My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

36

Joe, or possibly Ms. Simpson, scheduled the press conference of 1030. I was glad as I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep and only managed a few winks after 0400.

I joined Emmie and Mrs. C. in the family dining room where they were still drinking coffee. All other breakfast foods had been cleared away.

“He’s in the gym,” Mrs. C. said reading my face, as she stroked Missy, lying on the table in front of her while Emmie tried to read the morning paper while Missy kept pawing at it from her recumbent position. It was a lovely domestic scene.

I headed downstairs but didn’t know where the gym was and asked a steward who was removing all flowers and symbols of cheerfulness from the public areas. Indeed, the White House was in mourning.

Ms. Simpson spotted and joined me on my way to the  gym. As we entered, I stared in stunned silence as I saw Winston on a treadmill next to Lee’s treadmill. He looked down at the dog with real affection and as the buzzer signaled the treadmills to stop. Lee got off, bent down and praised the dog as he helped Winston off the machine.

“Good boy! You’re in better shape than me!” he said ruffling Winston’s head and ears. Naturally Winston was thrilled with the attention, rolled over and wanted his tummy rubbed.

While Lee was so engaged I noticed the gym boasted weight training machines and even a punching bag, which had a tear with fluff falling out. Some of the fluff was still on the floor.  

I could just imagine how it got that way. Lee often used a punching bag aboard Seaview to vent off his frustrations.

“Excuse me, Mr. President,” Ms. Simpson finally said, “you have forty five minutes before your broadcast.”

“Yes, Ms. Simpson, thanks,” he said rather automatically, and headed to one of the weight trainers. But Winston gave her (and me) a little yap of greeting, and he turned, seeing us.

“Ah, Hi Harry. Thought you’d never get up. Had breakfast?”

“Er, no.”

“Great, neither have I. Ms. Simpson, can you ask anyone on staff already headed to McDonald’s to bring us something. Mixed bag and maybe a hamburger for Winston and a fish sandwich for Missy?”

“Right away, Mr. President.”

“Harry and I will be in the arboretum. And don’t forget to….’

“Mr. President, have I ever forgotten to insure accurate accounting for petty cash to be reimbursed by your personal funds?”

“Er, no, sorry.”

After she huffed off, I grinned and touched the punching bag.

“Before you ask, yes," he said. "When I came down here, I punched the hell out of it, wishing it was Ronald and Numbers. But then I felt pretty foolish, caving in to such a violent streak.”

“I’d have done the same, Lad.”

“Well, anyway, Winston put me into a better mood.”

“Good boy!” I said, petting the First Pooch. “I’m not familiar with an arboretum in the White House,” I added as we strolled out of the gym and down the maze of passageways.

“It was actually a staff library. Someone figured there was good natural light so staff just kept bringing in the plants from their offices...kind of  let them run wild. Lot’s of African Violets and Pansies. Even a few mini vegetables, like Cherry Tomatoes. Nice place to take a break or have lunch…this time of day, probably not crowded.”

He was right, we were the only ones there. We enjoyed a little natter together alone together, and were soon chowing down Egg Mc Muffins, Chicken Biscuits, and even some pancakes.

“Chef’s going to have a hissy,” I said.

“Not when he has to prepare a state dinner in honor of some of our allied ambassadors…you and Emmie and Mom can come, can’t you? Simpson was going to cancel it, so close to…you know. But Mel wouldn’t want me to.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

As soon as Winston finished the round hamburger (Lee had removed the bun), we headed back upstairs so Lee could shower, shave, and change. Winston and I joined joined the ladies and Missy.

It was 10:25 before we knew it.

We left the animals, and headed downstairs, waiting in back of the press to watch.

A marine came to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.”

The double doors opened and Lee came forward. He was wearing a black suit and mourning armband. He was also wearing his black eye patch.

“My fellow Americans,” he began, “and citizens of Earth. It is with regret that I confirm that there will be no further trade agreements with our galactic visitors. Understandable due to recent events, and the murder of my wife and unborn child at the hands of both a human and one of their own. Justice has been served to Ambassador Numbers in the tradition of his kind. Justice is yet to be served to Ronald Hawthorn aka Nelson but it will be, according to the law.

“Some are pleased about the murder  and the alien departure. I've been asked, repeatedly, how could I fall in love with anyone so ugly, so different. The answer is simple. I saw only Melody’s heart. Something many refused to even try to do. Several have said ‘good riddance’ to the aliens, with no more reason than fear, or that they were so appalling to look at on the surface.

“Melody, her heart and soul so beautiful to me, and I named our baby Aurora in honor of the dawn of a new age. A new beginning for Earth and fellow beings working together in the great cosmos.

“That beginning has been postponed. But it will come. Perhaps not in our lifetimes, or in those of your children or grandchildren, but it will come.

“I can only pray to God that when it does, humankind will not be found as frightened children, fearful only of what is not familiar or understood. That our species will be courageous, and open minded. I do not mean to say that caution isn’t warranted at times. It is a good thing. But not to the point of the unreasonable prejudice and hate.

“Hate took Melody and Aurora’ from me.They had done nothing to deserve annihilation. Nothing except that they were different. Aliens from outer space.

“This nation is based on our differences. Our races, our cultures are manifold. A glorious melting pot that at times has been our greatest blessing. If only briefly, we had added a far off  culture straight from the stars  that would have added to that strength. To our humanity. But that is now, only a memory.

“Don’t let fear or hate dishonor that memory. Don’t be so ‘human’ that you forget you carry the same creative spark that God in his wisdom used to create the universe, and all who inhabit it.

“So, I’ve had my say. And I won’t speak of this again.  Now, I would remind you that we have an election coming up soon and  I am neither endorsing or objecting to either candidate and my vote will be given as my conscious dictates. There is still time for all of us to consider the options. Thank you.”

At first you could hear a pin drop, then applause began to circulate around the room, and throughout the White House itself.

Then the press ruined the moment.

“Mr. President, if you become a write in vote, and win, will to accept a second term, a real term?”

“No,” Lee smiled gently. “I’m no politician. I’m just a sub driver who misses his boat.”

“Then you’ll resume command of Seaview on January first after the inauguration?”

“I’m not really sure. A few months yet to go before then. I know I will resume my duties at NCIMR, however.”

“Will you consider re marriage?”

“I don’t believe so. No one can ever take her place in my heart. Now, if you’ll excuse me.  I have a dog to walk.”

It was a lie, Winston didn’t need a walk again so soon, I knew. But when you don’t want to hang around the press, one excuse is as good as another to get out of the way.

Lee, accompanied by Joe retreated through the double doors and to the relative haven of the West Wing.

I turned to Emmie to see if she wanted to return to our suite, but her eyes were moist and she was patting them dry.

“Beautiful, just beautiful,” Mrs. C. was saying, also dabbing her eyes.

 A lot of others had moist eyes. No doubt Lee’s speech would hold a place in the history of our country and the world.

I began to think about that write in vote, suggested in part, in jest. But I wondered. Lee wore the mantle of the presidency like he was born to it.

Perhaps, I told myself, he was.

As Emmie, Mrs. C. and I passed by some of the presidential portraits on the wall, there was a large gap where Lee’s official portrait was yet to hang. But another picture, a framed photograph, was in the center of the gap. It was the very photo of Lee, Melody, Winston, and Missy in the Oval Office.

“President’s orders,” Ms. Simpson said, stopping behind us gaping at it. “The real portrait's gone to the Library of Congress.”

We chuckled lightly. Yes, it was exactly something Lee would do. A reminder of what true love is, and his hope for the future.