Emmet
Mai came to stay with us the second Tuesday in March. It was a nice day, sunny and bright outside, and three trains had gone by already. There was still some snow, but it was in clumps on the grass, none left on the pavement. It was warm enough Jeremey and David and Darren and I could wait outside for Mai.
Jeremey was practically flapping when the car with Mai pulled up and she came out with her trainer. Jeremey went to her, crouching to let Mai welcome and comfort him. The trainer had taught me some things too, and I thought it was interesting to learn how some of the things that looked like simple dog kisses and hugs were actually Mai’s training. She’d been taught a lot of things specific to Jeremey: how to calm a panic attack, how to lead him away from too many people, how to get nosy people to stop bothering him, and how to lead Jeremey to The Roosevelt, or—my favorite—to me.
“Find Emmet” was a training module we’d spent several hours working on the weekend before, and we’d done training all over Ames. Mai is very smart—she can find me no matter where I hide, even if I’m quite a ways away. All she needs is my scent trail, and she can hunt me down. Another trick she can do is take a plastic booklet from Jeremey and flip to the right colored page, and there’s my picture and phone number and Workiva information on it. So if Jeremey is at Target and has a panic attack and wants them to call me, he can tell Mai get Emmet, and she’ll take the page to an associate and they’ll know to call me. Mai is incredibly smart.
Jeremey loves Mai so much, and he barely knows her. He cried each time they took her away to go get more training after her home visits, and today he cried as she came to him, though this time she was home, never leaving him again. But this is how Jeremey is. He has a lot of emotions, and he cries them out. I don’t mind.
We took Mai inside, and for the rest of the day we mostly stayed in the apartment and got to know her. I enjoyed having her around, but it was also strange. I was glad Jeremey had Mai, but it would take time to get used to having a dog around in my living space. I would have to vacuum more, I realized, and use more air freshener. Sometimes her breathing bothered me because it was loud. But she was also a beautiful dog, and she gave Jeremey so much happiness. It was nice to sit, all three of us on the couch, and be together like a family.
What surprised me the next morning was that I woke up and found a note from Jeremey saying he and Mai had gone on a walk. I was nervous about this because Jeremey doesn’t usually do well on walks alone. But when he came back, he had red cheeks and ears and a big smile.
“I did it. I didn’t run, but I walked all the way around Brookside Park. Even in the part on the trails. All by myself, with Mai.”
I was proud of him. “Weren’t you scared?”
“I was at first. But Mai was with me. When strangers talked to me and made me nervous, I gave her the signal they taught me to have her block strangers, and they left me alone. Except after a few times, I felt silly, because I realized no one meant to hurt me. So I stopped using the signal, and we simply had a nice walk, the two of us. But I knew I was safe. If I did need the signal, I had her.”
I held up my hand for a high-five, and Jeremey gave me one. Then I held up my hand to Mai. “Good job, Mai.”
She met my hand with her paw.
Jeremey started coming to work with us regularly now that he had Mai, and we were able to get more work done on The Roosevelt Project. We had important tasks to do now too. Then we met Linda Weaver, and our goals for the project shifted yet again.
Linda was a state representative, and she came to us one day in March because she’d heard about our model for assisted living. “My sister has severe cerebral palsy. She’s only forty, but she lives in a nursing home because we can’t find anywhere else to give her the care she needs. She should be able to be among her peers or at least be more involved in society, but we can’t find her a place. And yet Iowa is more interested in shutting down facilities than opening them. Meanwhile, here you are. What I love about The Roosevelt is so much of what you’re doing is led by the residents themselves. Bob built this place inspired by you, David, but you’re making it your own space. And now the four of you want to make more space for others like you. You’re the leadership we need in this state. I want to do what I can to showcase you. Will you let me do that?”
She’d asked all of us, and she’d looked a lot at David, but everyone turned to me when she was finished, as if they expected me to answer.
I hummed and rocked, and signed to Darren. Is she asking us to run for office?
Darren rocked a few times before he replied. I don’t think so. I think she wants us to help her with a project to help her stay in office.
Things began to make sense. I think this is the poster-child concept at work.
Possibly. We will need to ask her a number of questions. I have several I’m thinking of. I can write them down and you can ask them if you think she’ll take you more seriously.
I hummed and shook my head before signing a reply. No. If she doesn’t take you seriously, I don’t want to work with her.
Darren smiles are sometimes difficult to catch, but I noticed that one. Okay, he said, and then he began to make his iPad talk.
It took a long time for him to type, and sometimes he skipped a word or two to save time so the sentence was not quite right and a little choppy. But Linda Weaver didn’t seem to mind, and she was patient as she waited for Darren to ask his question.
“Why do you want help from us, when you’re the one who’s elected to a public office? Most of us haven’t been through college.”
Linda nodded at this. She smiled too, and it wasn’t the usual look people gave Darren, the one that said they thought he was the R word. “It’s a fair question. I’m asking you because, to be honest, I’ve been backed into a corner, and I need all the help I can get. I’ve talked to Bob and to Kaya, and I like the way you guys are approaching this issue. Plus I’m a big believer in having the people affected by the issues be represented in the issues. Much as I want there to be more persons with disabilities elected to office, there aren’t many in the statehouse right now. I want young, aggressive people such as you to help stand up for people like my sister, who can’t stand up for themselves. There’s some bad legislation about to come through the committee I’m on, worse than what we’ve seen already, if you can believe it. They want to award more contracts to private companies such as the ones that have made the mental health and nursing home situation so unbearable here in the state. They’re going to make it harder for places like The Roosevelt to exist. I want to stop that bill. I want your help to do it.”
My octopus got upset at the idea of more bad legislation happening, the shit crick getting thicker with more poop in it, but if Darren was upset, he managed his octopus well. All he did was type on his iPad until he could talk to Linda some more. “Will helping you get in the way of working on The Roosevelt Project with Bob and Workiva and Kaya?”
“Absolutely not. I’d make sure any efforts you made on my projects worked in tandem or were completely secondary.” I thought maybe Linda was proud of Darren, or pleased. “Please ask me any other questions, any of you, as many as you have. I’m happy to sit here as long as you need me to.”
She stayed with us a long time, answering Darren’s questions. About the bill being proposed, who had sponsored it, and what the specific ramifications where. He asked other questions too, but my octopus needed a break for some of it and I had to count some things in the room, though I did hear the part where he asked her if she knew of any contacts who could make our job easier. Linda said yes, she did, and she promised to email them as soon as she was back in her office.
Kaya was at this meeting too, but she didn’t say much, not until the end. She listened, letting Darren and Linda talk, sometimes taking notes. When it was over, she asked Darren if she could see him in her office.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked through his iPad.
She shook her head, not smiling exactly, but she had one of those unreadable expressions on, and it looked a bit like a smile. When the two of them disappeared, David laughed, one of his trickster laughs.
“She about shit herself through the whole meeting, her and the representative both, though I think Linda was more impressed than shocked.” David’s grin became wider. “People are always underestimating Darren. They all think he’s some dummy, but then he lets out his smarts and they don’t know what hit them. I bet you any money Kaya’s offering him a real job. And he’s not going to take it.”
I didn’t understand. “What do you mean, a real job? Darren has a real job. He’s working with you on The Roosevelt Project.”
“It’s a grant-funded project. It doesn’t have a long-term aspect to it, and he’s still tied to Medicare for insurance. She’s going to offer him something meatier at the company. But he’ll say no, because he believes in this. You haven’t heard the guy’s sermons on how awful Icarus is and how he doesn’t want anyone else to live anywhere else like it, ever. I get them every night, now that you’ve taught me how to read his DSL and he doesn’t have to hammer at his keypad. The Roosevelt Project is the only job he ever wants. Darren is committed.”
It turned out David was exactly right. Kaya did offer Darren a job at Workiva, and he did reject it for the exact reasons David mentioned. We sat together on the couch in my apartment that night after work while Jeremey and Mai went for a walk, and he signed passionately, rocking and grunting as he told me the whole story.
She wanted to give me a job in public relations, working with people online. It would have been a good job, and maybe I should have taken it. But I can’t now that we’re working on this project. I believe in The Roosevelt. I want to make it a real thing. I want to do what Linda Weaver said, except I want to make it a project for the whole country and the whole world. I don’t want anyone to ever feel like I did at Icarus ever again. I don’t know if we can make the project that big, but I’m not going to take a different job when I could maybe have a job where I was part of that change. It’s not what a Roosevelt Blues Brother would do.
This made me smile. I signed the Blues Brother sign to him, and he signed it back to me. It’s something we invented, Darren and me: two shakes, fist closed, then a fist bump together. Our secret code, our badge of honor.
We still need to make a new video, he added. I’ve been thinking of songs. But they have to be part of our campaign.
We kept working on the project, with Linda Weaver and on our own, writing our grants and setting up our proposals. We were scheduled to go before the Ames City Council, and we all rehearsed our part in our presentation. Jeremey and Mai were doing great too. I thought maybe when the meeting was over it might be a good time to make plans to ask Jeremey to marry me. I thought maybe once we were done with all the proposals I could make one of my own. We were big time Roosevelt Blues Brothers now, and everything was going to be amazing.
Or rather it would have been amazing, if it hadn’t been for RJ King.
RJ King’s full name was Ronald Jeremiah, which I knew because I Googled him, but he kept introducing himself only as RJ King, smiling at everyone and making them laugh. This was the first thing I noticed about RJ King, that he was good at getting people to like him, better than David or even my mom. He only sought out people in suits, especially men, and he tried to make them laugh. Also, RJ King didn’t wear a suit. He wore a cream sweater with three subtle patterns on it with a light-blue button-down beneath it, a pair of tan slacks, and a flashy gold watch that kept catching the light and making Darren jump in his chair.
Darren didn’t like him. I could tell from the video he watched on his iPad.
“RJ King. Executive Director, King Enterprises. A pleasure to meet you, sir.” He invited people to lunch, though some people he only offered to buy drinks. A few people he offered to take to the first football game in the fall, but he told everyone they should go golfing with him.
Whoever RJ King was, he cared about making friends with people in the room. I wondered if it worked. From the way everyone smiled at him, it seemed as if it might. I didn’t want to take that many people to lunch or to games because it sounded expensive and exhausting, but I told my brain to remember the strategy for later to see if I could revise it to an Emmet version.
When the meeting came to order, we all sat down, including RJ King, though he sat in front next to several people Kaya had told us were important. She’d explained the meeting to us, how a long part of it would be boring and we’d have to sit through it, but I wasn’t concerned. I sat through boring meetings all the time at Workiva. I knew how to listen and count at the same time.
The meeting was boring, but RJ King smiled the whole time as if it were the most exciting thing he’d ever heard. I listened harder, trying to decide what I was missing, but no, it was still boring. Though I supposed I hadn’t thought much about the way my city worked, all the things that went into government. I realized there were law books and city codes I could read and I would understand the rules of Ames better, and I made a note to look them up.
Finally we came to the part of the meeting where we were allowed to speak. Kaya went first, which was part of the plan. Kaya smiled as she went to the microphone in the center of the room, positioned so the ring of council members could see. She wore a pantsuit because she said it’s what powerful women she admired wore when they were serious about things.
“Good morning.” She nodded at the council. “I’m Kaya Kovanen, representing Workiva, who is sponsoring The Roosevelt Project. As you know, Workiva believes strongly in investing in the community, and through several of our employees whom you’ll hear from shortly, we believe this project is one of the best ways we can give back. I’ve provided a dossier for each of you detailing how we’ve already invested in this project and where we intend to invest in the future regardless of what the council decides. Please don’t hesitate to ask me any questions today or in the future. But for now, let me turn the presentation over to the real brains of the operation, our Roosevelt Project team members: Emmet Washington, David Loris, Jeremey Samson, and Darren Kennedy.”
Kaya mentioned my name first because The Roosevelt Blues Brothers had taken a vote and they’d decided I was the leader and should do the talking. I thought it should be David since he was Mr. Charmer and had better voice modulation than me. This had become an argument quickly, and in the end it was Darren who solved it.
“Each one of us has a disability that will make able-bodied people biased against us. There’s no point in selecting someone to speak for us based on which disability is most pleasing to the able-bodied people, and anyway trying to please them is counter to what we stand for. I vote for Emmet as our representative because this was his idea in the first place, and he’s the smartest. Plus he has a way of convincing people to do things they don’t want to do. I think this approach could be good.”
I didn’t think I convinced people to do things, but the others had all agreed with him, and so I was voted leader. Now here I was in my suit and tie, my hair nicely combed and all my social cards memorized as I crossed the room to where Kaya stood at the podium.
I told myself not to be nervous, but the octopus on my brain could never stay calm in front of all these strange people. I’d given presentations before, and I had some tricks I’d developed with Dr. North, but this was a unique situation. Of course, so were the circumstances that brought me here, and this was what I’d decided to use to feed the octopus today.
I know this is scary, I told it. But we need to get the council to listen so we can get the funds to help The Roosevelt Project get started, so I need you to rock yourself today. I will spend as much time in the sensory sack as you need later. Right now I need to convince these people I’m a leader. Work with me, octopus.
I know I don’t actually have an octopus in my head, that this is a metaphor my mom helped me imagine when I was little to help me visualize my autism. But sometimes, such as now, when I spoke to my octopus, I could feel the tentacles stroking the sides of my face, as if it were telling me it understood. I knew I would be okay, that I would do a good job.
As I crossed the room, I made a point to look at each one of the council members and smile, nodding. I’m aware I don’t do this gesture quite right, that I’m too deliberate, but I’ve calculated it’s less awkward to appear incorrect than to seem standoffish and not acknowledge people at all. Once I’d done this, I acknowledged Kaya too and stood at the podium, placing my hands on the wooden surface. Kaya had told me I could use the podium for notecards, but I had memorized my speech, so I didn’t need cards. I did, however, need somewhere to put my hands so I didn’t flap. I did plan to rock, but I’d practiced and I would do it subtly, mostly pushing back and forth with my hands. Only people on the sides would notice I was swaying, and they weren’t the council members.
“Thank you for having me.” I paused, smiling as I found an interesting pattern in the wall above the mayor’s head to focus on. “My name is Emmet Washington. I work on the Data Science team at Workiva, and I’m a liaison at The Roosevelt Project. Additionally, I’m a resident of The Roosevelt. I graduated from Iowa State with a double major in computer science and applied physics, but despite several offers from companies around the country I chose to remain in Ames because I wanted to remain near my family and my partner, Jeremey Samson, who is also a member of The Roosevelt Project and a resident of The Roosevelt.”
I paused, because we had all agreed a pause was right here in my speech. This is the thing about giving presentations. You have to have pauses and know your timing. It’s tricky. And don’t get me started about vocal intonations. But I designed a computer program to help me map the proper places for rise and fall, and once I memorized my technique, I was fine. I think I probably still sound somewhat artificial, but I’m a Roosevelt Blues Brother, so I’m hoping it comes off cool.
“I was attracted to Workiva because of the company and its work, but mostly I wanted to remain in Ames and live at The Roosevelt, and this was the company that allowed me to continue to do that with the best situation possible for me. What Bob Loris created is a unique and wonderful living environment for me and others such as me. It offers us a chance to not only be independent but to have agency in our lives. We aren’t second-class citizens shut away and forgotten, not at The Roosevelt. We are contributing members of this city, this state, this country. We hold jobs, participate in our community, and live our lives.”
It was time for another brief pause, and I used the moment to check the council members with my camera eyes. My octopus rocked happily, and I let myself hum softly under my breath. Yes, everything seemed to be going well. Which was good, because now it was time to deliver the part Darren had written, which, as my mom would say, had a knife in it. This means the words are pointed and direct, not that I am going to cut anyone.
“The problem is The Roosevelt is costly to run and expensive to live in. The vision I’ve painted for you just now is pleasant and ideal, but it’s a privilege only the wealthy can afford. Those in our community who need this kind of residential care but don’t have the means are being increasingly left out in the cold, and unlike those of us fortunate enough to be able to afford The Roosevelt, they are being treated as second-class citizens, particularly in light of decisions being made by the state legislature regarding closures of mental health institutions and bills being moved through committee that would award more contracts to private companies instead of allowing the state to run the facilities as it has in the past. While it’s true private companies are picking up the role the state was playing, by no means are any of them stepping forward at the level of The Roosevelt, not with any kind of quality of care. Abuse and neglect are increasing at public and private facilities, facts that members of our project team can personally attest to.
“The Roosevelt Project’s mission is simple: we wish to be a bridge between public and private efforts to offer residential care to communities like ours. We want to offer safe, positive, affirming living spaces in Iowa for adults, new adults in particular, who need extra assistance in their daily life. We want to help funnel both government and private funds to offset the cost so this kind of assisted living need not only be available to those who can hold down jobs or those whose families have enough income to afford the care throughout their lives. We want to encourage business models that mean there are few to none of these toxic, poorly managed companies promoting alienation and abuse.”
This time when I paused, I could tell I had the council’s attention. Some of them were interested and maybe excited and others were probably agitated. I couldn’t read faces well, not without looking directly at them and not while trying to contain my octopus, and anyway, I had to finish up. Thankfully I was nearly done.
I nodded at David, and as I continued to speak, he rolled forward. Jeremey came with him, and they worked together to hand out portfolio packets we’d prepared for each council member.
“In the proposals being provided to you now, you’ll find outlined a detailed prospectus of cost, analysis, and goals for our project. The request for the City of Ames is highlighted in yellow, but you’ll see also lines where we’ll be requesting money from the state as well. We will also continue to solicit funding from companies like Workiva and other private donors. The information for our charitable organization is in the back of the binder. We’re happy to answer any questions you might have, either today or in the future.”
This was the end of my speech, and I waited patiently while the council members flipped through the proposals David and Jeremey handed out to them. I rocked in place with my hands, which wasn’t always the most subtle of a rock, I have to admit. It had been a big speech, and my octopus was getting a bit out of hand. When the mayor leaned into her microphone and smiled at me, though, my octopus calmed enough to let me listen to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Washington. That was quite a testimony, and this is an impressive packet of material. I look forward to reviewing it in more depth when we’re out of session. While you’re all clearly motivated and capable, you haven’t run charitable organizations before. Do you feel you’re prepared to do this cause the justice it deserves?”
I wasn’t quite sure what she was asking, and my octopus began to get nervous. I glanced at David and made the sign against my cheek for him to take over. He came to the podium, though of course he couldn’t stand at it the way I did.
That bothered me. There should be a podium for people in wheelchairs too.
David motioned for Jeremey to hand him the mic, and he began speaking as if he’d planned all along to answer questions now, though Jeremey had to hold the microphone in place for him because his hand didn’t want to cooperate. “You’re right, we don’t have the kind of experience you reference, and no, we don’t intend to do this ourselves. You’ll see in the documents in front of you we have plenty of outside help, largely through connections my father has. But you’re talking with the four of us because we’re the heart of the program. We’re who we want you to see.”
Now I understood what she’d asked. I motioned for the microphone, and Jeremey passed it to me. “We want you to see not only the four of us and our passion and motivation but also our disabilities. We want you to see our autism and our quadriplegia and anxiety and depression and all the things that mean we need places like The Roosevelt. We want you to see me standing here trying not to flap my hands or rock, trying to modulate my voice and make eye contact and do all the things you find normal, doing all kinds of things to make you feel comfortable. To understand how difficult it is for us.”
I pointed at myself. “When I finish talking to you, what you think was such a good job will cost me so much I’ll have to go home to my apartment and zip myself into a bag in my closet and hum until the sensory overload goes down. I don’t mind, because this is important. But this is why I spoke instead of Kaya or one of the lawyers or the people who run the charity with more experience. They are all able-bodied. I am not. We are not. But because people in our lives have cared enough about us to help us, we’ve been able to do incredible things. What we are asking is why not care enough about more people in Ames so they can do more incredible things?”
“Or even everyday things.” David spoke without the microphone, but he didn’t need it. “Able-bodied people aren’t expected to do superhuman feats each time they walk out the door. It should be enough to simply exist. We could start with ending abuse and neglect and giving everyone a more level playing field. We shouldn’t have to tell you we want to cure cancer to get a few extra bucks. We should be able to say we just want to be able to ride the bus like the other citizens in the city. To enjoy life the way everyone else takes for granted.”
This was true. I hummed quietly before lifting the microphone. “Yes. It’s about the same chance as everyone else. The Roosevelt didn’t get me a job or a boyfriend or any opportunity. It only helped me achieve my goals. The same as the privilege of able-bodied people does every day. This is all we’re asking for: a leveling of that privilege.”
Kaya had moved into the line of my camera sight, and she made our private sign for Emmet, stop talking now, so I stopped talking. The council regarded each other, a few of them whispering. I couldn’t read their faces, but David seemed happy, so I decided it was good.
But as I said. RJ King was there.
As the council whispered, he stood, slowly. When the mayor saw him standing and asked if he had a comment or question, RJ King held his hand out to Jeremey. “Would you pass me the microphone, son?”
I didn’t like the way RJ called Jeremey son. I didn’t like how he called himself initials, or that his real name was so similar to Jeremey’s, as if he’d stolen it somehow, but I didn’t want to think of him as King or Mr. King either, because then it was as if I’d crowned him emperor of Ames or something. Except King was better than RJ or anything else, so it was what I went with.
Jeremey passed King the microphone, walking over to him and handing it to him. King held out his hand, smiling at the council now, and they smiled back at him.
“Well, that was certainly a wonderful speech, and before I say anything else, I want to thank these boys for coming out and standing up for such a worthwhile cause. Well done, gentlemen.” He winked at all of us, then turned to the council, his expression changing to something more serious. “Having said this, I want to caution the city against rash involvement in such ventures as these young men are proposing, however well-intentioned.”
A man stood up from the seat beside King, holding a stack of folios similar to ours but with better folders and design. He passed them out to the council members as King kept speaking. “Inside this document you’ll see King Enterprises’ research on how much the The Roosevelt Project would cost long term, and as you’ll note, the drain on the city is substantial.”
Kaya stood too, walking to the man passing out folios. “I’ll take one of those, thank you.” She snatched one from the man and flipped through it. Her face became complicated. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or scared or both. “Where is your documentation for this?”
“The appendix.” King smiled at her, and I decided I hated his smile.
“We want to see one of those too, please.” David had been the one to ask for the document, but when the assistant handing out folders gave him one, he passed it to me instead.
I examined the notes, wishing I could hum to get rid of some of my nerves, letting myself rock slightly in place as it was impossible to stand there and do nothing. There were a lot of facts and figures in the document, a lot of tables meaning nothing, so I went right to the appendices. At first they upset me quite a bit. I worried King was right, there was no way The Roosevelt Project would ever be able to turn a profit for anyone.
Then I looked more closely at the numbers in front of me, and I began to hum.
As Kaya and King argued and the mayor tried to bring order to the meeting, I let the octopus out, let it curl its tentacles around the edges of my mind. The numbers are wrong, it kept telling me, and I knew it was right. I didn’t know how yet, and if people would stop yelling, I could find it, but I knew they wouldn’t stop yelling. I needed my sensory sack, my own space, but I couldn’t have it, not right now.
Jeremey came up beside me, not touching me but sitting on the other side of me, coming close enough to block out some of the bad feelings from the front of the room. Soon David closed in on the other side, pushing a chair away to roll his into place.
“You found something, didn’t you?” David didn’t whisper, but he kept his voice low.
I nodded, still rocking. “It’s too loud in here.”
Jeremey touched my leg briefly. “Do you want to leave?”
I shook my head. “We can’t. If we leave, he wins. I need to find his bad math while we’re here in the room. Before the meeting ends. But I can’t get my brain octopus to behave.”
Darren appeared in front of me, blocking out the last line of sight of the meeting. He signed to me. Let us be your sensory sack. We’re your Blues Brothers shield. Tell your octopus it’s safe with us. See if that helps, and try again.
I wasn’t sure this plan would work, but it was worth a try. I shut my eyes and let the octopus out, told it what Darren had said. I could still feel Darren and David and Jeremey around me, and I let the octopus feel them too. We’re safe with them. Let me be calm here so I can work out this problem and save The Roosevelt, please.
I waited to see what the octopus would do.
It didn’t move right away, but it did move. It didn’t believe that The Roosevelt Blues Brothers were the same as a sensory sack. But the octopus liked the Blues Brothers, and it did trust them, and after a minute or so, I felt it calm down.
You can work now, it told me.
Letting out a breath, I checked the numbers once more.
With my octopus off my brain, I found what was bothering me in ten minutes. The discrepancy wasn’t a mistake, not technically, but the information King had given wasn’t accurate, and it was enough that I knew it wasn’t right to present things the way he was. I started to explain it to David, but I didn’t get far before he stopped me, had Jeremey get the microphone from the mayor, and then I was at the podium again, no more Roosevelt Blues Brothers buffer, rocking my octopus as I tried to explain what I had seen.
“The appendices Mr. King uses are quite thorough, and his math is technically accurate. However, I disagree with the way he figures his calculations. As you can see on page twenty-five, paragraph three, he uses a low estimate at a critical place, an estimate so low it is almost an error. This is acceptable as a hypothetical option for the projection of one outcome for the project, but to offer this as a singular vision is narrow-minded and a departure from reason. To use this low figure in this formula at this juncture affects all the other totals and implies the project is never viable, which is not the case if you use a median estimate. But this isn’t the only place where they use a low estimate, either. Throughout their program it’s clear they use low estimates whenever possible, thereby skewing their results.”
King laughed, but the sound was loud and sharp and made me jump. “I assure you, there’s nothing wrong with our projections. It’s natural for you to be upset, young man, when the facts prove you can’t get what you want, but this doesn’t give you the right to stand up here and invent fictions. You couldn’t possibly look at those complicated reports and understand anything to the degree you’re talking about.”
“There are a number of things wrong with your projections. I have my laptop with me and can show you, though it will take me about a half an hour to write the program, and I’m not sure the council wants to keep the meeting going while I do that, so I might have to bring the program to you after. And I can read complicated reports and understand them. It took me longer than normal because it’s so loud in here, but I was able to see how the calculations were put together. It’s only math. Math isn’t complicated. It’s only numbers and calculations. I love math. I’m exceptional at it. I’m good at assessing data too. It’s my job at Workiva. It’s what I do all day long.” I stared at the folder, because I didn’t want to look at King or the council anymore, not even with my camera eyes. “As I said, it would be one thing if this were one projection beside a more median-based formula. The best arrangement would be three lines, a conservative line such as this one, a median line representing an average, and a positive line representing an ideal. This is in fact a very good formula. I’ve memorized it now and could use it produce the median and positive lines for you by this evening, though I would rather give it to you tomorrow so I could spend tonight in my sensory sack and with my boyfriend. It’s been a long day.”
King laughed. “You memorized the algorithm we used to make those calculations? By reading it? Be serious. You’re taking the game too far.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Darren signed, Tell it to them. Show them your brain. Tell them the formula.
I thought his request was strange, because they wouldn’t understand the formula at all, and I couldn’t possibly show them my brain, that would be disgusting, but Darren is smarter about these kinds of things than me, so I told them the formula King Enterprises uses, reciting it out loud until Kaya stopped me, explained most people didn’t know what those symbols meant, and would I please use the marker board, so I did. I didn’t care for the way people were looking at me, because they had strange expressions on their faces, but once I was at the marker board it was easier. My octopus got nervous, but I reminded it The Roosevelt Blues Brothers were with me, and it didn’t go crazy.
When I finished, I felt as if I’d run for miles. I was tired and my arms felt heavy. I wanted to go home. I wanted my sensory sack. I wanted to sit on my couch with Jeremey and Mai and listen to trains. I didn’t want to ever go to a city council meeting again. But it seemed it had been a good thing to do, though it exhausted me.
The mayor was staring at me, but I could tell the expression on her face meant impressed. “I believe the council has some investigating to do on this matter before we make any decisions. But, Mr. Washington, yes, I’d be interested in seeing those median and positive lines, whenever you have the leisure to produce them.”
I couldn’t speak. I was so tired. I found Jeremey’s hand and squeezed it hard.
Jeremey squeezed back, and he spoke to the mayor for me. “We’ll get them to you as soon as we can. Thank you.”
I looked at Kaya, who was smiling at me like nobody had ever smiled at me before. But I also looked at RJ King, who wasn’t smiling at all.
I had won this battle, I knew. But I had also made myself an enemy, and I had a feeling the next time I met him I would need more than math to take him down.