5
“HELLO?”
“Hello! May I please speak with Mr. Samuel Andresen-Anderson please?”
“That’s me.”
“Professor Andresen-Anderson, sir. I’m glad I reached you. This is Simon Rogers—”
“Actually I go by Anderson.”
“Sir?”
“Samuel Anderson. That’s it. The whole hyphenated thing is kind of a mouthful.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Who is this?”
“As I was saying, sir, this is Simon Rogers from the law offices of Rogers and Rogers. We’re in Washington, D.C. Maybe you’ve heard of us? We specialize in high-profile politically motivated crime. I’m calling on behalf of your mother.”
“Excuse me?”
“High-profile crime usually of a righteous left-leaning nature, you understand. What I mean is, did you hear about those people who chained themselves to trees? They were our clients. Or for example certain actions taken against whaling ships and then broadcast on cable television—that, sir, would be something right in our strike zone. Or a run-in with a Republican officeholder that’s seen by millions online, if you catch my drift. We defend political actors, provided the media coverage warrants it, of course.”
“Did you say something about my mother?”
“Your mother, sir, yes. I am defending your mother against the state’s action against her, having taken over the case, sir, from the Chicago Public Defender’s Office, you see.”
“The state’s action?”
“I’ll be representing her interests both in court and in the press at least until the fund runs out, which is something that maybe we should discuss in the future, sir, but not today, uncouth as it is to bring up money so early in our relationship.”
“I don’t understand. What fund? Why is she in the press? Did she ask you to call me?”
“Which of those questions, sir, would you like me to address first?”
“What is going on?”
“Well, sir, as you’re aware, sir, your mother has been charged with assault and battery. And because of the, well, let’s be frank, the overwhelming evidence against her, sir, she’ll likely be pleading and taking a deal.”
“My mother assaulted someone?”
“Oh, well, okay, let’s back up. I assumed you’d already heard, sir.”
“Heard what?”
“About your mother.”
“How would I know anything about my mother?”
“It was on the news.”
“I don’t watch the news.”
“It was on the local news, cable news, the national news, newspapers, wire services, and many of the comedy and talk shows as well.”
“Holy shit.”
“Plus, sir, the internet. The assault was widely circulated on the internet. You don’t check any of these outlets?”
“When was this?”
“Day before yesterday. It’s fair to say she’s reached viral status, sir. Meme status.”
“Who did she assault?”
“Sheldon Packer, sir. Governor Sheldon Packer of Wyoming. She attacked him with rocks. Several rocks, sir. Thrown rocks.”
“This is a joke.”
“I probably won’t be calling them rocks during the proceedings. More likely I’ll call them stones, or pebbles, or actually now that I think of it probably gravel.”
“You’re lying. Who is this?”
“As I said, I’m Simon Rogers of Rogers and Rogers, sir, and your mother is awaiting trial.”
“For assaulting a presidential candidate.”
“Not technically a candidate yet, per se, but you’re in the ballpark. It was on every news channel literally all day and all night long. You haven’t heard about this?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You teach a class, Intro to Lit. It meets for an hour twice a week, sir. I hope you don’t find it prying or intrusive that I have that information, but it’s right there on the school’s website.”
“I understand.”
“Because what I’m wondering, sir, is what have you been doing with the other approximately let’s say forty hours since this story broke?”
“I’ve been at the computer.”
“And this computer is connected to the internet, I assume?”
“I’ve been, you know, I’ve been writing. I’m a writer.”
“Because the national mood right now on this subject is like: Could we talk about something besides Faye Andresen-Anderson please? Total saturation, I’m saying, so I find it surprising, sir, that you’ve heard exactly zero about this, and it involves your own mother.”
“We don’t really communicate, she and I.”
“They’ve given her a catchy name: the Packer Attacker. She’s quite famous.”
“Are you sure it’s my mother? This really doesn’t sound like her.”
“You are Samuel Andresen-Anderson? That is your full legal name?”
“Yes.”
“And your mother is Faye Andresen-Anderson, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Who lives in Chicago, Illinois?”
“My mother doesn’t live in Chicago.”
“Where does she live?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in twenty years!”
“So you’re unaware of her current whereabouts, sir. That’s accurate?”
“Yes.”
“So she could be living in Chicago, Illinois, and you just wouldn’t know.”
“I suppose.”
“So the woman in jail is probably indeed your mother, is my point. Regardless of her current address.”
“And she attacked the governor—”
“We would prefer less loaded terms. Not ‘attacked.’ Rather, she was exercising her First Amendment rights using symbolically flung gravel. I assume from the keyboard clacking sounds I’m hearing that you are currently verifying this via search engine?”
“Oh my god, it’s everywhere!”
“Indeed, sir.”
“There’s a video?”
“Viewed several million times. It’s also been remixed and auto-tuned and made into a rather amusing hip-hop song.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“You should probably bypass the song, however, sir, at least until the wound is not so fresh.”
“I’m looking at an editorial comparing my mother to al-Qaeda.”
“Yes, sir. Most foul. The things they’ve been saying, sir. On the news. Most horrible.”
“What else have they been saying?”
“Maybe it’s best you see for yourself.”
“Why don’t you give me an example.”
“Tensions, sir. Tensions and passions are running high, you see. Because it’s being seen as politically motivated, of course.”
“And so they’re saying, what?”
“She’s a terrorist hippie radical prostitute, sir, to cite one very nasty but for the most part emblematic example.”
“Prostitute?”
“Terrorist hippie radical and, yes, you heard correctly, sir, prostitute. She’s being rankly abused, if I may say so.”
“Why are they saying she’s a prostitute?”
“She was arrested for prostitution, sir. In Chicago.”
“Come again?”
“Arrested, but never officially charged, sir, I think it’s important to add.”
“In Chicago.”
“Yes, sir, in Chicago in 1968. Some years before you were born and long enough for her to amend her ways and find God, is something I’m likely to argue if this goes to court. We’re talking about prostituting herself with sex, of course.”
“Okay, see? That’s impossible. She was never in Chicago in 1968. She was home, in Iowa.”
“Our records indicate she was in Chicago during a one-month period near the end of 1968, sir, when she was in college.”
“My mother never went to college.”
“Your mother never graduated college. But she was enrolled as a student at the University of Illinois–Chicago for the fall semester, 1968.”
“No, my mother grew up in Iowa and when she graduated high school she stayed in Iowa waiting for my dad to return from the army. She never left her hometown.”
“Our records indicate otherwise.”
“She didn’t leave Iowa until, like, the eighties.”
“Our records indicate, sir, that she was active in the antiwar campaign of 1968.”
“Okay now that’s definitely impossible. Protesting might be the last thing my mother would do.”
“I am telling you, sir, it happened. There’s a photograph. There’s photographic proof.”
“You’ve got the wrong woman. There’s been a mix-up.”
“Faye, maiden name Andresen, born 1950, in Iowa. Would you like all nine digits of her Social Security number?”
“No.”
“Because I have it, her sosh.”