Political Science 101

Chapter Thirty-Four

EACH PASSING lonely day brought a little more shame to the reflection that Ray Doyle saw in the mirror each morning and he prepared for each coming day in his humble Jefferson City apartment. Although he spoke to his wife daily on the phone or via video chat, he missed her terribly.

And yet, he couldn't shake his recurring thoughts of someone else. The way she spoke, the way she laughed, the way she smiled, the way she smelled; it seemed like everything about her made him feel so youthful and vibrant. Several weeks had passed, and there was no doubt in Ray's mind that they'd moved far beyond playful banter and now the majority of their alone one-on-one interactions were filled with blatant flirting. Neither of them said anything directly about this seamless change in the relationship motif, but no one needed to either. Often, their cavalier interactions would pause and a very loaded Mia Wallace/Vincent Vega "comfortable silence" would ensue.

In Ray's mind (without his immediate knowledge), there had been a distortion — suddenly, his subordinate assistant (who was nearly a decade younger than himself) seemed to be his social equal, and he began to view and treat her as though she was a peer, a friend, and perhaps more. Of course, the rational part of his mind knew he was married and had absolutely no business interacting inappropriately with Amber (or even flirting with her). But somehow, from his own distorted point of view, this unreasonable concept seemed perfectly reasonable. It was as though the context had context, the rationalities had rationalities, the excuses had excuses, and the distortions in his mind were clearly distorted.

Ray Doyle continued to stare-down his reflection, having paused in his daily morning routine. He shook head slowly at himself like a father scolding a rebellious teenager who came home after curfew. His rational mind was disappointed in his him, and it felt like his reflection in the mirror wasn't a reflection of himself, but rather, his rational and undistorted mind trying to remind him of what was appropriate, what was proper, and what was right.

But still, in the midst of all this reflective guilt, Ray knew his actions had not (yet) crossed any solid lines of propriety.

He shaved, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, dressed in his customary "business casual" attire which he often wore on Fridays such as this, and made his way to his office in the Missouri State Capitol Building. He tried to keep his mind on his to-do list for the day — with whom he would meet, phone calls he needed to make, who to ignore, etc. — but he couldn't; he just couldn't. His thoughts always seemed to circle back around to a beautiful young auburn-haired woman named Amber.

Ray's heart was at war with his conscience and his distorted perspectives — it was as though his heart was being attacked by some sort of demonic Cupid. His heart and soul loved his wife. His body and mind wanted Amber. Sometimes, Ray felt like two people — the man he knew he should be and the man he was lusting to be — and the version of him which seemed to always stare back at him in the mirror and scold him with his own facial expressions was a face of rationality which he desperately wanted to follow but ultimately tried to ignore.

He was filled with a youthful sense of excitement whenever they spoke of nonbusiness items, as if their daily conversations were a prelude to one of them asking the other to perhaps have a drink sometime. Of course, Ray's rational mind knew this was completely out of the question — then again, Ray wished he could use his rational mind more often instead of abiding by the desires of his distorted emotional perspectives.

In another life, perhaps they would have fallen in love.

But here and now — a politician and his assistant? The notion seemed so cliché and so wrong, it would easily end his short-lived political career before it even really got started.

However, he could never deny the way she made him feel. He knew if they ever had any kind of relationship, it would be 100% wrong and beyond justification. He knew this for a fact. But this sense of logic faded when she was around. Ray wondered if maybe he was addicted to her; addicted to that rush of endorphins which came with their face-to-face interactions, making him feel young and alive, lightyears away from "married with children and a career" life he lived now. Or, perhaps, he was simply addicted to the idea of her. Regardless, logic told him to embrace the family life he was living; distorted passion told him to seek the forbidden fairytale.

For Ray, it wasn't about sex. Yes, Amber was gorgeous and elegant and lovely, but nothing physical moved him toward her. Instead, it was the way she made him feel — not simply in-general, but rather, the way she made him feel about himself, his looks, his confidence, his ego, his intelligence; she invigorated him.

But it should not happen. It could not happen. And Ray prayed daily — to a God he hoped was listening — that nothing would ever happen between Amber and him. He desperately hoped God was listening, because he knew God was watching.

Ray entered the nearly-empty Missouri State Capitol Building as he always had, through the underground tunnel next to the octagonal security building, giving a familiar nod to the Capitol Security officers at the entrance. He needed to think, so he went to where he typically pondered his uncertainties while he was at work.

In the Missouri Capitol, on the third floor, the State House and State Senate chambers are adjacent from one another, each on opposite sides of the circular overlook beneath the Capitol dome. However, aside from the giant doors leading to the legislative chambers, the perimeter of this area was lined with busts of famous Missourians.

As a baseball fan, he liked the one of Stan Musial, his thinking spot was next to the bust statue of another famous man from Missouri.

"Man is the only animal who blushes. Or needs to," spoke the great Samuel Clemmons — Known throughout literary history as the immortal as Mark Twain. Just to the right of Mark Twain's mustached bust, around a short stone corner, situated next to a rustic-style standing lamp, stood a long wooden bench. This was where Ray often sat, leaning against the cold, smooth, stone wall.

This was where Ray often thought.

This was where Ray often lamented.

Sometimes in life, deep thoughts in silent rooms can solve a revolving carousel of problems. A person's intrinsic struggles can be resolved internally, but only with the sound of deep and subtle silence. Silence isn't merely "darkness, my old friend." Silence is the void people fill with possibilities; silence is the slate a person wipes clean with second chances; silence is the intersection of brilliance and foolishness; silence is the protagonist and the antagonist — Silence is the hero; silence is the villain.

For Ray, silence was the answer to the question he did not know would ever be asked For Ray — on this bench, in this building, under this majestic dome, adjacent to the subtle grin of Mark Twain — silence was what gave order to his chaos.

It was still early — before 8:30 — so the building was rather quiet. This was Ray's silence. He absorbed this silence. The one thing which helped him think was the simple act of closing his eyes, leaning his back against the stone wall, and breathing deep inhales through his nose. The building always seemed to smell like a museum or a library — the building smelled like history. Surrounded by countless painted murals in the building, he would sometimes walk the halls and appreciate the brilliant artwork throughout the hallowed halls of the Capitol. But today, he sat, in his spot, next to Mark Twain, knowing he was the only animal who blushed, or would need to.

Ray soon heard the conversations of Capitol employees as they entered the building. Everything echoed amongst the stone arches, walls, and pillars. The structure was regal and majestic, but also very befitting of the bygone idealism of true democracy. This building simply looked like democracy in an indescribable way — the same way the Vietnam Memorial simply looks like anguish in an indescribable way.

As he stepped into his office just before 9AM on that cool (but comfortable) spring Friday morning, Amber stood before him, ready to give him his daily itinerary, his daily to-do list, a freshly-brewed cup of cappuccino, and her beautiful golden smile.

Today would be a difficult day for Ray Doyle.