POTUS

The town feels like the center of the world. The fourth estate is extracting local color in the hopes that it will air tomorrow, the big day. Plenty has been planned by the town fathers, but that’s going to be boring. Speeches by penny-ante politicians, a marching band gala from the courthouse to the school. Two local bands – one made up of fourteen-year-olds, called TimeDrive, and the other, a sad group called The Stolen Moments – a bunch of oldies playing oldies.

Venders are not allowed on the lawn, which will have to be replaced anyway, but they line the sidewalks on both sides of the street and on the two side streets flanking the school, its parking lot and its sports fields. There’s a brisk business run mostly by kids, between the blankets to the food and drink.

It’s a sedentary picnic. Quite modern. It’s no mean feat to sit on your behind for two or three days, and some of these people are accomplishing just that. Only the strong, the committed, and those with sleeping bags stay overnight – it’s unusually cold for the season.

Our candidate is not here. She will be presenting the President. She is home writing her one minute introduction of a person who needs no introduction. She will be among the guests of honor.

But Sheba has begged and pleaded not to be left out of the biggest event in her lifetime, which includes seeing the lawn-sitters. She has permission to spend the afternoon at the school, and Jason drives her down there, where she meets her friends.

And very shortly leaves them for some other friends. Sheba has no truck with the conservative snobs she goes to school with. Socially, she leads another life entirely. It’s conducted solely on her cell phone, and her parents know nothing about it.

She has invited Rosalind and Rowena, her cyber-buddies, to come down and see the show. An invitation their parents urged them to accept – lucky kids, seeing History. Sheba knows the school and has sent maps with a meeting place. Everything comes off as planned. And now the part of the plan the parents were told nothing about, begins to unfold.

The three girls slowly wend their way to a spot three quarters up the sloping lawn, under the direct middle of the broad stairway leading to the first floor entrance of the school.

Phoenix Wagman is there. Next to him is someone you’ve met before, but you may not recognize. He’s grown a scruffy beard since he was Sheba’s escort to the WondeRock concert. Trying to look a bit older. He’s wearing the suit you saw on the website. Looks quite out of place in this crowd of campers, but he’s hoping to make an appearance again.

It’s Phil. Sitting on an attaché case. When the girls arrive, he opens the case and takes out some green banners that unfold between sticks on each end. In big white letters they say “Think Green” and, smaller, on a second line “Legalize Grass”. Sheba, Rosalind and the Professor each take one to wave and a few more to give away.

Brenda’s watching the local station, which is coming live from the school lawn. She sees a shot of a banner and in the distance, she sees more banners. And there, far enough away so only her mother can recognize her, is Sheba Shapiro, the Democratic candidate’s daughter, one of the banners held high overhead, a stick in each outstretched hand, turning this way and that, for all to see.

Sunday night the Shapiro family watched network news together to see if there was any pre-Obama coverage, and saw, filling the screen, Sheba in her red and blue plaid skirt, arms up in the air, leading the cheer for marijuana.

Even though Brenda thought she was the only one who had noticed, some sharp editor had found her daughter. Sheba’s face is, once again, all over the country. Her family says nothing to her. Not one single word. Mom hardly can, Dad doesn’t want to, and Zeke has seen his sister on television before.

Phoenix told his parents he had no idea what Sheba was doing – he had spent the whole time policing dog wastes and picking up plastic beverage containers. Phil never did get his interview. He wasn’t as interesting as Sheba. But he did get his message out.

Then it was Monday morning. Columbus Day. Heart-in-throat day. He’s really going to be here. Everyone is too nervous to speak at breakfast. Brenda drives to school in her midget Smart Car. The rest of the family takes the real one.

She’s going in the back door, past the Secret Service, into the room through which Obama will pass to come out the front doors of the school. The lawn has been cordoned off, everyone on it screened by the men in suits. Phoenix Wagman, son of the principal, Mitchell Wagman, remains. Cousin Phil and his attaché case are gone. Yesterday was the Peoples’ Picnic. Today, anyone who can’t prove his authenticity is thrown off the lot.

The black SUVs approach. Full stop, an opened door and Obama is whisked into the building through a prettied-up janitorial passageway over the newly polished floors, past the walls with new paint smell, out over a red carpet into the school proper, where he meets, in person, the Democratic candidate for congress.

There she is, in her black skirt and white blouse, with a heavy necklace of African wooden beads, and her highest heels, because indeed, the President is very tall. She looks way, way up into the gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes, and is instantly at ease. He’s looking at her as though they’re sharing a joke.

His long arm reaches out forcefully. His hand is in front of her. She takes it. She is touching Barack Obama, not only the President of the United States, but possibly the most handsome man she has ever seen. It’s more than handsome. It’s like stepping into a movie. He’s bigger than life. His smile is whiter. He’s vibrant. His grin is even more sincere. He looks younger. More full of life than he does on TV.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Shapiro,” he says. “People are our most important product, and you’re the one who makes the people. I’m lucky to have you on my team, and I’m going to tell these people that.” All through it he is holding onto her hand, looking into her eyes as if they’re alone in the room.

The timing is precise. He turns, with his phalanx of men. As he walks away, Brenda sees the smile fade, and a weariness appear in the musculature of his face.

He has a five minute rest in a secure room.

Show time. Brenda walks out onto the landing at the top of the school steps. She stands there while the buzz sweeps the crowd on the lawn.

“Hello, everybody,” she says. “It is my great pleasure to present the President of the United States of America.”

What happened to her speech? It left her, Ladies and Gentlemen, the President took it away. Charmed her right out of her words.

He comes out onto the marble stage the way he used to on Leno, a slight running in his step, with a wave and a great big smile.

“Hi Guys. I told everybody I was taking the weekend off to spend it with family, and here I am. At a school. I feel at home in schools – I’ve attended so many of them – so I’m going to treat you like family, and complain a little.”

Nervous laughter tip-toes around the audience.

“Would you believe that people have been making fun of me for winning the Nobel Peace Prize? Saturday Night Live said I got it for not being George Bush. Rush Limbaugh said I got it to tie my hands as commander-in-chief. But I’ll tell you why I got it.

“I got the peace prize because I know that we can only have peace if we have understanding.

“Understanding starts in the schools, so let me tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to have a School Surge headed by my Secretary of Education.”

He pantomimes a left-handed, behind-the-back pass in the direction where we now notice several congressmen are seated. You met some of them at Brenda’s party. Alongside them a tall man stands up, receives the imaginary pass, and pantomimes a jump shot. It’s Arne Duncan, Obama’s six-foot-five Chicago basketball buddy.

“I’m proud to introduce Arne Duncan.

“And… the reason that I’m here… Brenda Shapiro. Stand up, Brenda… When you send Brenda Shapiro to Washington as your next representative, she’ll have Arne’s ear and support.”

A long pause as he looks over the heads of the audience.

“In the spirit of bipartisanship, let me introduce (he points out to the lawn) Mercy Alexander, the worthy Republican candidate. A fine woman with lots of ideas… unfortunately, most of them wrong.”

The crowd laughs at the good-natured jibe. Mercy stands from, and holds aloft, a tiny three-legged African sitting-stool.

Obama gets serious again.

“You know, in spite of the fact that we have the finest and most dedicated teachers in the world, and we address so much of our nation’s resources to the education of our children, we constantly rank low by world standards. Somehow, we’re not getting the job done.

“Some people want to have a lottery, hand out a few vouchers, and then say mission accomplished. But taking care of the few is no way to solve America’s problems. This administration will never abandon the public schools.

“What we’re going to do is stop the talking and start the doing. The congress and the parties, the state governments, the teachers, and the parents are going to come together now to reshape our nation’s education.”

His voice lets them know this is the last line. They begin to applaud. And applaud. And applaud. He waves to the crowd, shakes hands with each of the congressmen, and kisses that cute congresswoman, Nicole Evans. Then he turns his back on the audience and disappears into the school.

By the way folks, every bit of that speech – “family”, the basketball assist, and the location of Mercy Alexander – was there on the teleprompter. Barack’s people are working every minute to bring you the greatest show on Earth.