After the revolution, p.44
After the Revolution, page 44
“What?” Manny asked, hyper-vigilance spiking anxiety into his brain.
“Sasha left,” said Topaz, her voice as gentle as it ever got.
“What?” he asked. “Where? Back to the AmFed or…”
“No,” Mike replied. “She went with Jim, in that stupid aircraft of his. I think he offered her a job.”
“Is that bad?” Manny asked. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He’d wanted to get to know her better. But he’d also gotten the distinct impression she wouldn’t be happy in Rolling Fuck.
“Depends on your perspective,” Topaz said. “Jim can give her a lot of the things she might need right now. He’s also the worst person on earth.” She paused for a moment, then reconsidered.
“Okay, second worst.”
“You talking about Roland?” Manny asked.
“Fuck you,” she replied.
“Kid’s got a right to talk about him, Topes,” Mike said. “They went through a nightmare together.”
“Yeah,” Topaz said, looking up at Manny, “and now he’s left you alone with the shit you did together, while he wanders off into the desert to get wrecked, hasn’t he?”
Roland had, in fact, started his walk to Arizona about a day ago, laden down with several backpacks full of painkillers and psilocybin. He hadn’t bothered to say goodbye but, then again, he hadn’t remembered Manny at all.
“He can’t help it,” Manny told her. He’d been thinking about this a lot. “Roland warned me, before he went out there. He told me he couldn’t handle the guilt, the killing. He made it clear how much it fucked him up. And I still asked him to go anyway.”
“Sure,” Topaz said, her voice icy and sharp. “And you don’t have guilt over anything that happened out there? You think Mike and I don’t have blood on our hands?”
“Skullfucker Mike,” Mike gently insisted.
“We spent years fighting alongside Roland,” Topaz continued. “We shed a lot of blood together. He told us he’d always be there, to help us deal with whatever came after.”
“And then one day he was gone,” Mike said in a dull, haunted tone. “He left us just like he left you.” The big man shook his head, as if to clear out the darkness inside. “I don’t hold it against him. It’s just how he is.”
“Fuck that,” Topaz spat. “He doesn’t get to do that and not be a son-of-a-bitch. The rest of us have to live with our consciences. He takes a bullet-train to Forgetsville, and that’s fine?”
“It’s not fine,” Mike said, “but it is Roland. We have to take him as he is.”
“You do, maybe. I’m happy cutting the fucker out of my life. You’d do well to do the same, Manny, when he comes back next time.”
“You think there’ll be a next time?” Manny asked.
“Of course.”
“Alright, cut the shit,” Tule said, as they reached the lift that would lead them up to the Main Roller. “Manny’s here for good now. We’ve all got plenty to sniffle over, but it’s time to properly welcome this dumbass to the city.”
“What’s that look like?” Manny asked.
“We’ll probably take some MDMA,” Mike said.
“And I’ve got a couple dozen pounds of dynamite,” Topaz added. “Explosives are stupid fun when you’re rolling.”
“We can toss it while we do donuts in the jeep,” Tule said. “I’ll crack open a case of whippits. We’ll make a night of it.”
Skullfucker Mike squeezed Manny into a bear hug. Topaz joined. And, after a few seconds, so did Tule.
“This is gonna be the best party of your life,” he said. “At least, ’til whatever we do tomorrow.”
Afterword
From 2013 to 2017, my wife and I made a series of questionable decisions that ended with heads full of PTSD and a busted marriage. After the Revolution was written as an act of therapy. Every day I would run a half-marathon and then bury myself in my laptop, writing until I could no longer keep my eyes open. As a result, this book is primarily about trauma, and the different ways people process it.
At the moment, I suspect trauma will be at the center of every book I write. Getting PTSD is a bit like dropping food dye in a glass of water. Just a little bit changes the color of everything around it. The same is true on a larger scale, when we talk about how trauma impacts vast populations of people. I’m writing this now in the second year of the COVID-19 pandemic, too early to say how the collective trauma of this plague will change the world, but far enough along to know I will not live to see the end of the shockwaves.
My grandmother, Cleo, was a survivor of the Great Depression. She and my grandfather were both very poor. By the time she died, they’d accumulated enough money to own a couple pieces of property, which my grandma had dutifully filled to the rafters with junk. It was stuff she was certain she’d need when the bottom fell out from the world again. As a kid, watching my mom and her sisters deal with grandma’s mounds of crap, I didn’t really understand what I was seeing.
I recognize it now as PTSD and, if I’m totally honest, a healthier coping mechanism than my own, which heavily resembles Roland’s. The only reason I made it out the other side intact was because I’d surrounded myself with good people. There’s really no replacement and no better treatment for trauma than letting the people you love know you’re hurting.
Anyway, thanks for reading the book. Try to avoid getting PTSD, if possible.
Copyright
2022 CC BY-NC 3.0 by Robert Evans
This edition © 2022, AK Press (Chico / Edinburgh)
ISBN 9781849354622
E-ISBN 9781849354639
LCCN: 2021944651
Please contact us to request the latest AK Press distribution catalog, which features books, pamphlets, zines, and stylish apparel published and/or distributed by AK Press. Alternatively, visit our websites for the complete catalog, latest news, and secure ordering.
AK Press
370 Ryan Ave. #100
Chico, CA 95973
www.akpress.org
AK Press
33 Tower Street
Edinburgh, Scotland EH6 7BN
akuk.com
Cover art and interior illustrations © Tavia Morra
Printed in the USA
Go to https://atrbook.com for more info
Robert Evans, After the Revolution
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“Sasha left,” said Topaz, her voice as gentle as it ever got.
“What?” he asked. “Where? Back to the AmFed or…”
“No,” Mike replied. “She went with Jim, in that stupid aircraft of his. I think he offered her a job.”
“Is that bad?” Manny asked. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He’d wanted to get to know her better. But he’d also gotten the distinct impression she wouldn’t be happy in Rolling Fuck.
“Depends on your perspective,” Topaz said. “Jim can give her a lot of the things she might need right now. He’s also the worst person on earth.” She paused for a moment, then reconsidered.
“Okay, second worst.”
“You talking about Roland?” Manny asked.
“Fuck you,” she replied.
“Kid’s got a right to talk about him, Topes,” Mike said. “They went through a nightmare together.”
“Yeah,” Topaz said, looking up at Manny, “and now he’s left you alone with the shit you did together, while he wanders off into the desert to get wrecked, hasn’t he?”
Roland had, in fact, started his walk to Arizona about a day ago, laden down with several backpacks full of painkillers and psilocybin. He hadn’t bothered to say goodbye but, then again, he hadn’t remembered Manny at all.
“He can’t help it,” Manny told her. He’d been thinking about this a lot. “Roland warned me, before he went out there. He told me he couldn’t handle the guilt, the killing. He made it clear how much it fucked him up. And I still asked him to go anyway.”
“Sure,” Topaz said, her voice icy and sharp. “And you don’t have guilt over anything that happened out there? You think Mike and I don’t have blood on our hands?”
“Skullfucker Mike,” Mike gently insisted.
“We spent years fighting alongside Roland,” Topaz continued. “We shed a lot of blood together. He told us he’d always be there, to help us deal with whatever came after.”
“And then one day he was gone,” Mike said in a dull, haunted tone. “He left us just like he left you.” The big man shook his head, as if to clear out the darkness inside. “I don’t hold it against him. It’s just how he is.”
“Fuck that,” Topaz spat. “He doesn’t get to do that and not be a son-of-a-bitch. The rest of us have to live with our consciences. He takes a bullet-train to Forgetsville, and that’s fine?”
“It’s not fine,” Mike said, “but it is Roland. We have to take him as he is.”
“You do, maybe. I’m happy cutting the fucker out of my life. You’d do well to do the same, Manny, when he comes back next time.”
“You think there’ll be a next time?” Manny asked.
“Of course.”
“Alright, cut the shit,” Tule said, as they reached the lift that would lead them up to the Main Roller. “Manny’s here for good now. We’ve all got plenty to sniffle over, but it’s time to properly welcome this dumbass to the city.”
“What’s that look like?” Manny asked.
“We’ll probably take some MDMA,” Mike said.
“And I’ve got a couple dozen pounds of dynamite,” Topaz added. “Explosives are stupid fun when you’re rolling.”
“We can toss it while we do donuts in the jeep,” Tule said. “I’ll crack open a case of whippits. We’ll make a night of it.”
Skullfucker Mike squeezed Manny into a bear hug. Topaz joined. And, after a few seconds, so did Tule.
“This is gonna be the best party of your life,” he said. “At least, ’til whatever we do tomorrow.”
Afterword
From 2013 to 2017, my wife and I made a series of questionable decisions that ended with heads full of PTSD and a busted marriage. After the Revolution was written as an act of therapy. Every day I would run a half-marathon and then bury myself in my laptop, writing until I could no longer keep my eyes open. As a result, this book is primarily about trauma, and the different ways people process it.
At the moment, I suspect trauma will be at the center of every book I write. Getting PTSD is a bit like dropping food dye in a glass of water. Just a little bit changes the color of everything around it. The same is true on a larger scale, when we talk about how trauma impacts vast populations of people. I’m writing this now in the second year of the COVID-19 pandemic, too early to say how the collective trauma of this plague will change the world, but far enough along to know I will not live to see the end of the shockwaves.
My grandmother, Cleo, was a survivor of the Great Depression. She and my grandfather were both very poor. By the time she died, they’d accumulated enough money to own a couple pieces of property, which my grandma had dutifully filled to the rafters with junk. It was stuff she was certain she’d need when the bottom fell out from the world again. As a kid, watching my mom and her sisters deal with grandma’s mounds of crap, I didn’t really understand what I was seeing.
I recognize it now as PTSD and, if I’m totally honest, a healthier coping mechanism than my own, which heavily resembles Roland’s. The only reason I made it out the other side intact was because I’d surrounded myself with good people. There’s really no replacement and no better treatment for trauma than letting the people you love know you’re hurting.
Anyway, thanks for reading the book. Try to avoid getting PTSD, if possible.
Copyright
2022 CC BY-NC 3.0 by Robert Evans
This edition © 2022, AK Press (Chico / Edinburgh)
ISBN 9781849354622
E-ISBN 9781849354639
LCCN: 2021944651
Please contact us to request the latest AK Press distribution catalog, which features books, pamphlets, zines, and stylish apparel published and/or distributed by AK Press. Alternatively, visit our websites for the complete catalog, latest news, and secure ordering.
AK Press
370 Ryan Ave. #100
Chico, CA 95973
www.akpress.org
AK Press
33 Tower Street
Edinburgh, Scotland EH6 7BN
akuk.com
Cover art and interior illustrations © Tavia Morra
Printed in the USA
Go to https://atrbook.com for more info
Robert Evans, After the Revolution
