The Antidote — 4. Two partners are better than one

June 2014
June was reading the comments, which she always did, which drove Mike crazy, which was probably why she did it.
“Oh my God, this one! Get a life!”
He liked how innocent her insults were, even to people she’d never meet, who only existed online it seemed, and with fake names.
He heard her growl a little in frustration. It was a good excuse to stop reading the paper. He still insisted on reading a hard copy, to slow himself down.
He approached her from behind and encircle her stomach with his arms. The same ponytail in his face that had been there for 6 years. Lucky.
“Don’t let them get to you.”
“Jesus, Mike. These people will say anything!”
“It’s the anonymity of the int — “
“But don’t they know nothing’s private anymore? Everything can be traced back to them?”
“That’s probably why they do it. Hoping someone will pay attention, maybe even hoping to get in trouble.”
“Because they feel guilty?”
Mike shrugged. He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about why people had done things. He mostly focused on what he could get them to do.
June was watching the last protest video Mike had made, and his speech at the protest. Walmart workers had gone on strike after Black Friday in Washington, DC, not far from Union Station, and the proximity to the Capitol had gotten everyone to take a position, usually in front of a camera. But no one knew YouTube like Mike did, or perhaps it was the other way around. Officially a “YouTube star,” Mike’s videos had now been viewed by more than 14 million people. Whenever a strike occurred, if he could figure out how to get there, he was there. Police were used to looking for him at this point. Oscar was usually with him, holding the GoPro.
Mike’s strategy off camera was politeness and excitement. But somehow not the type of politeness that made police and other authorities nervous. He would always lead with a question.
“How are you officer? Beautiful day, huh? Exciting event! We’re witnessing history.”
He didn’t have the same energy from when he was 23, but he could fake it. This was his job, making videos in which he was both audience and star. And his relationship with cops and security was often the thing that let him be a part of, or not. And Oscar.
Thank God for Oscar. It was 2008, on their third date*, when Mike had mentioned to June in an offhanded way that he made videos that got a lot of YouTube followers, but he really needed some help. After they chatted about her initial confusion, “Wait why do you have a lot of YouTube followers?” and he said his usual response, “Don’t worry, it’s not porn or anything,” she mentioned her friend Oscar might be able to help. “He’s great with a camera.”
That he was. Oscar was pretty small, and knew how to sneak in and between places, extending the GoPro out with deftness, adding a gadget or subtracting one when needed so that the camera could always get a great shot that seemed closer than it actually was. Sometimes Mike’s mouth would drop agape when he saw some of Oscar’s footage, but he knew not to ask, “How did you get that?”
The first and only time he did: “Well, I crouched, and turned a corner, and there was a window under the cop’s armpit, so I did a 180, and balanced, and stuck it through, but I didn’t know if the cop could see and obviously I didn’t ask him, so then I stopped breathing, and closed my eyes which helps me balance…”
“You already mentioned you balanced.”
“Did I? Well then I just held still but I was thinking about how to extract, but luckily I knew I could screencapture — “
Oscar wasn’t always quite this chatty, Mike observed, but engaging him about his craft somehow sped his thoughts up so they became too fast for his mouth. After that, Mike decided he should just let Oscar do his thing. Trust him.
Really the three of them had been on that journey since then. Mike’s videos became more and more popular and he started to editorialize more, always providing a little commentary at the end of his pieces. He essentially was a journalist, but freelancing for the public. No boss or editor or publisher to tell him what to do or to tear up his writing…
…that said, he did learn to incorporate feedback about a year into his relationship with Jane. He was filming the adjunct faculty strike at University of Illinois at Chicago, and was so angry about their conditions. Never one to hesitate to make a speech, Mike tore into the administration there, without knowing them (of course), for the “pittance” of $2300/class that they were providing to adjuncts, with no benefits. “Single moms! Poor recent graduates, many of whom are the first to go to college! People struggling to pay their rent! Single dads! How could this heartless school let their teachers go without health benefits! They can’t miss a single class.”
He was reviewing the video days later with June and she said, “Who’s that grumpy looking guy in the back there with his arms folded?” Oscar had panned the crowd at one point and left it on the cheerers just enough to see a tall, mustached man with folded arms and a furrowed brow.
“He looks familiar…” Mike said.
He racked his mind…they could always edit the guy out, but who was he?
“He’s not in the administration or something, is he?”
That was it! “A poster! I saw him on a poster on a telephone poll on campus. It said “Sour Puss” something.”
“We should google it,” said June.
They were living in a small one-bedroom apartment in Philly at this time. June was in grad school studying developmental economics at Penn. Mike wasn’t sure exactly what that was, but he was often on the road so when they were together he wanted to kiss and get down or at least talk about more personal things. Plus, he got lost when she waded into details. And she’d been willing to watch his footage which seemed a two-birds sitch — he’d get good feedback on his videos and she’d get to know him better through his public persona.
“The President,” she said.
“What?”
Sure enough, “Sour Puss Paterson” labeled the flyer on a student group’s website calling for the protest. Apparently, President Paterson folded his arms and scowled on the regular.
“So should I edit him out?”
Jane looked at him with squinted eyes. He figured that was bad.
“What’s your goal with the video? Same as usual?”
Was he walking into a trap?
“Because I’ve seen most of your videos now, and obviously you have something. Your instincts are brilliant. You know your audience, they want you to be the star. But you don’t leave any room for doubt…”
“Isn’t that what makes them work?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps.” June turned away from him and played with some coasters on the side table. He loved the way her braids would fall over her shoulder when she turned like that.
She didn’t say anything. He knew she was waiting for him to ask more. But maybe that meant he shouldn’t? He really needed to get this video out.
They stood in silence for a long moment. She was facing away from him. He was looking at the computer, and actually standing in a similar position to Prez Paterson’s. He was worried about his videos starting to have a relationship with Jane. He wanted the help badly, but didn’t want to give up control of his baby, his haphazardly created wonder-life.
She finally sighed. “It’s up to you. But I think if you leave him in you give voice to the opposition. But the voice is just body language. And you let your viewers decide something. It’s risky, but if they side with you, which they probably will, it’ll be even more powerful of an allegiance than before. That’s how argument works.”
Argument. Were they having one? Mike decided to assume not. And leave President Sour Puss in. It was funny to think about now, but that’s when June solidified her role as unofficial advisor to his campaign. I guess that’s what spouses always are. The candidate can never win otherwise.
