“Do people really act like the children did?” one of the ladies asks. “In such a short amount of time too. I can’t imagine turning into savages.”
“I suppose they could,” Mrs. Richardson says with a frown. “Take away all the constraints of society and lawfulness and what are you left with? Anarchy and chaos. Order is needed in any world to maintain a balance. You take that balance away, you run the risk of bedlam. Think about it. Here, if we didn’t have the order that we did, Amorea wouldn’t be pure.”
“What balance do we have here?” Mike asks. He rarely participates in these discussions, more inclined toward being an observer, but Mrs. Richardson doesn’t even bat an eye.
“The people, of course,” she says, as if the answer is obvious. “We govern each other, with no one person given authority over the other.”
“There’s Willy,” Mike says, but it doesn’t mean much.
“Bah. He saw more excitement showing up today after everything was all said and done than he has in years. We’re all equal here, Mike. Which is why nothing devolves and Amorea remains as it does. We aren’t morally bankrupt because we have no reason to be. Each one of us knows our lot in life and takes up that mantle in an effort to keep Amorea as it is. We are happy, healthy, and whole. Balance.” She looks rather pleased with herself, and the rest of the book club is looking at her with unabashed admiration.
“What if someone jostles that balance?” Mike asks.
The ladies of the book club slowly turn to stare at him.
“Why would they?” Mrs. Richardson asks, sounding confused.
“Just to see what would happen.”
She blinks. “I don’t know anyone in Amorea that would do such a thing.”
Mike thinks, Of course you don’t.
He says, “Just a thought. I wonder, though, what would happen.”
“I don’t think it’d get as far as Ralph and Jack and Piggy,” another lady says. “Even if it’s jostled. Our eyes are open, aren’t they? The boys on the island were clouded by fear and lacked a firm hand. They needed guidance.”
“And who is guiding us?” Mike asks, and he thinks his headache might be coming back.
Mrs. Richardson laughs. “Aside from the Almighty? Why, we guide ourselves and each other. Mike, if I didn’t know any better, I would think Mrs. Kim was right and you really are a Commie. Besides, we’re not children like in the story. We know better. Which makes me all the more relieved there’s no children in Amorea. Why, could you imagine if there were?”
The ladies chuckle at such a thought.
Mike thinks, Who is guiding us?
Mike thinks, There’s no children in Amorea.
How muddled these thoughts become.
THE LADIES leave late afternoon. Mrs. Richardson stays behind for a moment, asking Mike if he’s all right. Mike nods and says he’s fine. He even gives her a small smile. She looks slightly relieved at that, as if the very thought of him being troubled causes her stress. She’s rather rigid and likes things to be her way or no way at all, but he has a soft spot for her. She may be stringent, but she cares about him for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. They’re friends. Like Walter and Calvin and Donald are his friends.
She looks like she doesn’t quite believe him, but doesn’t push it either. At least not today. Tomorrow, he knows, is a new day and she’ll be keeping a close eye on him. Probably finding some reason or another to pop in unexpectedly. It’s just how she is.
He’s thinking about Lord of the Flies as he shuts down the store. He doesn’t know if Mrs. Richardson had the story right, that chaos came from having balance removed. The children were in a prison of sorts and did what humans did best when subjected to such conditions: they survived. But he’s not convinced they didn’t come from a prison to begin with, that the strict and regimented lives they lived before were just as much of a failing on them as the island was, the difference being that one allowed the animal in them out, whereas the other kept it trapped inside. He’s not sure which was better.
They’re heavy thoughts he’s thinking as he’s walking toward the diner, and they’re distracted thoughts, bouncing from islands to birds to mountains, mountains, mountains. He’s a little punchy, maybe. He slept okay last night, perhaps a little later than normal, but he had been replaying the date over and over in his head yet again, making sure everything had gone right, that he hadn’t embarrassed himself too much.
He’s in the diner door, bell ringing overhead, before he knows it. Sean looks up and waves at him, and his nose looks a little swollen, but not much else. His face is a little pinched, though, and he’s a little pale. Mike knows that look. He knows Sean’s migraine is back, and Mike wants to scold him for not going back into Walter’s dark office. Light sensitivity is Sean’s biggest enemy when he gets like this, and the lighting inside the diner is bright and harsh. A couple of the girls are running around serving dinner, but Sean’s still up behind the counter, and Walter’s back in the kitchen, grilling up a storm.
Mike glances toward the wall as he scratches his wrist, and sees Walter has already replaced the two photos that were damaged. The snowy hill and the bake sale are back up on the wall where they belong. For a moment, Mike thinks that a third one was broken too, but there’s only two with newer frames, not yet covered in a thin layer of sticky diner grease.
It doesn’t matter much to him right now, because Sean’s hurting and he’s trying not to show that he’s hurting. Mike doesn’t like that. He doesn’t know if Sean’s taken his Ercaf, or if he even had it with him today.
So he’s a little annoyed as he walks up to the counter, trying not to blurt out that Sean needs to take better care of himself, because he’s not his father, and god, even the thought alone is enough to make that age difference even more noticeable.
Sean’s trying to hide it, and he’s smiling at Mike, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey, big guy,” he says, voice tight.
Mike’s not an asshole, so he nods at Sean, looks over his shoulder to the kitchen, and whistles sharply. Walter snaps his head up, and Mike says, “I’m taking this one home.”