch with Jaylen Biggs over at the Afro-American Cultural Center. “We’re going to bring the Struggle home. It’s Organizing 101. There has to be a target, and the target needs a face.”