My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

19

“Morning,” Mrs. C. greeted me as I sauntered into the family dining room. “ Lee said to go ahead.”

“Any problem I should be aware of?” I asked as I poured myself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the buffet  table while the windows rattled from the heavy downpour outside.

“He’s with her right now. He’s barely said a word to me since I arrived! Spent some time with you last night I hear.”

“Pre wedding jitters,” I said. “Easier for him to talk to me than to his mother about certain…things.”

Okay, it was a lie, sort of.

“Oh, of course,” she blushed. “Well, I hope they decide to come in from outside soon.”

“They’re outside in this? I know Melody likes rain, but this is severe thunderstorm!”

“Apparently, the rain they have on her world is limited and a bit caustic.”

“Ouch,” I said as I lifted the silver lid off of the aluminum food warmer and scooped out my Eggs Benedict, then sat down, leaving the chair at the head of the table vacant out of respect for Lee's position. I had to laugh to myself, for traditionally, I was the head of the family.

“Good morning,” Numbers said as he arrived and poured himself a glass of water, adding a small powder that had to be one of his food supplements.

“Manage to contact the captain last night?" I asked,"Lee told me you needed to phone home.”

Mrs. C. laughed.

“It would take too long to explain,” I told him as he looked at us, confused.

“892-7 will be arriving today,” Numbers said.

“892-7?” Mrs. C. asked.

“His wife. There are some planetary debris fields her ship must de-tour before arriving near your galaxy. Then it should be smooth sail-ing as you would say, Admiral.”

“What is she like?” Mrs. C. asked. “I mean, is there anything special we need to know about her, in order to properly welcome her?”

“She will not need wel-com-ing. And she is only tol-er-ant of the bonding due to her daughter's insistence of uniting with the pres-i-dent."

“And you’re still not fond of the idea yourself, are you?”

“Nor you.”

“I was against it at first,” Mrs. C. replied, “but not any longer. Melody showed great strength of character yesterday and I admire that.”

“But you a-gree with Ron-ald Nel-son that she, that we, look like  ugly dogs.”

“I never said that!”

“You lie.”

“Now wait just a moment, young man….”

“Did you or did you not tell your friends in Mas..Mass..a-chu-setts that she was 'ugly as sin'?”

I raised my eyebrow.

“Well, yes,” Mrs. C. admitted, “but that’s not quite the same.”

“It is equal to what others have said. The word ‘sin’ is defined  as 'offence', a ‘failing’ is it not?”

“Those are hardly the only definitions,” I butted in.

“It is also used as a phrase used to denote ‘ugly’. I checked.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Mrs. C. said, patting his arm and quickly removed her hand as her touch was not welcome. “It was before I knew her. And my friends had no business telling anyone else about our private conversations.”

“That does not alter what you believed. And still believe. We look like dogs to you. At least those you consider ugly. Well, you Earthlings look like what you call dogs to us.”

“Let’s drop the subject, shall we?” Lee interrupted  as he entered, his hair wet, the collar of his sport shirt damp as the bottoms of his pants. At least he’d worn rain boots. He was carrying a few newspapers and some opened and unopened letters and cards. “Melody is changing clothes. She got a little more wet than me. Okay, a lot more.”

Thunder boomed again. Rain smashed sideways against the windows.

“You were afraid to stay out longer?” Numbers asked.

“Well,” Lee said as he placed his items at the head of the table, “I’d really prefer not to get zapped by lightening. It can maim and kill us mere humans. And umbrellas can actually make it easier to strike us.”

“Your anatomy is in-fer-i-or. We have shielding from e-lec-tri-cal discharges. To a point.”

“Yes. Mel told me,” Lee said as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “I expect we’ll be playing in the rain a lot.”

Just then the chef appeared.

“Your Toasted Egg Sandwiches, Mr. President. Just as instructed by Mrs. Crane.”

“Hey, that’s great! Thanks for suggesting it, Mom."

“Is there anything else we can prepare for any of you?” the chef asked.

“I’d like to try some fried bacon and onions,” Melody said from the doorway before walking toward Lee and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“And some vanilla ice cream on the side,” Lee said, "for both of us.”

 “Right away, Sir,” the chef said with a slight bow and departed.

“Good morning ‘Mother’, ‘Father’,” Melody said as she sat down.

Numbers winced.

“Did you have a nice time playing in the rain, my dear?” Mrs. C. asked.

“Yes. Your world is so wonderful."

“I suppose you’re excited about your mother’s arrival today,” I said.

“Yes, but I should warn you that she can be…ir…what is the word, oh yes. ir-ir-i-tat-ing. But she is glad that Lee is important. As if that’s why I’m marrying him. I love him. That is the only reason,” she added casting Lee a simpering look of adoration.

"I wish to use the in-ter-net again," Numbers said, rising.

“It’s called ‘surfing’,” Melody said. “You should be well acquainted with the terms here by now.”

“Unlike you, I do not need to in-gra-ci-ate myself with the Earthlings by ac-clim-at-ing to their archaic language. No need to call someone to escort me to the West Wing, Mr. Pres-i-dent. I know where the guest computers are and how to sign in.”

And with that he left.

I looked at Lee askance.

“They’re secured and monitored,” he said.  

“What’s on your schedule for today, Lee?” Mrs. C. asked.

“Just need to meet with various advisors and a few committees,” Lee said in between chewing down on of his sandwiches. “But today will be pretty well taken up with them.”

“No kidding, Mr. President,” one of the administrative assistants, an immaculately groomed and well dressed woman about twenty five or so said on entering, handing Lee some files.

"Morning Ms. Simpson," Lee said without enthusiasm. 

“You have talks and reviews with the Space Exploration Agency, immigration change talks, repeal of four of the health care reform laws, change of standards for admittance to the military academies. Requests for re-trials and pardons of convictions where evidence was insufficient or disproven. New safety regulations regarding cars, planes, boats, and trains, buildings, paint, agriculture, nuclear energy plants, fossil fuel energy plants, water treatment plants….”

“Enough already,” Mrs. C. sighed, "he can read, you know."

“How long will all those take?” Melody asked.

“Depends on how well and how quickly the advisors take to present their cases."

“You can’t hurry them along, Lee?” Melody asked.

“I can’t just snap my fingers and make any executive decisions for most of these matters, Mel. All I can do for these is to forward my recommendations, or not, to congress. It’s going to be a long day. Love me anyway?”

Melody melted, reached over and raised his hand to her lips and then began to ruffle his hair, as Simpson looked on in veiled disgust. But it was disgust just the same.

“The first meeting starts in twenty minutes,” Simpson interrupted, “if you want to stick to the schedule, that is.”

“I’ll be there,” Lee said, took another bite of one of his sandwiches, gulped down some coffee, and began to pull out some of the opened letters and cards.

“Most of those wedding cards are from children," Simpson said, "a class project I believe. And the unopened cards are from various world leaders….”

“Does the West Wing make a habit of opening up all of his mail?” I asked as Lee handed me a very juvenile card with a smile. Inside was a sheet of paper with a drawing of the White House, with stick figures of Lee and Melody, a cat and a dog, in front, all smiling.

“Everything is checked through the bio hazard filters, but only the official or VIP mail is unopened. As for the rest, we need to insure that the president’s time isn’t wasted with irrelevant letters or requests.”

“It isn’t a waste of time to read the letters and cards from the nation’s children,” Lee rebuked her. “Be sure I get all of them in the future. I’ll want to send replies to all of these,” he added as I handed the drawing over to Melody, who smiled, delighted with it.

“I’ll have the presidential photographs auto signed," Simpson said.

“ASs I’ve told you and the staff before, when I do want to send personal replies, I intend to write them myself. No auto pen, no impersonal ‘thanks from the White House’, no word processors, no Spell Check. Just from plain old me, warts and all. I hope you’ll remind the rest of the  staff?”

“As you wish, Mr. President, but if I may say so, your schedule is so full, you won’t want to spend what little time you have left for correspondence to perfect strangers, even if they’re children and….”

“Just do as I say, please," Lee said irritated, "and postpone the SEA meeting until tomorrow.”

“But…”

Lee raised an eyebrow and gave her a look that could peel paint off a bulkhead.
“Yes, sir. The unsigned photos will be waiting for you in the Oval Office,” she added and departed.

“You certainly told her off,” Mrs. C. said.

“I didn’t mean to be rude, but I don’t like the way she and everyone in the office try to lord it over me all the time. What harm can answering a few of these by myself do…here’s another one…”

We spent the next half hour going through cards and drawings of congratulations, including a few heavily embossed cards from international dignitaries (without drawings) as we ate.

“Aren’t you going to finish that second sandwich?” I asked.

“And your bacon and ice cream?" Mrs. C. asked.

“Help yourselves…Harry, do you have your cell phone on you?”

“Yes…”

“Great…how about taking a picture of Mel and me…over there, by the window.”

“I um, don’t know how to use that feature.”

“I’ll do it,” Mrs. C. said. “I hate the damn things too, Harry. But Joe taught me how to work it. Sort of.”

In minutes, several photos of Lee and Melody, framed by the view of a rainbow through te window had been taken. Lee buzzed Joe and soon he was busy transferring the images to the media center.

“The pictures should be ready soon,” he said. “Lee, just what did you say to Simpson? She was spitting tacks earlier.”

“A little difference of opinion regarding my job description.”

“Ouch. Need a band aid for the old noggin?”

“I’ll live.”

“Why not just fire her, if she gives you grief?” Mrs. C. asked.

“She’s civil service and has a little protection…besides, she’s only doing her job as she sees best. Speaking of jobs. Mel, come on with me to the Oval Office and help me reply to these. Harry, find out Seaview’s ETA. Mom, check with the chef about finger foods for the wedding reception. Keep it simple. Figure about 300 people. I wanted to keep it small but I was reminded that there are some persons we can’t just ignore. PR and all that.”

And so, the happy couple worked together in the heart of the White House on their correspondence before Lee had to flee to the second meeting on the list.

Soon Mrs. Crane and Melody were busy in the kitchen discussing foods that should be included on the menu.

Seaview was making great speed and would soon clear out from under the Arctic ice and into the Atlantic.

And as for me, well, I checked with Angie for Emmie’s time of arrival at the airport, arranged for some roses to be delivered to the hotel suite, headed to the Navy Lodge to bring Jiggs up on the latest, before taking pen in hand and recording today’s events thus far.

Thus far.

Has a nice open ended feeling, doesn’t it.

But the rest of the day is still to come.

Along with a certain blue skinned lady on her way from outer space.