My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

10

The Earth's oceans and seas had dried up, leaving only the bones of fish and skeletal remains of sea creatures. Semi bald pink haired alien children were playing in the littered sand, and their parents were busily eating barbequed meat off medium sized bones at the nearby picnic table. Then I saw skeletal fingers still attached to the bones.

And the rings that glinted off of them.

“Ohmygod! Ohmygod!” I screamed. “Lee! Lee! Oh God, Lee!”

“Harry?” Lee’s voice groaned hoarsely, confusing me. Bones couldn’t talk, could they?

“Harry?” he asked again, as I felt my shoulders being shaken. But I was trembling so hard it was hard to distinguish between my sombolistic state or reality.

“Wake up!  Open your eyes, Harry, c’mon," he coughed, "open your eyes!”

“They are open!” I cried, my eyes flooded with tears and my stomach churned.

“No they’re not! You’re dreaming! C’mon, wake up!” he ordered as I felt a slight slap to my right cheek, followed by another to my left.

Things blurred.

“That’s it, c’mon, Harry. All the way.”

“L..Lee?” I managed, startled as my vision began to clear slightly, “Oh, God,” I sobbed and embraced him, kneeling beside me, “oh, God, you’re alive! You weren’t eaten! Hurry, we need to escape!”

“Harry. Snap out of it. You’re having a nightmare. That’s all.”

Then he wiped the wet corners of my eyes with his fingers, and forced a glass of water to my lips. I drank greedily, soothing my parched throat.

“Where am I?” I gulped as I tried to blink away the remaining moisture in my eyes.

"My bedroom, but I don’t remember much about what happened last night….”

As two armed secret service agents barged in I suddenly remembered where I was and that I'd stayed the night in the chair next to his bed to keep an eye on him.

Lee was in pajamas, his real eye bloodshot, and his socket empty was holding on to me from the floor.

“No sign of an intruder,” one of the agents spoke into his cell as the other returned toward us after checking out the suite.

“Sorry,” I told the agents, “I fell asleep while I was sitting up with him. I had a nightmare.”

“Must have been a doozy,” one of the men said, “could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“We thought something happened to the president,” the other grumbled.

Lee scowled at that, hinting to the agents with a nod of his head to leave.

“I’m so sorry, Lee,” I said after they’d left.

“You stayed here all night?” he asked, confused, as he took in my rumpled tux.

“You were…well….”

He rubbed his forehead, wincing. “My hangover tells me I was drunk, that it? Gawd, it hurts. ”

“How bad?”

“We, my eye aches, I have splitting headache, am a bit dizzy and I think even my hair hurts though I know that’s impossible. I don’t remember going to bed. I guess I was pretty out of it?”

“You might say so.”

“Oh Lord,” Lee groaned, squinting, “what time is it?”

I checked my watch.

“1037.”

“Damn. The SOD’s going to kill me. Meeting at 1100.”

“You’ll make it…”

“Maybe…uh, Harry, I can’t seem to get up off my knees…”

And so I helped my boy up, letting him lean on me until he got his balance.

“Thanks. I can manage now. Maybe. Sort of,” he added as he leaned on a piece of furniture. “The room's spinning.”

There was a knock on the door and the chief steward, pushing a food cart, didn’t wait for permission to answer. The breach of protocol was totally ignored by Lee as he stumbled the last two steps to the bathroom, and leaned wearily against the bathroom’s door frame.

“Good morning, Mr. President.," Edwards said, "Chef’s spitting tacks but I told him you’d probably only want something quick like coffee and doughnuts. And there are clean clothes waiting for you Admiral Nelson. Courtesy Admiral Starke. I’ll show you the guest suite where you can shower and change.”

“You’d better go, Harry,” Lee said, “you’re already late for the next round of the SEA meetings."

 “Oh, and Mr. President,” the steward continued, “Commander Jackson is also here. With a hangover cure.”

“Send him up,” I took the liberty of answering.

Lee barely managed a nod of agreement.

“Meet you downstairs before I go to the Pentagon, Harry.”

 “Actually, sir,” the steward said, “when the secretary of defense was informed you were running late due a bad night feeling ill, he said ‘anytime’ at your convenience.”

“I’m still going to try to make it as close to as planned.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” he said, “I’ll wait for you outside, Admiral,” he added with a grin and departed.

“Coffee?” Lee asked weakly, still holding on to the door frame for dear life. "Ow…my legs feel like rubber. Maybe we should consider that Mur a weapon.”

“Here you go, son,” I said handing a cup to him. But he couldn’t hold on to it and it crashed to the thick carpet, spilling the brew.

“I wonder if they’ll dock my pay for that,” he sighed. “

I poured another cup and handed it to him, making sure he had a good grip.

He took a sip and groaned, "They still can't get the hang of real coffee."

“Hey, bro,” Joe called out as he entered. “They tell me that you're sick," then he closed the door behind him "…oh, yeah…you got it bad,” he added as Lee winced at his words.

“Take good care of him, Joe,” I ordered.

“Don’t I always?”

Lee snorted, but was immediately sorry for the action, as he reached for his forehead, groaning in pain.

“Time for the cure,” Jackson said, taking a packet of some kind of green powder and sprinkled it into Lee’s coffee. It dissolved instantly. “Go on Lee, drink it.”

“What is it ?” I asked.

“Alfalfa powder…c’mon Lee, drink it down.”

“Guh! That’s disgusting!” Lee said after a sip. “And it’s not working.”

“Never promised it would,” Joe said. “But it tastes so bad, it’ll take your mind off of how awful the rest of you feels. Go on, drink it all the way down. C’mon, Lee…that’s it... think of America…good boy, now, let’s get you all cleaned up and polished for your public,” he said as he grabbed Lee’s arm and helped him into the bathroom. “Don’t worry, Admiral, an ice cold shower and some Extra Strength Tylenol will do the trick.”

“They why,” Lee said, “did you make me drink that pond scum?”

“Good for what ails you. Trust me.”

I decided it was best not to hang around.

But first I poured myself a cup of coffee and grabbed a doughnut before leaving the bedroom and letting the steward lead me out of the presidential apartment to the guest suite.

“How is he?” Jiggs asked as I entered, and muted the TV with a remote.

“Just about what you’d expect after last night.”

“There,” he said, nodding toward the short stack of clothes, along with black socks and regular shoes on the chair nearest the bathroom. “Shaving kit’s here too,” he added.

“Thanks,” I replied guzzling down the last of my coffee and what was left of my doughnut before heading to the bathroom to begin my ablutions.

 As I showered and shaved, I wondered if Joe would be able to convince Lee to try any of the doughnuts as  the idea of anything to eat might not be welcome. And Lee was in a hurry.

As I emerged from my bathroom, fresh and clothed, I sat down next to Jiggs who was watching the latest newscast.

“….Apparently the president had to leave his guests early at last night’s inter global dinner, suffering, we’re told, from bad oysters. It is unknown if the aliens suffered from food poisoning as well. We’ll bring you more as the story develops….”

“At least the press is buying it,” Jiggs said as he clicked the TV off.

“C’mon,” I said, “let’s get downstairs.”

As Jiggs and I let ourselves be escorted downstairs to await Lee for our goodbyes, we spotted Melody in one of the reception rooms, sitting on the sofa, her head in her hands, groaning. The Lt. was angry, at least his metallic tones were fast and loud. She was ‘dinging’ in return, though as a female, even if she was talking back to him, her melodic tones didn’t seem as harsh.

Male chauvinist that I am, I went to her ‘rescue’, followed by Jiggs.

The Lt. looked at me sourly.

“You…are respon-si-ble for this,” he said.

“I beg your pardon,” Jiggs huffed. “She chose to drink too much of your Mur, knowing full well not to overdo it.”

“I failed to no-tice how much either of us had,"Melody said, "and now...”she sniffled, a tear running down her cheek.

“It’s just a hangover,” I said gently. “He’s had them before. He’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

“He will not be angry with me? He will not make us go without the salt?”

“Oh, my dear,” I said, sitting down beside her and putting my arm around her shoulders, “he’s not a vindictive man.  Trust me, he won’t be angry. And since he’s ordered me to continue with the SEA committee’s research, he’s certainly still interested to helping your world, if he can.”

She sagged in relief.

“This isn’t just about the salt, is it. You like him, don’t you,” I found myself asking her.

“Yes. Very much. Even if he is ugly.”

“There you all are,” Lee interrupted, his eye still bloodshot, and wearing the prosthesis. He headed straight to Melody. “How are you feeling?”

“I have felt better,” she said, touching his cheek.

“Me too. I’m afraid I have to apologize for getting myself drunk last night. I was having such a pleasant time in your company, I didn’t notice how much I was drinking.”

The Lt. snorted.

“After the first two glasses, it actually tasted rather pleasant, ” Lee explained to Jiggs and me.

“The tel-e-vi-sion,” the Lt. began, “said it was the oy-sters that made you ill. Why did you earthmen lie?”

Lee raised an eyebrow at me.

“Well, you see, I….”

“Harry and I," Jiggs said, "thought it for the best for the staff not to know the truth.

“Well, they knew anyway, didn’t they," Lee said, "and some of them 'leaked' the falsehood about the damn oysters. Lying on my behalf is never to happen again, by the staff, or by either of you. Joe, arrange a short press conference and a car for Admiral’s Nelson and Starke.”

“Perhaps I should explain to the press,” I began, dripping with the syrup of apology.

“It’s for me to do any damage control."

“We only made up the story to protect you, Lee,” I said.

“I don’t need that kind of protection.”

“We had the best of intentions,” Jiggs said.

“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions!”

“All right, all right,” I said. “I was wrong. Jiggs was wrong. We just wanted to cover your ass if the staff reported anything.”

Taking deep breaths to calm down, Lee's hands curled into fists, his lips into a frown and he rubbed his furrowed brow.

“How is that headache?” I couldn’t help asking, reaching my hand out toward his forehead. He pushed my hand away, glaring at me.

“No doubt you’re anxious to get to the SEA session. And I’m sure you have other things to do as well, Admiral Starke.”

Then Lee ignored us and took Melody’s hand.

“Melody? I promised that I’d take you shopping. But I have a few things still to attend to.”

“As I told you last night,” Lt. Numbers said, “shop-ping is unnecessary. Our world provides all.”

“Not everything or you wouldn’t be here. And shopping is something most women like to do. Why not let Melody enjoy the experience, while she’s here.”

“Her father will not like it.”

“Well,” Lee said, rubbing his chin, “there is that.”

“I will go ‘shop-ping’ anyway, Lee,” Melody said. “I am of age. He cannot forbid me to have fun unless I am on duty aboard his flagship. And he will not harm you as long as there is a chance for the trade agreement.”

“I’ll be back soon, Mel,” Lee said, raising her hand to his lips, then brushed past Jiggs and me without saying another word.

“He’s pissed,” Joe whispered as Jiggs and I departed.

“You don’t say,” I sighed.

“You never let him speak to us like that before, Harriman,” Jiggs said.

“He wasn’t president of the United States before.”

Less than ten minutes later, I had joined the other scientists at the executive building before CNN broadcast the ‘breaking’ newscast. It was short and to the point. Lee assured his fellow Americans that contrary to unsubstantiated rumors, even by the White House staff, he had imbibed rather too much of  Mur, the potency of which had been too much for him to handle.

“Is it a potential import for U.S. markets?” one of the reporters asked.

“Considering the fact that the proposed trade agreement between our worlds has not been approved or finalized yet, it would be too early to  say. And the FDA would have to run a few tests.”

“But you’re feeling okay, now?”

“I won’t lie to you. My hangover is still hanging on. But, I’m well enough to proceed with my planned meeting with the secretary of defense, and to take our guests out on the town for a little shopping and sightseeing.”

“What does the female want to shop for? And won’t the Secret Service have to check out the places and secure them? Seems like a bad idea to me, Mr. President. Have them use the internet like everyone else.”

“We’ve already secured a beauty salon appointment, a visit to two department stores, and to a pet shop for her to look at.”

“And they’re okay with shoppers from outer space?”

“The owners are glad to represent the best of our country for our visitors.”

“I have some Visine for your eye if you want some.”

“Thank you but I’ve already used some eye drops. Sometimes we just have to give things a little time. Afternoon.”

We returned our attention to the latest computerized simulations of the proposed harvest of sea water, several of them promising, in that the needs of the aliens shouldn’t destroy our ecology, shouldn’t being the operating word.

But  I found myself uneasy. That damn dream kept popping up in my head. Could it have been a premonition of some kind? Or had I simply remembered an old movie and my imagination went into over drive. That movie where the aliens promised a good life, but the earthlings had been tricked into becoming the main menu. That had to be it, of course.

There were more simulations and chemical analysis yet to do, but the meeting broke up for the day. Probably, I thought, to watch the next CNN report that would be following the alien’s shopping excursion. Only the press was now calling it a little PR trip for America, and Earth, of course.

Joe had returned to the lodge, where Jiggs was still fuming, and consuming bag after bag of potato chips. 

“Easy, Jiggs,” I said wearily setting my heavy valise full of notes on the crowded end table.

“Well? How goes it with the SEA?”

“Promising, but…”

“Well?” Joe asked.

“If you must know, I had a bad dream last night. And ever since, I’m…not so sure this harvesting our salt is such a good idea, only I have nothing to base that on. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well,” Joe said, “be sure to tell Lee about it. He values your opinion, you know…”

“Hah!” Jiggs snorted.

“And he’s had ESP himself  you know. If what you had was ESP or just an active imagination, you should tell him. What was the dream about, sir?”

“Oh good grief,” Jiggs said. “Why don’t you go and offer your services to our aliens. Carry a shopping bag or something.”

“Actually, I will be…not until about 1600, though. And I’ll be packing heat, along with the Secret Service. You did want me to help protect him, didn’t you, Admiral Nelson?”

“He has a point, Jiggs,” I said and retired to my bedroom to work a little on my journal.

1600. It’s almost that now, and Joe’s gone back to the White House, which is probably crawling with agents and police, all wishing that, like the reporter had suggested, the aliens would have used the internet rather than risk their, or rather, Lee’s life on nothing but a shopping trip.

Whether taking our guests out is a good idea or bad, only the next few hours tell.