Gwendy's Magic Feather

6

TWO HOURS LATER, THE door to the conference room bangs open and thirty representatives stream out, every last one of them looking like they could use a handful of Tylenol or, at the very least, a cold shower.

“Did you see Old Man Henderson’s face?” Patsy asks as she and Gwendy enter the hallway. “I thought he was going to blow a gasket right there at the podium.”

“I never saw anyone get so red—”

Someone bumps Gwendy hard from behind, knocking her aside, and keeps on hustling past. It’s their chatty friend from this morning, Milton Jackson.

“Hey, nice manners, asshole,” Patsy calls after him.

Gwendy tucks the manila folders under her arm and rubs her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she says. “You shouldn’t have yelled at him like that.”

“Why not? The guy deserved it.” She gives Gwendy a look. “You’re not very good at losing your temper, are you?”

Gwendy shrugs. “I guess not.”

“You should try it sometime. Might make you feel better.”

“Fine. Next time that happens I’ll call him… a walking example of why we need term limits.”

“Sshhh,” Patsy says, as they file into the elevator. “You’re one of us now.”

Gwendy laughs and presses the button for their floor.

“Any movement with the pharmaceutical people?” Patsy asks.

Gwendy shakes her head and lowers her voice. “Ever since Columbine everyone has shifted to gun control and mental health. And how can I blame folks for that? I just wish people around here had longer attention spans than kindergarteners. Three months ago, I almost had the votes. Today, it’s not even close.”

The elevator door slides open and they walk out into a mostly empty lobby. “Welcome to the grind, girlfriend. It’ll circle back around. It always does.”

“How long have you been doing this, Patsy?”

“I’ve represented the second district of the honorable state of South Carolina for sixteen years now.”

Gwendy whistles. “How…?” She pauses.

“How do I do it?”

Gwendy nods shyly.

Patsy puts a hand on the young congresswoman’s shoulder. “Listen, honey, I know what you’re thinking. How did you get yourself into this mess? It’s not even been a year and you’re frustrated and overwhelmed and looking for a way out.”

Gwendy looks at her, saucer-eyed. “That’s not what I—”

Patsy waves her off. “Trust me, we all went through it. It’ll pass. You’ll find your groove. And if you don’t and you find your head slipping under water, give me a call. We’ll find a way to fix it together.”

Gwendy leans over and hugs her friend. It’s a little like embracing a child, she thinks. “Thank you, Patsy. I swear you’re an angel.”

“I’m really not. I’m old and fussy and don’t much care for most of humanity, but you’re different, Gwennie. You’re special.”

“I don’t feel very special these days, but thank you again. So much.”

Patsy starts to walk away, but Gwendy calls after her. “You really meant it? You’ve felt like this before?”

Patsy turns and puts her hands on her hips. “Honey, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve felt the way you’re feeling, I still wouldn’t have change for a quarter.”

Gwendy bursts out laughing. “What does that even mean?”

Patsy shrugs her shoulders. “Beats me. My late husband used to say it whenever he wanted to sound clever and it’s stuck with me ever since.”