John Falls Glenberry

Remember December 12, 2007? That was the night some goddamn asshole shot John Falls Glenberry while he was speaking at a bar—too bad he would never see a more formal pulpit. For weeks I’d planned on seeing him. I dragged Lacy along with me, but she didn’t give a shit about anything he had to say. She just wanted a few drinks. Tough luck. She still looked about thirteen years old, and she forgot her fake ID that night.

When we got inside, we stuck to the corners, where people were less likely to notice us. I ignored Lacy because she’d moaned the whole way there. Now she kept asking me if we could leave, but I pretended not to hear and watched a man—maybe a member of Glenberry’s street team, if he had something like that—hand out pamphlets. I wished he would come over and give Lacy one so she could educate herself about Glenberry and his values.

But he never did, and she asked me again. “Can we please leave?”

I told her no, we just got here.

“But this is stupid.” She kicked her heels against the wall. “How long is it gonna take?” What a child. She really looked like a moron in her bright yellow dress and high heels, like a kid with free reign over her mom’s closet.

“However long it takes.”

“You can’t give me an estimate?”

“Holy shit, I don’t know!”

A woman glared at us. I lowered my voice. “If you want to leave, just go.”

“What the fuck? You’re such an asshole.”

I grabbed her shoulders and turned her away from the woman’s gaze. Then I leaned in real close and gave her my best menacing drone. “I came here to hear this guy speak. I told you that, and you came anyways.” I really hope I sounded like her jerk-off dad.

She wasn’t finished arguing. Finally I just told her if she wanted to leave she could leave, but I wasn’t going with her. She shoved me, actually shoved me straight into the wall. I didn’t have to look to know more than a few people were staring at us.

“What if I break up with you?” she said.

“Then do it. But shut up because everyone’s looking over here.”

“Fuck you.” She slapped me, hard, and walked out. I’m not sure how she got home, but we didn’t speak with each other for a week, and by then we definitely weren’t dating anymore.

I found a seat relatively close to the stage, which really wasn’t much of a stage, just a tiny square raised slightly higher than the rest of the floor. It made me think of Glenberry as an exotic animal on display rather than a bold thinker.

A guy one table over turned and stared at me—he had a huge nose, I remember, and he never really closed his mouth all the way. I stared back.

“Girl trouble?” he said. Asshole.

“I’d say so.”

He smiled. I think. “Don’t matter. Forget her. Glenberry’s the shit.”

A woman dozing comfortably in her chair leaned forward suddenly. “Did you just say Glenberry’s shit?” When she spoke her lips curled back and showed these big fang-like teeth. It was kind of repulsive, really.

“No, man, the shit,” he said.

She nodded, satisfied, and fell into a slouch again.

I had to pee. “Think I got time to go to the bathroom?”

“You might lose your seat,” the guy said. But I really had to pee.

While pissing, I experienced a sudden surge of awareness and came to the realization how badly I wanted Glenberry to say something revelatory, something that really struck a chord with me. How stupid was I? He was just some guy. What could he tell me? Lacy had a right to feel angry with me.

Still, I headed back to my seat, sort of disappointed with my unexpected disillusionment but still intent on hearing him out. Why not? I’d supported his ideas so far. I couldn’t let this out-of-the-blue new feeling ruin the rest of my evening. A young couple had nabbed my table, though, so I went back to the wall.

A couple minutes later, a man walked onto the stage. A few people hooted in appreciation. The lights brightened on his figure. He was shorter than I’d imagined, kind of pudgy. He scanned our faces with round little eyes. Actually, the man was adorable. Could we take him seriously?

Someone touched my shoulder. The bartender. “Excuse me,” he said.

I put a finger to my lips. He didn’t like that. “Hey, how old are you, bud?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Bullshit you’re twenty—”

There was a heavy KLUSCH!, then a few seconds of total silence before everyone started screaming. I spun around. Glenberry lied sprawled across the stage. Had he fainted? They’re too hot! No, it wasn’t that. He was bleeding.

A lot of people tried to leave over the next few minutes, each suspecting the other might have shot Glenberry, but the bar staff blocked all the exits and told everyone they had to stay and wait for the cops. When the police finally showed up they questioned everybody. They couldn’t find the gunman, but they busted me for being underage. Luckily they were too busy with the crime scene, so they just kicked me out.

I didn’t really think much about John Falls Glenberry or his teachings after that. I’m not so sure anybody else did, either. Most people, myself included, simply took an interest in the ongoing mystery surrounding his murder.

What did John Falls Glenberry preach? I just don’t have time to go into that right now. Sorry. At any rate, it didn’t really matter then, and it certainly doesn’t matter now.