Tom Jefferson’s mind careened from liberty to human events and every which way, so he took a break from his declaration drafting to go shopping.

Tom loved clothes, as all the finest men do, and he especially loved books, but when he got to the marketplace he wanted a little more of the bustle of common humanity. That was the whole point, after all, and a little elbow rubbing would clear his mind all the better.

He headed to the noise of the auction block. It was a slow day, but there were enough lookers and buyers assembled to occupy him. He shook some hands and said hellos and chatted a bit.

Then his attention turned to the block. A beautiful specimen had been led up, looking strong, healthy and young. Tom stepped to the front of the small gathering, studied the merchandise from head to toe, and was impressed.

He asked the auctioneer if he might study the goods more closely.  He being Tom Jefferson, the auctioneer quickly agreed.

Tom stepped onto the block and studied the eyes first, then opened the mouth and observed the tongue and teeth. As far as could be told given the little information available, Tom was still mightily impressed.

The figure on the block, in turn, was still confused. He’d been confused since the ones he didn’t recognize grabbed him, shackled him, and marched him those long miles to the fortress. Then, crowded amongst strangers, he’d been chained into the hold of a ship and sailed out into the deep sea headed he knew not where. Somewhere, obviously, there had been a gap in his education.

The voyage left him in shock. Among the sick and dying, without room to move, and with aliens shouting nonsense at him, he’d lost his balance completely, as if his inner ear had been ripped from him. Now, an unknown period of time later, he stood shackled at his wrists and ankles watching a very strangely dressed man wearing something on his head that wasn’t his hair and smelling oddly of something sweet and fetid at the same time hold his mouth open and study him as if he were a goat.

Yet the way everybody had parted for the tall white man and the way the auctioneer immediately deferred to him, he knew these odd people considered Tom a great man,. So he decided not to bite through Tom’s fingers.

Tom let the mouth close, and squeezed the biceps and forearms. Then he studied the fingers and the hands up to the shackles; they were rough from work, good strong hands. The body was lean and short, but this was a fine young buck that could carry its load. Tom bent his long frame down and made sure all the necessary equipment was intact, then studied the thighs and calves. Finally, he kneeled and checked the feet below the shackles and the toes; they weren’t perfect, but they’d heal. Most importantly, the body showed no signs of wounding; he probably wasn’t a runner.

Next, he ran his fingernails through the man’s hair. The lice jumped like frogs and the fleas like, well, fleas. He’d have to get his boy to shave the hair right down to the scalp and scrub it with lye. A lot of lye. He bent down again to the crotch, and scratched at the pubic hair. More little creatures hopped about. Have to shave that, too; still more lye. He stood back up straight and tall and bent to stare at the eyes. He didn’t see any cloudiness. He held his finger up, and the eyes followed it out of reflex. Tom was pleased.

For his final test, he stepped back two paces and sniffed up and down. He knew it was beyond reason, but experience taught him that he could smell foul airs and humors. All he smelled were the usual odors of the unwashed.

Tom wiped the perspiration off his face. “That’s a decent specimen,” he said, turning to the auctioneer. Still two paces from the uncomprehending merchandise, he set in to the bargaining. This was the best part for clearing the mind; there’s nothing like good banter and back and forth to bring the soul’s concentration back to an inspired work. Already having agreed on a price in his mind, he extended the negotiation just for the pure pleasure of it.

When the deal was done, Tom arranged to have the auctioneer hold the goods until his overseer came to fetch them.

Tom said his goodbyes to the crowd and returned to his horse, more than pleased with his unexpected purchase. On his ride back, he felt fully refreshed. He did some good thinking while riding; in the course of human events he came up with some of his favorite phrases straddling the back of a horse. Feeling the air fly against his face released his greatest idylls of a world of free peoples freely choosing their destinies. A world without tyranny; a world that took full advantage of the fruits of the human mind freed from the shackles of religious oppression, enforced ignorance, and rule by one absolute and addled brain.

It was flowing now. He’d been right to leave the bustle of Boston and Philadelphia for a break in the country, his country. When his ride was finished, he would sit down at his desk, of his own design, and he knew the words would flow like French wine onto his declaration. Afterwards, he would send for Madison and Monroe and bully them into joining him at the public house just as he bullied them into coming back with him for his break and planning to build in his neck of the woods so he wouldn’t be lonely for intellectual company. He hoped for praise for his words, but criticism would serve just as well; only through the exercise of reason would people attain the liberty guaranteed by the purest fact that everyone fell into this world from the same wrenching of the womb and covered in the same ooze of bodily effluence and blood. Breaking from the mother country would be traumatic, but in the end would follow the unsurpassable reward of reinvigorating rebirth. If blood had to be spilled, well, birth was never easy and never without peril for mother or child.

He was humbled by the opportunity to take part in such momentous events.

As he rode up the final hill, urging his tired horse on with his heels, he marveled at the rejuvenation a little shopping could bring. He smiled broadly, pulled hard on the reins, dug his heels in further, and galloped toward whatever destiny promised. He believed with all his heart it would be promise fulfilled.

– Richard Birken