Episode 3: Social Disease

Episode 3: I’ve Got A Social Disease

Posted October 27, 2025

“Loving something means fighting for it when it’s sick.”

— Asha

On his day off, Jackson usually found himself sitting in his usual window booth having a late breakfast or lunch. He found the same torn vinyl, same chipped Formica comforting. The steam from his coffee rose and vanished in the sun’s glare as it filtered through the diner’s window. The days were growing shorter as fall shifted towards winter and outside, sunlight fell in hard slants across Main Street; just enough to wash the world in temporary honesty.

Across the street, the courthouse steps were crowded again. On one side, Asha stood on a folding stool with a megaphone. Her voice cut through the downtown hum like a poorly played violin; inconsistent sounding with melodious notes but also jarring tones.

Today she was rallying for affordable housing again — reminding folks about the tax credit bill that passed last fall, the one that slashed revenue for local infrastructure under the guise of “economic revitalization.”

That’s what Councilwoman Marjorie had called it, anyway.

Jackson’s eyes drifted to the woman standing a few yards from Asha — Councilwoman Marjorie, in her familiar ivory blouse and blazer and campaign-smile composure. A small team flanked her, including one man Jackson recognized instantly: Thomas, in his red cap, arms crossed tight like a bully waiting for recess.

Asha’s mic squealed as she read a line from the city’s own report: the dam was overdue for maintenance by three years. Each storm this year had strained its capacity and there was fear that a really strong storm could break it. And the neighborhoods identified as being most at risk? The low-lying areas of town where the working-class and the all-too-frequently overlooked lived.

People like Jackson.

People like Marcellus.

Marjorie took the mic from a staffer, smiled toward the cameras, and spoke of “partnering with businesses,” “streamlining growth,” “making the town investor-friendly.” Her voice was as smooth as a polished stone.  It’s shine reflecting optimism for the future of the town, but hiding the cracks underneath and within.

Asha listened attentively and then spoke, again referencing the city’s own report warning of a looming critical failure if investments in the dam’s infrastructure were not made.

Then Thomas stepped forward and shouted across the divide.

“If you hate this town so much, why don’t you just leave already? We don’t need you here.”

The crowd murmured in response. A few clapped. Some lost interest and drifted away quietly, but not Jackson; of late Jackson’s attention was being drawn more and more into these civic debates.  His fork paused halfway to his mouth as he awaited Asha’s response.

Asha didn’t flinch. She never did.

She stood her ground, lowered the mic, and looked Thomas in the eyes.

“Loving something means fighting for it, regardless of whether it’s healthy or sick.”

Jackson dropped his fork and exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

Back inside the diner, nobody commented. Conversations rolled on, quiet and insulated. Even the waitress refilling cups didn’t glance at the window.

But Jackson felt the weight of it.

The cracks in the dam.

The cracks in the people.

The cracks inside himself.

He thought about Marcellus again — about how he always carried himself like a soldier, even off duty. About the way he used to nod at Jackson in the breakroom and say, “Be steady, brother.”  Marcellus’ focus was always on the welfare of others first and he was assured and steady.

Jackson wasn’t sure what steady looked like anymore.

The tax breaks hadn’t fixed the potholes on his block.

They hadn’t kept the town library open past 6 p.m.

They hadn’t stopped ICE from circling the school down the street.

And they sure as hell hadn’t fixed the dam.

Jackson had housing. A job. A routine.  He’d always understood Asha to be talking about “others” and not about him.  He had many things “others” could only dream about…

But today, he realized he didn’t have distance.

He was in it.

Right in the floodplain.

And this levy wasn’t going to hold anymore.