Mary Lee is technically Asian- American, her ancestors began immigrating here long ago.
The first few before a golden spike joined the rails from the West to the rails from the East and tied the continent together.
Most were here long enough ago they arrived near the end of the time when they couldn't become a citizen. They became citizens during the time they were treated as second class citizens. They suffered through race based discrimination.
Today though, Mary Lee is as fully equal a citizen as any descendant of Light Horse Harry Lee. Caucasian infiltrates her DNA. Her yellow ear wax shows that. Her cousins laugh at that.
Immigration was so long ago she isn't rooted in Asian culture.
Long enough ago that her parents have English as their first language.
They commit the terrible sin of naming an innocent baby in that language. The baby's first name paired with the baby's last name exposes the growing child to endless teasing all through her elementary school years.
That child is their only child, Mary Lee.
In high school she tries telling people her name is Mi Lee. Her short stature, her slight frame and her straight black hair makes that believable. Then she gets "Miley?" smart remarks.
When classmates inevitably find out she is actually named Mary Lee she has to go though a round of "we roll along?"
The worst of the experiences is adolescent boys crudely snickering about "making merry with Mary Lee".
She quickly learns it is best to get it over with. She isn't that gregarious. Not a lot of people know her by name.
Inspired by, or in spite of, the teasing name play she loves everything about the English language.
Its flexible structure, its wild variations in spelling, composition and pronunciation, have it placed on the very edge of anarchy. Has it in grave danger of falling into gibberish.
It doesn't fall, it thrives.
It produces tremendous, breathing taking explosions of beautiful creative insight.
She loves the Lake Poets.
Those English masters of their wild language wrestled it into various romantic, disciplined poetic styles.
Styles not fashioned to fit the school of the Lake Poets.
The fashion of the Lake Poets is to fit the style of the words.
All this joyous dedication bent to preserving English language.
Preserving beauty and explosive insight.
It's what drove her to enroll in college, balancing the threat of Affirmative Action against the chance to graduate with a degree in English Literature.
She knows the B.A. won't make her wealthy but it will make her happy.
Multi-cultural, but not really,
Mary shares housing with three other co-eds.
Keeping it hyphenated, two are European -American and the last, an African - American, can trace her ancestry on this continent back further than any of the other three roommates.
All this social musing is well and good she thinks. Next semester she'll take a Soc class and use her living situation to write a paper.
This semester her paper on the Lake Poets is due Monday.
She needs to get busy polishing up her rough draft.
She's intent on adding an introductory paragraph presenting the points her paper will make as a gentle mockery disputing the Edinburgh Review.
That journal's dismissive article first named the school of poetry. Next framed it as an unruly school.
It's Hunting season.
She doesn't like the risk of going to the library.
Her roommates had to go out.
They got their part time jobs through work-study.
Calling in "afraid of a perfectly legal Affirmative Action occurring" will get them fired.
They'll lose any educational credits. Work-study won't find them another position.
She has library access on her laptop. She'll stay here, safe at home.
She opens her browser.
The chat channel is still buzzing about her roommate who got Hunted down yesterday afternoon.
It happened immediately after fall Hunting season began. Pictures of her bound and gagged, started appearing on line no more than twenty minutes after the co-ed clocked out of her waitressing shift at the Hot 'N Tasty.
Blond slut probably threw herself at the first Hunter she saw, Mary thinks. I've seen how the bimbo dressed to get tips.
Enough catting.
She clicks to open the draft document.
A leather sack drops over her head. A cord lock secures it around her throat.
"Wait! What! What! What!" She isn't comprehending. She has no context!
Her mind stuck thinking about the past and past uses of English language seizes on a connection.
"I've been hoodwinked!"
English highwaymen and other thugs liked to drop a leather bag over their victim's head before a mugging.
