Sam Adams (SA) : Hey Ben, you know this Stamp Act has got me pretty pissed off.

Benjamin Franklin (BF) : Whoa Sam, don’t talk so loud, the British may hear you.

SA (whispering) : I mean it’s really got me upset. We should do something about it.

BF : I’m upset too. Lot’s of people are upset. But what can we do about it?

SA : Well I heard the HMS Dartmouth, Beaver and Eleanour are all pulling into Boston harbor soon and they are full of tea from India. Maybe we could destroy the shipment?

BF : Whoa Sam, that’s sounds kinda dangerous and people could get hurt doing it. Also that tea is the property of the British government and many hard working sailors would be terribly inconvenienced if anything happened to all that tea. Besides, I like tea, it’s yummy and I like holding my pinky up in the air when I sip it.

SA : Well what do you suggest?

BF (sipping tea with his pinky in the air) : I suggest we draft a letter of polite disagreement and address it to the Sub Minister to the Secretary of the Assistant to the cousin of the King’s throne polisher.

SA : I don’t know Ben, that sounds kinda tame and I’m not sure the King would even get that letter.

BF : Ah, but that’s the beauty of my plan because by addressing it to someone who might know someone who polishes the kings throne then that guy could leave it on the throne in the middle of the night when nobody was looking. When the King sat in his throne the next day there would be the letter! It’s sure to work!

SA (shakes his head)

BF : Well you don’t want to rock the boat Sam because if we did we could jeopardize our comfortable lifestyle here in New England. We would not want to inconvenience anyone over our dislike of the Stamp Act.

SA : I’m just saying there has to be a better way.

Paul Revere (PR) : What are you guys talking about?

BF : We were just discussing what to do about this Stamp Act. Sam wants to dump all the British tea in the harbor while I think we should write a polite letter to the king and slip it onto his throne in the middle of the night when nobody is looking.

PR : I see. What do you think Sam?

SA : I think Ben overestimates the effectiveness of a letter writing campaign.

PR (nodding) : Well why don’t we compromise then?

BF : A compromise? That sounds devious Paul. I don’t want to get in trouble or make the British mad, you know. I have a reputation to uphold.

PR : Hear me out Ben. See we do Sam’s idea BUT we blame it on someone else.

BF : Go on.

PR : You know all those naked Indians running around the forest west of Boston? I think they call themselves Mohawk’s or something like that.

BF : Yes, I know of them.

PR : Well let’s say we dress up like them and in the middle of the night we slip on board the ships that are carrying the tea, carefully pick all the locks - if we break a lock we’ll need to replace it of course …

BF : But of course, we would not want to vandalize anything.

PR : ... and then we dump the tea and sneak off into the middle the night to the safety of our comfortable homes. What do you think?

BF : Yes, I think that could work because we wouldn’t be taking direct blame since the English will think the Indians did it!

PR : Exactly! What do you think Sam?

SA : I think you are both pussies. But I’m in.

Marta had struggled to pull the lantern from the cold ground with her little hands. One side must have been partially unearthed by farmers as the fields were being prepared for spring. She had taken it home to her grandmother as a gift but was scolded for getting dirt on her dress instead.

"Little girls do not play in the fields." Grandma Yana mumbled as she briskly patted the dirt from Marta's dress with her bare hands.

Marta began to cry as she tried to hand the lantern to her grandma.

"This ... thing you've pulled from the ground, why do you bring it to me?"

"A gift ... for you." Marta replied.

"This is no gift. You have only brought trouble here."

Marta stamped her feet on the dirt floor as Yana scowled at her. She did not understand why Yana had said "trouble".

Yana turned back to the stove. She had been peeling potatoes for a stew but there was no meat or vegetables. Outside some dogs barked and in the fields the men were lighting fires to clear brush. Marta watched the smoke rise into the sky. It was still cold in March, but the sky was blue and the black smoke whipped away into the wind.

"Do you understand trouble, Marta?" Yana asked as she dropped slices of potato into the boiling water then turned to face the girl.

Marta shook her head and drew a circle in the dirt with her toe.

"Why do you think this lantern was buried in the dirt?"

Marta shook her head again. She could hear the men outside yelling. Horses whinnied over the barking dogs and the smoke outside grew darker.

"Someone buried it, Marta. It was not meant to be found."

"It's just a lantern, Yana. You could hang it over the stove to see better with. I only ..." But Yana was scowling which made her lose the nerve to explain better.

"No, is not a lantern. Is trouble, Marta. Is your trouble. I do not want it and if you are smart neither will you."

"But why, Yana?"

Yana straightened her back and for a moment looked very proud, proud like a much younger woman that once stood straight and had color in her hair and smooth hands.

"I have worked very hard, Marta. Worked very hard my whole life. When your mama died, I take care of you. When your father ... left, I still take care of you. Hard work is why Yana will go to heaven one day and sit next to God."

Marta didn't understand what Yana was trying to tell her. The dogs were now barking constantly and Marta could see the horses running. Half the sky was now black and the men sounded panicked.

"A pretty girl like you has two choices," Yana continued. "She can work hard and earn the favor of God, or she can smile and toy for the affections of men and hope for an easy life on Earth. I raise you for God, Marta, not for men. Men are devious and cannot care for you like God. You must work hard, little girl, you must love God and never take the easy path."

"I don't understand, Yana. I just bring you a lantern - for you!" She said. She had stopped crying and even felt angry but her eyes still watered because the smoke from outside was now in the old house and it stung her eyes.

"Is not a lantern, Marta. Is a trick from the Devil."

"Trick?"

"Trick!" Yana yelled and batted the lantern out of Marta's little hands. It hit the dirt floor with a dull thud and rolled onto its side.

Marta bent down to pick it up but Yana kicked it into the corner of the kitchen and grabbed Marta's arm as she tried to run for it.

"Look! Look at it, Marta." Yana shouted as she pointed at the lantern.

The room was now darkening, smoke filled the air and Marta coughed a little on it. Men were yelling and running all over outside. The horses were panicking and she could hear their labored breathing and their hooves pounding the ground outside.

In the corner of the room the lantern righted itself and a small flame appeared inside. It gleamed is if it were new, the tarnished brass now shiny and polished. Marta could see delicate features on the casing which seemed to carve themselves as they wound around every surface of the lantern.

Marta was scared and she tried to pull away from Yana but her grip was strong and she forced the little girl to watch. The little flame inside the lantern was now bright and fierce.

"Look!" Yana demanded again.

"I don't want to!" Marta cried as she kept pulling at Yana's grip.

Moments before the men burst into the house, Marta thought she heard the lantern say something. She had looked up at Yana and saw her eyes were wild and wide and that she had put her hand over her mouth. She looked frightened.

The next day when the men dug through the ruins of the burnt house, Yana still had the same expression on her blackened face and her hand was still over her mouth. It was as if she had died of fright and not from the collapse.

All else that remained from the ruins was the lantern and it looked as if it had not been harmed at all. One of the men offered it to a shy Marta. He coaxed her with a nod and a small touch on her shoulder.

"Take it. For luck." The man said with a smile.

Marta was scared of the man and tried to squirm away.

The man frowned and stood up.

"A pretty girl like you should be grateful and she should smile more." The man said bruskly as he dropped the lantern at her feet and walked away.

Marta stared at the lantern and tried to remember if it had landed right side up, or had righted itself.

Either way, she knew it belonged to her now.

You might not think I'm cool anymore
But something happened to me at Wal-Mart.

Your Volvo broke down.
It was cold and you were not answering your phone.
I was so angry I started to cry
In the magazine isle.

Are you at the café
Ignoring me again because you're with your friends?

I wandered around the perfumes
Trying to avoid the people staring at me
Because my black mascara was streaking.
And this lady asked if I was okay.

Her name is Helen
And you would hate her.

Helen is thirty five,
Has three kids,
Drives a minivan -
Even takes them to soccer practice.
She goes to church
And she works at Wal-Mart.

But she was kind to me
And I felt horrible that you and I would make fun
Of people like Helen.
What terrible things we have said
Under our breath
Over coffee.

But Helen didn't care that I was dressed in black
And that I really do look like a bitch most of the time.
She only asked why I was crying.

I told her how mad I was at you
For not getting the stupid Volvo fixed,
For not answering the damn phone,
And for being stuck in Wal-Mart
On a winter night.

But Helen told me I was in
The greatest place on Earth
And that I should be happy.
She said the noblest people
Who have ever lived
Come to Wal-Mart late at night.

Helen led me past the freezer full of frozen turkeys
And pointed out the overweight ladies
Dragging their oxygen behind them
Wheezing in pink, cotton sweatpants.

She introduced me to them
And told me their names.
There was Cheryl and Rebecca and Maria.

Did you know all the people at Wal-Mart have names?

I was embarrassed
Because if you had been with me
We would have called them different names.

But they were nothing like what we assumed.
Yes, they were poor
And Cheryl lived in a trailer with her five little kids
And Maria never graduated high school.
But when they saw me crying
They hugged me
And I got tangled in their oxygen lines

I confessed to them.
I told them how you and I and our friends
Would never be caught dead in a Wal-Mart
And that we hated the suburban way of life
And everyone in it.

I was so sorry and I asked for forgiveness.
I wrapped my arms around Cheryl
And I pressed my face against her massive, round body.
It was like holding onto cotton candy.

Then Helen told me about herself.
Her sister and her Aunt died
Of breast cancer
And she went to church
Because she was mad at God.
She loved her kids
And wanted the best for them
And wanted to be involved
Unlike our parents who let us get away
With whatever we wanted

Then she held my hand
And told me everything would be okay
Even if I didn't believe it.

Since we didn't have
Any place to be just then
We all started wandering up and down the isles
Past plastic furniture and imitation flowers.
And in the section that sells patio furniture
A song we liked played on the loudspeaker
And we began swaying back and forth
And danced among the bug repellent and tiki-torches.

I was glad you hadn't answered the phone.

When the song was over
Helen offered me a ride home
But I wanted to stay awhile longer
And write you this poem
Here at Wal-Mart in the middle of the night
Surrounded by all the people
Who are much kinder than you could ever be.