Happy Utopia Day, Joe McCarthy

Chapter 15

You’re not fooling anyone at all. 

—Senator Joseph McCarthy 

Cannonball and i walk over to stand by the Sun Devil Tours bus. College-age-looking kids walk out of the Oasis and meander lethargically toward us. They pay us no notice and climb onto the bus. 

A wheat stalk of a driver stands next to the bus. Cannonball talks to him and finds out the bus is headed to ASU. He bribes the driver with a couple of hundreds, and we climb aboard. College men and women are scattered about, their backpacks littering the empty seats around them. In the middle of the bus, Cannonball and I take the only two vacant seats that are together. The students ignore us. They lean against the window or their backpacks and sleep. 

The bus rumbles on, quiet but for the engine and the wheels running over the pavement. It has been two hours. A girl in blue jeans and a conservative pink polo shirt walks down the aisle handing out leaflets. “Tri-Delta, Alpha Tau Omega Spring Shooting Star Dance. Forty dollars a couple, twenty-five single. Proceeds to benefit the Greater Phoenix Big Brothers Big Sisters program.” 

She stops near us. “Gentlemen?” 

“We’re not students,” Cannonball says. 

“Really? I would have never guessed.” 

“And dancing is not our thing,” I say. 

Cannonball elbows me. “Speak for yourself.” 

The girl has long brown hair and a pure face. She hands us flyers. Her eyes sparkle with energy when she talks. “We take donations whether you’re a student or not.” She is at once beautiful and cute. A nostalgic pain grips me as I long for my college days. 

“And whether we dance or not?” I say. 

She laughs. 

I nudge Cannonball in the ribs. “We could make a donation.” 

“Oh, sure.” He reaches into his pocket for some money. He hands her a fifty-dollar bill. 

“Thanks. Very thoughtful of you,” she says. 

“Hope the dance is a success,” I say. 

“Me too. You guys live in Phoenix?” 

“No, we’re doing some recruiting at ASU,” Cannonball says. 

“Our rental car broke down,” I say. 

“Recruiting for whom?” 

Cannonball sits up straighter. He is still in his bartender’s tuxedo, sans bow tie. “Homeland Security.” 

“Are you looking for agents?” she asks. 

“Not this trip,” Cannonball says. “We’re interviewing for more technical positions. Programmers and such.” 

Her eyes open wide, and she does a little hop. “I’m a computer science major.” 

“When do you graduate?” Cannonball asks. 

“Next month.” 

“Anything lined up yet?” 

“Couple things in the works, but nothing definite.” 

Cannonball hands her a card. “If you’re interested, we’d be happy to look at your resume.” 

“Thanks. I’ll send it to you.” She turns and walks to her seat in the back of the bus.