They walked to the car in silence. Cori got there first, and she noticed the note on the windshield. She removed the piece of paper and, before she handed it to Hope, she unfolded it and read it.
“It’s for you,” Cori said and climbed into the SUV.
Hope opened the note and read the very nasty, very rude one word that was written on the paper. There was no doubt who it was from.
The word on the paper was printed in big letters. There was no signature. But Hope knew that Carol had doubled down on her paranoia.
“This stays our secret,” Hope said as she slid behind the wheel.
“There is no way I’m going to tell anyone,” Cori said.
“Good. If we ignore Mrs. Thomas and the note, it will all be forgotten in a few days.”
“You think so?”
“We live in an instant world. Nothing lasts more than a day or two. Everyone is always looking for the next thing, the next scandal. Between the short news cycle and Christmas, this will get buried quickly.”
Hope pulled away from the school, trying to believe her own words. Yes, ignoring Carol was the smart thing to do, but there was no guarantee that the outburst would be forgotten. Some people had long memories.
“Want to stop for ice cream?” Hope asked.
“No,” Cori answered. “I just want to go home.”
“What is the word on your phone?”
“I don’t know. I turned it off.”
Hope thought a moment before she spoke.
Hope sighed. “This is called the heckler’s veto. You know what a heckler is?”
“I think so. Isn’t that a guy who yells from the audience?”
“Yes, and if the heckler is loud enough and persistent enough, he can drown out the speaker. He keeps the other people in the audience from hearing what the speaker has to say.”
“What has that got to do with me?”
“If you think of texting as speaking, then the kids who post mean things are hecklers trying to drive you out of the discussion. They’re trying to keep you from saying anything. Turning off your phone or computer is the easier thing to do, but that only makes them bolder. If they can shout you down, then they can shout down the next person they don’t happen to like. They can insure people remain ignorant, because they don’t get exposed to different ideas.”
“What if those ideas are wrong?”
“First, how can you know that until you hear the ideas?”
“Everyone knows some ideas should be banned.”
“Not everyone, and why would you ban ideas, even wrong ones?”
“Because wrong ideas confuse people. Why would they need to learn anything wrong?”
“To unlearn it?”
“Huh?”
Hope laughed. “Often in life, you need to learn how not to do something. Like icing a cake. You’ve watched me ice a cake, and there’s a certain sequence of steps that make the icing a success. If you mess up the sequence, you mess up the cake. In other words, when you put your bra on—”
“Mom!”
“You put it on before you put on your blouse. Doing it backwards makes for a pretty awful vision.”
“I might try that next Halloween. I’ll be a zombie who wears underwear on the outside.” Cori laughed.
“I suppose that would make sense for a zombie. But if you never explore the wrong ideas, you’ll never be certain that your ideas are better. And, if your ideas are indeed better, they will overcome the wrong ideas. Two plus two equals four, always beats out two plus two equals five. One is the truth, and one is a lie.”
“Unless it’s a zombie apocalypse,” Cori teased.
“All zombie worlds are exempted?”
As the conversation slipped into the inane, Hope wondered if what she’d said had any effect at all. Probably not. Cori was at the age where running with the herd was more important than considering the “heckler’s veto.” Hope remembered those days. A particular brand of shoe or purse, a particular color of lipstick, a certain hairstyle, they were all very important at the time. It took a great deal of courage to recognize that those things were unimportant. Hope wished she had come to that realization faster than she had. She hoped Cori would do better.
Hope did talk Cori into a dish of ice cream when they got home, and they had fun chatting while they ate. After the ice cream, Cori retreated to her room, causing Hope to wonder if her daughter would go online and deal with the hecklers. But that was Cori’s war. Hope couldn’t fight it. Her daughter would have to be the one to prevail.
“Good evening, Mrs. Herring,” Max said, as soon as Hope walked into her attic office.
“Hello, Max,” she said.
“Do I sense a problem?” he asked.
“Not a problem. Just something a bit unpleasant. I’m guessing you remember when you did something you weren’t particularly proud of, even if it wasn’t your fault. It leaves you with a bit of sadness, a bit of self-recrimination.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Herring, I remember more than a few times when I did or said the wrong thing. At times, regret could fill my life. And I have had many years to review my little wounds.”
“That’s a good way of putting it, I suppose. We push out all those times we chose poorly, because we need to keep going. Then, we find a moment to reflect, and the shame lives on.”
“So, what was shameful today?”
Hope knew that she should tell Max. Hiding it wouldn’t work so she recounted the concert and Carol Thomas’s rant beforehand. It didn’t take long, as the scene hadn’t lasted very long.
“My, my,” Max said. “History does repeat itself, doesn’t it?”
“How so?”
“Jackson Thomas was a philanderer, as I have told you. And his wife did not observe the moral standards of the time. She was known to curse her husband in front of strangers, a most unsavory habit. So, it is no surprise that the descendant of Jackson would marry a woman who knows not the meaning of restraint.”
“I don’t know if it’s genetic,” Hope said. “The world is filled with people who make scenes and threats.”
“As it has always been. I hope you were not upset too much by the woman’s rant.”
“Only as much as I let myself be. In things like this, I have to remind myself that I did nothing wrong. I was simply interviewing someone who might be able to help us. I wonder if talking to her would make any difference.”
“In my experience,” Max said, “reason rarely overcomes emotion. People who fly off the handle are not the ones who can be persuaded with facts.”
Hope sighed. “Unfortunately, I believe you’re correct.”
“Then, I will bid you good night,” he said. “Things will look different in the morning. All will be well. Sleep well, Mrs. Herring.”
“Good night.”
Max disappeared, and Hope went to work on her semester end evaluations. She always wrote a short narrative to accompany the grade she gave to a student. While she tried to remain positive, she knew she would be doing a disservice if she did not point out weak areas. No one got better by working solely on their strengths. She tried not to write off any student as incorrigible, although there were always one or two that she feared for.