The Average American

The American flag unfurled in the wind. Chris Yardley stood back and placed his right hand over his heart and recited the “The Star Spangled Banner” under his breath. He then looked down and went into the house. The doorbell rang.

He checked his video system and opened the door.

“Chris…you know that we can’t—” Barbara Sutter said in a sing-song voice.

“Maybe you can’t or won’t….”

“It’s just part of protocol. We have to be uniform.”

“I’ve been living here for forty-three years. Right now, you and that goddamn organization you associate with have made this place worse.”

“Property value is going up. Way up. That’s because we have a set aesthetic that—”

“Save it, Babs.”

“I’m just trying to illustrate how we are patriotic Americans. We fly on the holidays and not all year-round. You know that. I don’t want to make another scene….”

“You’re not touching my flag. It’s flying because I actually fought for it and some of my friends died for it. I am not only justified but entitled to let it fly. So if you could just remove yourself from my doorstep….”

“You’re going to get a warning, then a fine, and possible legal action if you continue to affix those colors to your house.”

“Do what you must.”

Barbara smiled with acidic intent. She crossed the street and then saw Yardley remove his flag from the post. Barbara felt peppy as if she had just achieved a victory over a man of virtue. She sighed and almost skipped her way from Yardley’s property to her own.

For a longtime, very little stirring occurred on the street. Some adult women power walked and giggled at one another. Then, a rumbling. A giant pole rose from Yardley’s property. Lights illuminated it. A giant flag flew.