“Is everything okay?” I say and then I say “I’m just here with my baby” and he looks toward the back of the car where Honey is very quiet, sensing unprecedented currents in the air and he hands me a piece of paper and says “Ma’am, we’ve occupied this land for the State of Jefferson, the fifty-first state of the United States of America to be governed by the Constitution drawn up by the founders of the Republic” and I look slack-jawed down at the paper and read “PROCLAMATION OF INDEPENDENCE” and say, “Oh. Okay, well I’m just trying to get back to Camp Cooville, we’re meeting a friend there” and he says “Well ma’am I’m afraid right now we’re in Phase One which is securing our borders, so I’m going to have to ask you to turn back until that Phase is completed” and I say “Well how long is that going to be because our friend is ninety-two years old and she’s alone and it’s pouring rain” and I can tell he hasn’t prepared for this particular very specific contingency and he looks somewhat apologetic and the first car in the line ahead of me is turning around and driving slowly past and I see a resigned-looking elderly man at the wheel and then the next car after him drives off the road and turns around to line itself up with the fucking blockade and the man leaning into the window of the car in front of ours appears to be having a lengthy conversation and I’m looking around through the rain to see are there any police officers here any firemen what is the fucking deal and I look at the group huddled behind him and I see, can it be, yes, it is Cindy fucking Cooper and I crane my neck out the window and stare. “Excuse me sir.” I look back at him. “I actually see my neighbor Cindy there” feeling like maybe I can get on top of this situation and he looks behind him in surprise and I say “Cindy Cooper. From Altavista. Do you think I could talk to her?” and while he’s still looking behind I yell “Cindy. Cindy Cooper” and she peers out from under her hood and makes her way over to the car. “I know her, Jeff,” she says. Behind her I see what looks like Ed van Voorhees detach himself from the group and follow.
“Cindy, what is going on?” And she says “He told you, didn’t he” and gestures at the paper. “Phase One.” She has a determined look and an honest-to-god smile on her face. I know it’s a kind of worldwide luxury to find this situation maddening and ludicrous rather than truly terrifying but seeing Cindy’s familiar face I can’t fully believe that it is real. “But what about the vote you were so happy about, um, two days ago? I thought now the Board submits the petition or whatever, to the state” and she says “Some of us decided we’re sick of waiting, we’re sick of hearing what we owe the BLM to graze on our lands” and I hear the phrase “our lands” come out of Cindy from San Bernardino’s mouth and I start to feel afraid. I say, “Well okay, but I have to get through. That old lady? The one from Altavista?” and then I realize Cindy’s never seen her, has no idea who I’m talking about and I start over and say “There’s a very old woman I dropped off at the Cooville Camp this morning and I’m supposed to pick her up at one-thirty at the latest, and it’s pouring rain and there’s no shelter there or anything for her” and Cindy pauses the wheels turning in her brain and I say “Please, please just let me through so I can get her” and then she looks behind her at the men and shrugs and says “Like he said, got to secure the borders before we can do anything else” and I feel my heart racing again and I say “Are you saying I couldn’t get in to go back to Altavista to my own property?” and she says “Well we’re letting residents in but you’d have to go east and enter down closer to the state line. I mean the California one. We don’t want a lot of unnecessary people inside the borders right now unless you’re ready to join up with us.” I think this is so stupid and I am suddenly beside myself and I yell “CINDY SHE’S NINETY-TWO YEARS OLD SHE COULD DIE OUT THERE” and I have never yelled at anyone in my adult life other than Honey sort of and Honey starts crying in the back and I say “I don’t know what to do” and Cindy says “I don’t know what to tell you” and I think I have to try harder.
“Are you telling me that you’ve sealed every road between here and Sierra County? There aren’t even that many people in your whole goddamn movement!” and she looks a little beleaguered and says “We’re targeting key roads around the border counties” and I think okay so I can probably get there another route and the fact that they are doing this for what amounts to a pointless symbolic gesture makes me so furious I wish I knew how to punch someone because I would reach out of this window and clock Cindy except her friends would probably shoot me. I feel something rise in my throat something I know is bad and I say “I don’t know where the fuck you came from but my family has lived up here for five generations and a bunch of fucking rednecks aren’t going to break up the goddamn state of California” and god help me it feels just like the feeling of squeezing a tantruming baby’s arms too hard, something horrible horrible but almost delicious and she says “Bitch you don’t live here and you need to go back where you came from” and moves toward the car and my violent urge deflates and I think I’ve made a mistake and I put the car in reverse zip backward do an ugly humiliating three-point turn and think Please don’t shoot us through this car window and I speed away in the rain with my shoulders up to my ears but there is no bullet no sound of Honey screaming and then I think what if Engin was here and thank god thank god thank god he isn’t here and then I think Alice Alice Alice oh my god and once I’ve raced around the turn and find a shoulder pull over and I look at my signalless phone and try to call 911 just like I’ve read you should and nothing happens so I turn the wheel to get back on the road crying and hyperventilating along with Honey. I have a deep horror of being unpunctual under the best circumstances but this is real, this is so much worse, and I feel pinpricks all over my skin thinking about what is happening to Alice in this downpour but I also know that if I drive in this state in this rain I am going to get in a car accident and Honey is facing frontward and so will be more likely to be killed or maimed and I have to calm down and I try to take deep breaths, try to say soothing things to Honey “It’s okay sweet pea, everything is okay, everything is going to be fine. It’s okay, it’s okay” and breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth which is a tactic I have developed from my hours on the phone with the National Visa Center and I turn around to face Honey who is sniffling and I hold her moist small hand in mine and give her a big smile and she looks at me so reproachfully and says “Wah” and I put my hand on her cheek and wipe tears and then I make my hand into a little pincer with two ears and dart it toward her like a puppet and first I think she is going to cry more but then she laughs and I think Okay. I look at the soggy paper in my lap and read aloud to her and after “PROCLAMATION OF INDEPENDENCE” it says “The citizens of the State of Jefferson hereby state their intention to secure the borders of the 51st State of Jefferson which will be governed according to the United States Constitution” and farther down there are a list of things and one of them is “You are driving parallel to one of the greatest areas for copper and other mineral mining in the western United States which the citizens of Jefferson have been systematically denied access to through unwarranted federal and state regulations” and Honey is looking at me curiously and I say “This is nonsense” and I thrust the paper onto the passenger seat and feel my breathing slow to normal and give Honey a squeeze and pull back onto the road driving the Buick as fast as I can and feel like the brakes will still work and trying to think positive thoughts about Alice.