"You and Donald Trump": A Short Story told in Second Person

And as luck would have it, your groundbreaking discovery and the important work you've been doing is finally recognized. You get invited to a fancy conference in Washington D.C. to talk about all the work you've been tirelessly doing over the past 10 years. It feels like a dream to put on this expensive outfit that's been bought for you so you'll blend in better with the "very important people," and not in the good way. Not a dream like it's been something you've been longing for. More like the kind of dream where everything takes place underwater and you watch it like a movie, like your body is an automated theme-park ride and you're simply strapped in. In all the hustle of the evening, the introductions and hand shaking, you finally gain your bearings. It's time for a moment alone. You decide escaping off to the bathroom for a few minutes might just be like coming back up to the surface to take a few breaths of fresh air before you dive back into to the dinner party with sharks. As you walk off alone to go to the bathroom, you strangely... run into... a man... who oddly resembles... Oh no, shit. That really is him! You walk down the hall and find yourself only feet away from President Trump, no aids or security. And he looks flustered. Before you can think, your compassionate nature has taken over.

"Are you okay?"

Trump looks out of breath and sweaty, like he could have a heart attack at any second. He looks up at you and your tender conscious eyes, your safe genuine humanly eyes, and his start flooding with tears, like a small overwhelmed child.

"I just... I've just done so much bullshit. Terrible. Sad sad things," he gasps and sniffles, "There is no going back--- Everybody hates me! I don't see the point in even trying..."

His sobs intensify as you thank him for being open with you.

"Look, I know changing can be hard but there is always hope if you really become honest with yourself. Try going to therapy. You've done a lot of harm and people are hurt and scared by what they've seen you've been capable of, but no human is incapable of redemption."

Trump, looking down at the floor, shakes his head in desperation,

"No, no no no, you don't understand. You don't get it-- I tried! I try and I try and I try and nobody cares if I try to do the right thing, they all still call me a nazi cheeto and wish I were dead. Nobody respects me, really." Tears streaming down his face.

"Listen man.... You've done a lot of fucked up shit and got away with it too many times. You gotta either accept that karma or let it come back around and bite you in the ass. You have to understand how fortunate you are, and what kind of a position you are in! You are in such a seat of power that you have the opportunity to do real good in this world. It's your responsibility now. It's not about what people think of you, it's about serving justice and freedom and equality, the real American values. You just need to take that first leap, even if you are scared. It WILL get better for this country. It has to."

Trumps tears stop and he grabs you by both shoulders looking you dead in the eye.

"You don't get it! They'll kill me! Boom, I'm dead. The people who put me here, the Kabal, the oil companies, those hicks in the south! They don't give a damn about me. They don't give a damn about equality and justice! They don't even give a damn about America! If I step out of line I'm DONE. Just like Kennedy. Bam. Gone."

He let's you go and turns away, "Every time I walk out that door, their watching me. You think I want to keep making a fool of myself like this? Hey, I've got a thick skin, yeah, I don't mind making a fool of myself if I'm getting paid, but this is different. Those secret service guns, those guys, they aren't there to protect me, they're there to keep me in line...."

This is all too much. All you can do is take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the sudden realness of your life, this moment, so real that it feels like a damn dream. You reach forward and put one hand on his shoulder as he leans distraught against the lavish walls of the eloquent Washington business center. The fabric of his suit is soft and agreeable-- nothing like the man.

"Life as a pawn is not a life worth living, my friend. Give me liberty.... Or give me death."

With another deep breath, you let go of any outcome as you let go of the man in front of you. Knowing strongly that you know who you are. And that you are free. Gratitude fills your belly and your heart and your eyes, and you walk away, down the corridor, happy to have already taken your own leaps, happy to know that people truly care about you.

As you do, a pair of secret service men run passed you towards the pitiful president, mumbling into their ear pieces.

"We got him, the eagle has been located. Sir! Sir, please come with us."