Chapter 176

“Don’t go getting offended my friend, I have much worse things to say to you.”
—Riley Amos Westbrook, Journey from Atremes

Cindy and I flanked Desi in the reception line after her performance Friday evening. Aside from some irregularity in the accents, I thought the production of Twelfth Night went very well and Desi had an opportunity to show off her comedic timing playing Maria that she wouldn’t have had if she’d been cast as Olivia. Behind us, the rest of our pod crowded close. Sophie and Brittany had hands on her shoulders as they massaged the tension from her.

It wasn’t the tension of the show. Approaching us was Ava Parrish, the director of theatre at the National School of the Arts. Mr. Henderson intercepted her when she was a few feet away and invited her to join him in greeting the leads, of whom he was very proud. He had Viola and Olivia in tow. Dr. Parrish was cordial and congratulated the girls while Desi stood between us shaking.

“If you will excuse me, Mr. Henderson, I need to speak to this young lady. You and your cast should all be pleased with the success of your production. Shakespeare can be tricky for a young cast. You certainly put it on stage.” Henderson was still thanking her and going on about how it would not have been successful without the effort of his leading ladies when Parrish turned her back on him and stepped up in front of Desi. Desi curtseyed to her.

“Welcome, Dr. Parrish,” she whispered. Parrish reached out and took both of her hands.

“I had to come and see you in something non-musical,” Parrish said. “We’ve been having a bit of a territory dispute at the school over whether you are an actress or a vocalist.” Desi’s mouth hung open. Dr. Parrish moved closer. “You overcame a good many directorial flaws with your performance, Desiree,” she whispered. “You should be very proud. At least it wasn’t Hamlet.”

“Thank you, Dr. Parrish,” Desi choked.

“You wouldn’t consider coming out to DC early, would you?” she asked.

“We are planning to be in Washington next week,” Desi said. “Jacob and I will take our NSAT at the Capital Testing Center.”

“Oh, yes. In fact, we have you scheduled to interview and audition Friday afternoon after your test. You got the information on what to prepare for your audition, did you not?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid I’ve been a little tied up with the show here the past few weeks but I’ll be prepared for the audition.”

“Good. Now what I was referring to was the possibility of you moving to DC before our second term begins in January. You would not need to start your service early if you wish to maintain the timing of your pod, but before then, there are things we can work with you on that will improve your blending with Marvel and Hopkins. You will become a force to be reckoned with on your own, not just as part of this fine company.”

“I ... January?”

“We can talk about it next week when you are at the school. I wanted to put the idea on the table so you can discuss it with your pod, as I know it is an important decision for all of you. Now, I’m sure you have a party to attend tonight and would like to get out of your stage makeup. You did a fine job tonight and I know we will have a great time at the National School.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I look forward to seeing you next week.” Parrish sidestepped around Henderson who was still hovering nearby and left. Desi sagged against Cindy and me.

“You might as well go to Washington,” Henderson growled at her. “I doubt you will be cast here again. I don’t have room for prima donnas in my productions.” He spun and walked away.

“What a jerk!” I said.

“Let’s get out of here,” Donna said. “There is, in fact, a party waiting for you at home.”

I felt like we were suddenly under intense scrutiny at school. I’d had a practice room assigned to me for first period all semester. It’s where I had mandolin and viol lessons, where Cindy and I met with Ms. Devine and practiced. This week, I had the room to myself for the entire day Monday through Wednesday.

We’d discussed the process in our pod and Donna made arrangements with the school. My big issue was missing school. I didn’t mind missing classes but it was too easy to get distracted at home alone. Or at home with Emily between her bus runs. I decided it would be more conducive to writing the report I was preparing to be at school. It would also show, to anyone who noticed, that I was indeed working and not just skipping school.

Mr. Richards had discussed the possibility of having all his senior constitutional government classes review the law and manual outline. When I sat in front of my computer with thirty annotated copies of the file, I was thankful he’d limited it to one class. They’d done a good job and had divided up the content so only two or three people were annotating any given segment. I needed to copy the relevant notes for each section into a single file that I could return to the commission Thursday afternoon. And it wasn’t just blindly copying what people had to say. I had to evaluate each note and decide if and how to incorporate it into the report.

In another practice room, Desi had been given the same time as me to prepare her audition material. Even though Henderson was the official head of the speech and drama program, he wasn’t the only one in the department. Desi got along great with her acting class teacher, Ms. Perkins, and was getting coaching during one period each day. The rest, she was on her own. I guess actors are used to preparing audition material on their own.

Getting the compilation of notes into the PDF file for return to the commission was only part of what I needed to accomplish this week. I wasn’t going to just read my notes on the 200+ pages of the file. I wanted to get a point across to the commission.

“It’s a good first draft,” Mr. Richards said after school Tuesday. “Will the commission let you present your case straight through or will they interrupt with questions?”

“The typical process when something like this is involved is that the expert witness—me—is allowed to make a presentation of up to thirty minutes, after which the panel asks questions or seeks clarification. Dr. Donahue said I should be prepared to defend my points but to keep my presentation under half an hour.”

“Good. My concern was that you would never get to your final point. In a setting where discussion comes as part of the presentation, you want to put your most important argument first. In an uninterrupted presentation, you put the most important thing last. This is, I assume, the most important thing you want to leave them with?”

“Yes, sir. We have to do something about this now. It can’t wait until the law is passed. It needs action now.”

“Good. Three points. One: Establishment of domestic rights for plural relationships nationwide and honoring them in service placement. Two: Establishment of volunteer service so service management is done by service personnel and not by outside organizations. Three: Immediately review the agricultural service conscripts and release everyone who has served more than six months unless they volunteer for extension. Provide psychological counseling, improve housing, provide drug abuse counseling, and provide advanced medical and psychological services for all members of the service who are in hard labor occupations, including agriculture, mining, forest and road construction and maintenance, and other physical labor occupations. Are we right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Let’s look at revising the words for your presentation to make them more compelling. Since this last point is the most important, I suggest you allot half your time to it and really hammer it home. They’ll expect the first one based on your family life. You won’t need to emphasize it as much. The second is the most technical and you need to make the points clear regarding who is doing the management of the National Service. This is some good research. Let’s start at the top.”

I was thankful for Mr. Richards’ help. We worked for two solid hours after school was out. By Wednesday night, I felt I was as prepared for the Thursday meeting as I could get. I got up early Thursday morning and ran ten miles before I showered and dressed. Desi and I headed for the airport and by noon we were in Washington, DC.

“Jacob, it’s good to see you again,” Governor Adamson said when we’d all taken our places in the meeting room. I was once again thankful for the number of times Mr. Richards had put Cindy and me behind a table like this while our classmates drilled us on what was in the manual. The difference was that everyone at each table had a microphone as the proceedings were to be recorded. Desi and I sat at the table facing the commission—or at least the members of the commission who would be asking questions. Behind us, there were a variety of spectators, which Dr. D told me were other commission members, their staff, a few congressmen, and some others who had a vested interest in the National Service reform. Dr. D herself sat on my right as my sponsor before the commission. It was good to have her on my side of the table instead of as one of my interrogators.

“Thank you, Governor. I know you don’t spend all your time in these meetings. I’m honored that you chose to be here for this session.”

“We’ll call this investigative session of the National Service Review Commission to order,” he said, tapping the table with a gavel. “Our session today includes Jacob Hopkins, known as the guitarist in Marvel and Hopkins. He is sponsored by Dr. Edna Donahue of the National School of the Arts. With Jacob is his pod mate, Desiree Whitcomb, also known for her vocal renditions in many Marvel and Hopkins performances. Jacob is among 500 persons selected across the country to review and comment on the first draft of the National Service Reform Act and the outline of the Operations Manual. Mr. Hopkins, the floor is yours. Please keep your initial comments under thirty minutes, at which time we will open the floor for questions.”

“Thank you, Governor. Commissioners and guests, I’m afraid I don’t know the names of those at the table or your positions other than by the placards in front of you, so I cannot greet each of you formally. I thank you for your consideration of my comments and review of the Reform Act and accompanying materials. I have submitted a copy of my review in electronic format which I am told has been distributed to all members of the commission. Since the comments are all embedded in the file, I will refrain from reading them to you. I’m sure you all have assistants who can read and will gladly summarize the contents for you.”

At least there was a little laughter at that. The commission, unlike the hostile environment of Senate hearings, had no political axe to grind, so they were allowed a sense of humor.

“I will mention that this was not a singular effort on my part. The material was reviewed by thirty members of my senior constitutional government class, who took their role very seriously. It was also reviewed by the twelve members of my pod. I want to thank each of them for their input. That brings me to the first point of my prepared notes.”

I’d practiced the presentation all afternoon Wednesday and half the night in my sleep. I knew the content, so I wasn’t tied to simply reading from the paper. If I had been, there’d have been no sense in presenting it. I could have just distributed it like I did the commented Act. But now I was off and into the material. I looked down the row of nine commissioners and took a deep breath.

Constitutional amendment twenty-eight and the enabling legislation that followed fundamentally disrupted the fabric of our society in ways no one anticipated. At least, no one who voted for the amendment. After eight years, we are only now seeing what that disruption has meant. Last year, we reached a point of zero population growth in the United States for the first time in our history. This was achieved through mandatory birth control for all teens from puberty until National Service was completed. Teen pregnancy prior to the National Service Act accounted for ten percent of all births in the United States. Further, teen mothers were informed that they would be separated from their children during their term of service. To many, this was heartrending. To others it was a relief from the burden of single parenting.