It’s fall, the summer rush is over, and the Harris’s, who are used to having a party every night, albeit commercial, invited what they are now calling “the gang” over for dessert, and to watch Obama’s Syria speech on the winery’s 72-inch screen.
Well, you all saw it, and if
you didn’t, you should. It was Obama at his best. He talked right to you.
He talked right to Wayne. Wayne
had been dreading it. He usually watched Obama by himself, so he could rant and
rave and not upset his personal universe. Tonight he was watching with
liberals. Melissa was on his side, but it was only for this single issue. She’d
be back in bed with Obama when it was resolved, one way or the other.
OK, here comes “the ‘Bama.” Wayne
is tense, as he watches this suddenly-young-again man swagger jauntily up to
the podium. He looks like a boy whose head is too big for his short, slim body.
He begins to speak. Holy Shit! He’s saying everything Wayne says. Only better.
So, so, much better. Wayne relaxes. He’s ecstatic. He is experiencing something
he never has before: the orator-in-chief speaking for him, speaking his
words, speaking his thoughts. Obama smiles, that disarming
ear-to-ear grin – a dental ad with the mouth exaggerated to show how perfect it
is.
Everybody else in the big
room is frowning. Except Melissa, whose grin is as broad as Barack’s. Ann and
Donny Harris are holding hands as if it’s the end of the world. Wayne takes a
sip of his blackberry wine, and a bite of his apple cobbler. He’s happy. The
president is with him. He feels the security of the power behind him. Doreen is
looking at Melissa as if she’d like to kick the smile off her face. She refuses
to look at Wayne, because Barack is making his case: It’s too atrocious,
too dangerous, too immoral, too chicken-shit ball-less (well, maybe O. didn’t
say that, exactly, but he meant it) not to go in. Period. Fini.
Oh, but wait! What’s he
saying now? Why that two-faced…yeah…that’s just what he thought would happen. He
gave all the reasons why we have to hit Syria, and now he’s gonna tell us why
he’s not gonna to do it.
Suddenly Wayne knows what he
should have known, and maybe did all along. He’s been weak, weak. He fell into
the trap. He wanted to believe, so he did, but the prologue he loved was just
the introduction to the big “but”: But here’s why I’m not going to do it.
He’s been tricked. Obama
isn’t on his side at all. He’s on the side of the UN, the global tyrants. They’re
going to give Assad time to hide every last weapon. Hey! Maybe he can send them
back to Iraq, where they came from. Nobody’s watching Iraq now! Yes! American
presidents are nothing but moving men. Time to pack up your nukes, your germs,
and your poison gas; America’s on the move.
He looks around the room. Now
Melissa is frowning, and the Harris’s and Doreen are swilling down the
blackberry wine.
Look how that bastard weasled
out of having to lose face before Congress and the whole goddam fucking world. Everybody
was against him, both the Dems and the Reps, so he cancelled the vote he was
sure to lose.
Through his anger, he hears
Obama reach out for him once more, with the words, “American exceptionalism.” America
is a good place, not a bad place. America should, and has to, lead the world. Is
this the same guy who said America’s place in the world should be diminished? Could
he really have changed? No, no, it’s for one purpose only. He’s saved the world
to save his ass.
All the lefties in the room are talking it up – “the UN,” “civilized nations,” “no mo wo,” are phrases that come to him through his let-down and disappointment. Obama was so right, for the first half of his speech, and so wrong for the second.
Give the problem to the UN, Assad
goes back to shelling instead of gassing, the US can’t do anything because now
it’s the whole world’s business, and we’re back where we started before Assad
showed his stuff.
Nobody is looking at him;
he’s all alone. Even Melissa is recovering from her bout of doubt. Her boy has
pulled it out. He’s golden again. Without firing a shot, he’s going to get rid
of the poison gas, put it into the hands of the UN, which she loves, and
children the world over will be safe. He hears pieces of what she’s saying, and
knows that their political honeymoon is over. There’ll be no more “yessing”
from her.
A gust of hot air comes into
the room, bringing with it, their children., laughing and happy, not a care in
the world. “Did you watch the big O?” Natalie asks, as they troop down the
long, stone floor.
“We sure did,” says her
mother. “You should have seen him.”
“We did,” Natalie said,
picking up a cheese pastry.
“Weren’t you kids outside? I
thought you said you liked the heat.”
“We do. We were. We watched
it on my phone.”
“Well, what did you think?”
“Think? I think he’s smooth. He
says two things at once and you believe them both. We should do it. We
shouldn’t do it. We still would, but we won’t.”
Wayne’s interested now. He
moves closer. “He’s a hawk! He’s dove! He’s Superman!”
Steve pours some blackberry
wine into a glass. (He’s in college now – Community.) He says from his
professorial stance, “I don’t know what’s going on, and neither do you. Everybody
believes the last thing they hear. Nine-tenths of the time, what you hear is a
lie. Statistically, you’d be stupid to believe anything.”
Steve has spoken up. Would
Billy? Doreen turns to him. “And you?”
“I think he must have got
high with Putin, and they set the whole thing up.”
Steve raises his glass (on
high) to Billy and nods.
