by K. S. Lindsay
Jason smacked his palm to his forehead. What had he started? He hadn’t known his stupid comment would be taken so seriously. But it couldn’t be as bad as it sounded, could it?
“If we are going to boycott we must do so formally,” Tina stated from the other end of the table. “If we just don’t show up, it will be seen as an unexcused absence, not a statement.”
Jason, his hand still stuck to his forehead, stared at the Orange Community Council’s President in disbelief.
He started to speak, but when Tina nodded to acknowledge a hand-raise from another Board Member, Jason remembered proper protocol. His right hand slid down the side of his face while he raised his left, as he endured the other comments.
“Our absence will make a statement whether we do or not, but who would we send a letter to?” Jerry said, after being given permission to speak. “I think it should go to the other organizations, but also to the city, so that they know of this awful oversight.”
“Definitely to Councilmember Michaels,” Tim jumped in, “and the Mayor’s office.”
Tina gave permission to speak to a Council member, one of the residents that sat in one of the chairs ranged around the room – like an audience. Jason liked to think of them as an audience, to keep from slouching or fidgeting too much. The member spoke, “We don’t want to get the city involved until we hear the response to our complaint, do we? It seems kind of extreme.”
Jason kept his hand raised but looked at the speaker, nodding enthusiastically. Extreme? You better believe it.
“Jason?” Tina said.
“I never intended to start this,” he stated earnestly, looking the other Board Members in the eye, “it isn’t a big deal, you know. I’d probably have skipped the meeting even if they’d picked another location.”
No one returned his gaze. The old woman, Mrs. Stokes, did glare back, but Jason wished the others would smile and laugh, and tell him they were just kidding. They must be kidding.
“It is a big deal,” Tina responded, shaking her finger to underscore her points. “They need to know that they can’t discriminate this way. It isn’t appropriate in this day and age.”
“But the building is over 100 years old, I think.” Jason said, and felt himself stepping on to slippery ground so he went another way, “Regardless, it isn’t a public meeting, just a pre-meeting. Why can’t it be held at Orange Coffee?”
“They need to think of others,” Tina stated, and got nods from around the room.
“I’m sure they never intended not to. The coffee shop is just convenient,” Jason said, smiling.
No one returned his smile.
Tina acknowledged another raised hand, and the conversation rolled on to details about the letter they would write. Jason’s hand had slowly slid down his face until it cradled his jaw. He gazed around the room, trying to figure out how to fix the mess he had created.
He never intended to go to any meetings, particularly not the pre-meeting, about the playground. He really didn’t give a damn about it. He agreed, like everyone, that the playground needed to be updated, and he figured that he and Elizabeth would give some money when fundraising began, but he had less than zero interest in discussing design or playground equipment or colors, etc. It sounded like a total snooze-fest.
He raised his hand again.
They were discussing exactly how strongly to word their demands for inclusion, and to select meeting locations accessible to all. Then it happened again – someone insisted they warn of legal action.
Jason’s hand dropped and he stared around at the faces of the OCC Board of Directors seated at the table with him. He looked to see a face crack, a smirk or a giggle escape. They couldn’t seriously be considering suing the A.L. Knight P.T.S.A. or the Orange Business Association over this? Could they?
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” the Board President said, “after all, if they don’t act, we will be forced to file some sort of lawsuit. What do you think, Tim?” Tim, an actual attorney, was always deferred to in cases of law.
Jason reeled, mentally and physically, as he’d slapped his hand against his forehead and threw himself back in his chair in defeat – and felt his chair jerk backwards slightly. He instantly remembered why he was not supposed to throw himself around, or fidget, while at meetings in this room. The hardwood floors, always kept finished and polished to a high-gloss, could cause him to roll from the table unexpectedly if his brake came loose. He checked the brake on his wheelchair and sat up properly, like the occupational therapist always insisted, completely fed up but ready to try one last time.
He raised his hand, and gritted his teeth as the wording on the letter got finalized. Tina recognized him after they’d agreed to send the letter to the Mayor’s Office, but not the Councilmembers.
“This is not necessary,” he stated in as firm a voice as he could manage. “I had no intention of attending this meeting anyway, even if the coffee shop didn’t have stairs. Threatening the Business Association over discrimination for not choosing a wheelchair accessible location isn’t necessary, and could just end up causing other problems,” Jason pleaded. “They’re our neighbors, not the enemy.”
He was surprised that it was the newest addition to the Board who responded. “But don’t you see,” Meg said, her voice echoing the strident tone he’d heard the others using, “this isn’t about you. This is about the others, and giving everyone a chance to participate in the public process.”
“Exactly,” Tina said, smiling at Meg.
“But it isn’t a public meeting,” Jason said, his voice getting drowned out by those wanting to support Meg. “I thought the meeting was just for the Boards Members of the Business Association and the OCC and the PTSA,” Jason asked the room, raising his voice slightly. It didn’t work.
Tina was gesturing for quiet. “Well, I think we all agree a strongly worded letter needs to be written,” she said, “Tim, can we count on you to write it?” She smiled at the lawyer.
Tim looked back at her in obvious confusion, “No, I can’t agree to do that. I’m still working on that suit over the development, and I have a heavy work load right now. I assumed you would do it.”
“Oh, well I can’t.” Tina said, “Who do we have to take this on?” She looked around the table.
Jason sat up straighter. He noticed the face of the secretary turned away, her eyes glued to her notes. As he glanced around at the rest of the table, everyone either looked away or at the others.
“What about you, Jason?” Tina asked, “I know you aren’t in total agreement on this issue, but you do know the matter best of all of us.”
What the-, Jason started to think, then stopped. Elizabeth didn’t like him swearing. He smirked instead. “No,” he said, loudly and firmly.
Tina gave him her little glare, the one he’d decided months ago – when she’d used it on others – was meant to say, ‘why can’t you just play nice?’ He grinned back.
“Well, I guess we will just have to table this matter for now. We need to get on to other items…,” Tina announced in a huff, then paused. Sometimes someone would finally give in and volunteer, but no one did.
Jason sat back, carefully, resisting the urge to fold his hands behind his head. He thought briefly of bragging to Elizabeth about his victory when he got home, then his delight deflated slightly. His wife thought these meetings were petty and a waste of time, and this wouldn’t improve her opinion. He shifted in his seat, and tried to distract himself from his problems at home with the new discussion before the OCC.
Here we go, he thought, crosswalks. They were talking again about the need for a new crosswalk – something he could eagerly get behind, and grow passionate about. Jason sat forward, ready to be a supportive, team player this time.
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©2014 Kirby Lindsay. This column is protected by intellectual property laws, including U.S. copyright laws. Reproduction, adaptation or distribution without permission is prohibited.