A Meditation about Presidency

White House photo

I recently wrote a short story as a meditation on the United States Presidency.  The idea occurred to me when I heard about the "Three-Minute Fiction" competition promoted by NPR's "All Things Considered" radio program.  When one participates in contests like this, the variables and subjectivity make it ridiculous for any participant to expect to win and I didn't.

I remember in the late 1990s having offered myself as an interview subject for "All Things Considered" and I never received any response so, contrary to the name of the show, there are many things left unconsidered by this program.  At the show’s website, this is the description offered: " . . . each show consists of the biggest stories of the day, thoughtful commentaries, insightful features on the quirky and the mainstream in arts and life, music and entertainment, all brought alive through sound."

Ironically, the judge of the contest, Brad Meltzer, wrote a bestselling novel called The Inner Circle.  It was required for story entries to revolve around a U.S. President, either real or fictional.  The entries could be no longer than 600 words.  It took me about an hour to write my submission.  I made a few changes after reading it over and then submitted it to the contest online.

During my senior year of high school back in 1973/74, my twin brother and I attended an evening class at our local Pasadena City College as I began contemplating the short story form of self-expression.  Among the authors whose stories impressed me were Flannery O'Connor and Franz Kafka.  During my college and university years, a period of writing short stories and novellas was followed by a period of writing screenplays.  Later — since the occurrences that were chronicled in my 1997 case study Testament, I decided to research more extensively other cases involving so-called 'paranormal phenomena.'  Allotting time to reading fiction became unthinkable except for some Herman Hesse novels and a few other unusual works over the years.

Remembering the early period in my life when I wrote short stories, I recall that many expressed metaphysical themes and one expressed as closely as possible a unique and unsettling dream.  I also wrote an autobiographical play entitled "Lunar Son Tarot."  The play was based on a tape-recorded interview with my mother.

Here follows my meditation on Presidency.

After The Briefings

The new Mr. President emerged from the week of briefings looking pale and shaken.  He had known there would be unexpected challenges in the business of the Oval Office.  There had been that momentary awkwardness during the inaugural oath now endlessly commented upon by the media.  It had happened because he had been thinking ahead, sensing the responsibility that couldn’t be ameliorated by all the backers and advisers — the proverbial controllers and handlers.
 
Yes, the oath made no mention of responsibility to people.  “The briefings!” he found himself groaning aloud, his stomach in a knot.  Or would it be better called debriefing, he said to himself.
 
He then noticed himself muttering small talk, expressing that he was glad it was the weekend as he made his way upstairs.  He attempted to smile at the agent with whom he was accustomed to trading pleasantries but then he realized the absurdity and a grimace resulted.  When his wife saw him, she noticed that something was wrong and uncharacteristically clasped her hand over her mouth.  Mr. President told her he couldn’t talk to her right now as he wondered where he could go to recollect himself.  He went to the bathroom that he had estimated to be the most private and locked himself inside.
 
His mind was racing.  He decided to speak aloud to himself to clear his mind and didn’t care if anyone heard. 
 
Funny how such a thing could bother me.  A small thing in the great scheme of things.  They all think one thing.  Most everybody.  How many know the truth?  It was a previous Administration.  Here’s an inherited lie.  What is the purpose of covering it up now? 
 
Isn’t the Devil the Father of All Lies?  How come they all couldn’t tell the truth?  Can I tell the truth?  What are we supposed to do?  Just lie because they did back then?  What is the point of continuing a lie?  In a way it was all so obvious, anyway.  No big deal when you consider what was happening in the world back then. 
 
Is it easier to lie, more convenient to perpetuate a lie?  Is that corruption?  Doing what’s easiest?  How can all the experts think it best?  To lie?  I could just explain things.  Who could help me write it?  This is what really happened back then.  This was the purpose.  It doesn’t serve the purpose to be dishonest now. 
 
Do they expect me to lie about something like this?  Then where will the lies end?  What am I?  A public relations tool?  In whose interest is the lie?  Will exposing the lie cause them to turn against me? 
 
Better a man to keep his own soul. 
 
It might be easier to wait a few months.  I have to be strong.  I will explain it when I have a chance.  When will I be able to explain it?  What is likely to happen then?
 
He placed a washcloth under the faucet and then began pressing it against his face and neck.  The thoughts became slower.  He began thinking of the acclaim of recent days and the historical nature of his victory.  It was indeed surprising how such a little thing should bother him now.  Or was it a big thing that he only wished were a small thing?  
 
Having made his decision, Mr. President went to tell his wife that he was feeling better.