Badger

Chapter 7

Chapter 7I called the museum back on Monday morning, and I chatted with Carol DeWitt for nearly thirty minutes. Twenty-eight minutes and forty seconds, my phone said.

Carol was awfully nice, and her son had graduated from MassArt two years behind me. By the time the call ended, I felt like we really had a rapport. And more importantly, I had an interview the following afternoon with the head of the communications department.

I went downstairs and did laundry so my best interview outfit would be ready. The nice Korean lady who does the pressing asked why I seemed so happy, and I told her. She ironed crisp creases into my trousers and dress shirt and didn’t even charge me, just wished me luck. Later that day, I brought her a bottle of the iced tea she was always drinking, to say thanks.

Since Carol had seemed so jazzed about my illustration work, I dusted off my portfolio and got it reorganized. I trimmed my hair, plucked my eyebrows, shaped my nails. As I was buffing my dress shoes at the edge of the bed, a segment on the evening news snapped my head up.

“The Badger strikes again,” announced a young reporter with a wry smile. He was standing on a street corner, rush-hour walkers and shoppers passing behind him.

“Whether you love or hate him, Boston’s vigilante cyclist made another appearance today. I’m told an SUV paused for a two-way stop right here on Newbury Street but didn’t wait for a group of pedestrians in the crosswalk to have their turn. Witnesses say a man on a bicycle sped out of nowhere, passing the SUV to shoot its windshield with paintballs. The SUV braked, but collided with a parked car. Both vehicles incurred minor damage, and no one was hurt. The cyclist disappeared down a side street.”

The scene switched to on-the-spot interviews, the first with two college-aged guys. “I think the Badger’s awesome,” one said. “I mean, the police aren’t down here, making things safe for people.” His buddy added, “He’s cool, man. He cares about stuff, and actually bothers to do something about it. The cops are just pissed he’s making them look bad.”

The scene changed again, to a well-dressed woman holding her young child’s hand. “Sure, some people didn’t get to cross the street when they should’ve been allowed to. But so what? What if that SUV had hit a person, not an empty car? It’s dangerous. It’s selfish, juvenile behavior. He’s no better than a driver with road rage.”

Next, an older man in a satin Patriots jacket. “The Badger’s good. He’s got that old-school Boston spirit. Balls. I think he should run for mayor. He’d get stuff done, you know? He’d have my vote, anyhow.”

Again, the smiling anchor. “And the debate rages on. Back to you, Kathleen.”

My heart raced, because in a way, they were talking about my secret. My acquaintance, if not my friend. I knew the well-dressed lady had a point, but really, I wanted to live in a world with the Badger in it. Not because he made anything better or worse, just because it was a more interesting place to call home.

I wondered what Amanda might think of him, if he made the news in Woburn. She’d probably think he was a menace. I imagined him sitting next to me at her wedding, dressed in his hoodie. Then I imagined introducing him to my parents and laughed aloud.

I shut off the TV. I needed groceries and dinner and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was a big day, and I wasn’t going to f**k it up.