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Michelle Obama’s Pelvis, Fake News, and Swirling Madnesses

Liam Spencer

    The news coming from the radio wasn’t good. The far right was energized by Trump’s “victory” a month prior, and hatred was showing up everywhere. It clearly was going to be a long four years or longer. Maybe forever.
    I reflected back to my beloved neighborhood from just a month ago. People of all mixes cheerfully walked the streets at all hours. We all greeted each other, whether a quick “hello” or a simple nod. There was no danger to be found anywhere. It was a great place to live.
    The only problem then was rising rents. It seemed everyone had found out how nice it was to live there, and thus wanted to join the community.
    Now, a month after the shock of Trump cheating his way into office, things were different. Fears and hates rocked people to their core. It was really happening. Neighbors eyed each other now, wondering who were the fascists. Pleasantries disappeared. Racists, racism, and hatred had quickly subdued the friendly, wonderful community.
    In sum, there were four groups in the newly transformed America. There were those most immediately impacted by hatred, and thus fear. Their fears were well founded, whether it was the government coming for them or it would be hate groups or individual nut jobs that would do them in.
    Then there were the hate filled nut jobs themselves. They had been waiting for this their whole lives. They were the true believers of Trump. The fascists. Destroy Constitutional Democracy forever, and replace it with a white nationalist, fascists state.
    The third group in the country were the doubters. Yes, Trump is an asshole, and might be a fascist, but he will not be able to destroy Constitutional Democracy and replace it with fascism. There just were too many democratic institutions to allow for such shit. Even many who voted for Trump did so out of economic desperation, and would not allow for fascism. The doubters were, by far, the largest group.
    The final group remaining were the alarmists. They knew the possibilities of a fascist takeover. They saw methods to the madnesses, and didn’t dismiss Trump’s “stupidity” or ignorance. They saw it like one would see a hurricane from outer space.

    I was heading for yet another doctor appointment for back issues that had sidelined me severely. Pain was an understatement. My left leg would give out. Great. It made for long days, being stuck at home. Most of my time was spent on the couch, ice pack and all. I couldn’t even write, as I couldn’t stand or sit long enough for more than a few sentences.
    Parking was easy, for once, but still pricy. $9 for an hour. To see the doctor. Still better than buses, as per my back issue. Plus, it was a parking garage, and thus away from the sideways Seattle rain.
    Doctor Francis was an older doctor, a grey hair, who had some back and leg issues as well. He could be somewhat sharp or short, according to his mood, but usually was a nice and thoughtful doctor. Often, however, he’d “get away with one,” lower his volume, and say things some might consider out of line. Each time he did this, he’d glow like he’d taken thirty years off his age. Such smart asses are to be appreciated.
    My mind began wondering as I sat there waiting for him. I was hoping he would not send me back to work yet. I knew management. Oh, did I know management. Ugh. The thought of my trying to carry eighty pounds of mail up giant mountains of steps with a very bad back and a left leg that gives out...only to get screamed at by management... Where did I go wrong in my life?

    The doctor came strolling in with MRI results. He looked to be in a good mood. I was a little relieved.
    “I have your MRI results here, and we’ll go over them in a minute... but first, how are you? Has there been any improvement?”
    “I’m hanging in there, I guess. There’s been some improvement, but not much. Left leg still goes out, and so on.”
    “Yeah, I kind of thought that’d be the case.”
    “and listening to the news doesn’t help. And then there’s all the fake news. I mean...”
    He leaned back in his chair with a broad, kid-like smile before letting a little laughter burst through. Then he seemed to spring forward, keeping his grin.
    “you know...oh, you’ll like this...”
    There was a long pause as he gathered himself. The whole thing made me smile. It felt good to smile.
    “So...this other patient of mine...he brings in this picture, obvious photoshopped, of Michelle Obama with what looks like an Adam’s Apple....”
    Laughter ensued.... “Oh jeez.”
    “Now, my being of the left...at first, I was like, who cares? But obviously, people like him care, so I felt I had to...you know...set him straight.”
    “Of course, of course.”
    “Do you know how to tell whether someone is really a woman? Their pelvis. Women have much different pelvis’ than men.”
    “Oh, ok. I wasn’t aware....”
    “...and from how Michelle Obama’s pelvis is.... Let’s just say Barack is a very lucky man to be sleeping beside her every night!”

    Nothing like a little TMI, right?

    Gears were switched immediately following that interesting discussion.
    “Now, for your MRI results.”
    He brought them up on the screen, then stopped. He turned to face my direction. His face showed more compassion than I had ever seen.
    “I wish I had better news for you.”
    My heart dropped.

    We went over the MRI results in detail. I had three decent discs left. The rest were on varying scales of uglinesses. It was not good news, but not the worst news either.
    When it came time to fill out the infamous work restriction form, called a CA-17. The doctor looked at me.
    “I don’t want you working any time soon, ok?”
    “Ok. I was thinking the same thing.”
    “See me in a month.”

    The appointment was made. I left eagerly. Beers waited for me at home, as did the ice packs. A place away from all things Trumpanzee.
    Except for the fake news from energized Trump worshipers on Facebook. Most of them on my feed were from my rural hometown. I sat there looking for a while before my eyes glazed over. My mouth hung wide open. Disbelief set in. It simply couldn’t be. No. No. No one could... How could any human being be that fucking stupid? How is this possible?
    I decided to take a walk and get out of the apartment for a while. Just for a while. It seemed like a prison cell by then.
    There was the old watering hole. The SL. They knew my usual. MGD bottle. $3. Not much was going on. It was a dull night. Not a shock. After a few more than I had intended, I decided to splurge for a late night breakfast at a bar/restaurant called the Mecca. Cheap, giant amounts of food were coming my way.
    The place was not busy, but sounded like it was, as per a couple of loud, annoying tables. My coffee came quick. The beertender was eager for me to order food. This was a very rare treat for me, so I was not in a hurry.
    Before long, a couple of women sat down at the bar roughly ten feet away. One sounded pretty drunk. I continued reading the menu, debating on three or four options.
    “Hey...hey you. Hey dude...”
    I looked over. “Me?”
    “Yeah you. Ever have chicken fried steak?”
    “Yeah. It’s been a while, but yeah. It’s good. Although I never had it here before.”
    “Ok. Thank you sir.”
    “No problem.”
    The beertender came over to take their order.
    “No. No. We’ll wait our turn. He was here first.”
    “That’s ok. Go ahead and order. I still haven’t made up my mind.”
    “Ah, such a gentleman. Always ladies first. No. We insist. You first.”
    The heavy woman beside the drunk one was nearly busting. A heavy balance hung over the air. All over food ordering. I asked for more coffee, then ordered eggs benedict.
    Soon the drunk woman was beside me with the coffee thermos that the beertender had eagerly given her. She filled my cup repeatedly, then refilled her own.
    “I remember you, you know, you fearless fuck. You just had to run...I don’t blame you.”
    “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “Come on. You know. Back there.”
    “Back where?”
    “Back east. Pittsburgh. They said you came out here.”
    “Who said that?”
    “Dude. You really don’t remember me?”
    “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
    “Come on. You know. You remember.”
    “No, I really don’t. Sorry.”
    She leaned in and whispered her last name; “Sutton.”

    Fuck. Just fuck. How is this possible? I grew uneasy, and looked around. There was nothing out of the ordinary. At least not seemingly.

    “Oh. Hmm. The name does sound familiar.”

    She leaned forward, pulled my chin toward her, looked into my eyes, and whispered;
    “It’s ok. You’re not in trouble. We’re just letting you know we’ve found you. You might be called upon again now.”

    It was then that I began to realize what was going on. She was swirling madness of the alcoholic variety. She simply landed in Seattle, or was sent to Seattle. Either way, there was nothing much to it. Still, I wondered, how did she find or even recognize me?

    Their food arrived first. The giant woman began scarfing. The drunk one kept talking to me, pouring coffee for both of us, as I ate my food....or most of it, at least.
    On and on she went. Never stopping except to sip coffee. On and on I ate, only pausing to sip coffee.
    The place was closing. Doggie bags were ordered. The heavy woman poured fake honey on her hand and licked it off. The drunk one made us each a tall cup of bad coffee to go.
    Realizing how drunk she was, and who she was, I offered to walk them home. They each had only a housing voucher for 30 days. People eyed her along the way. Something was going on. Still I was a sizable guy, known to the neighborhood. They’d be safe.
    Along the way, I wondered how she landed in Seattle, and how she recognized me. I hadn’t heard the names she had mentioned in well over a decade.
    At the door to their secured building, I wished them well, and insisted they take my doggie bag and coffee. They needed it more than I.
    After seeing them go inside, I turned and looked around. Everywhere was pretty dead. Perfect. I took a long deep breath. No more swirling madnesses. No more fake news (for the moment). There was no debate about Michelle Obama’s pelvis. It was semi fresh air and calmness.
    I hobbled along happily. It was as if I were both outside my apartment and inside my own world, and thus free.

    A block later I saw a big man standing there with his arms folded. He looked vaguely familiar. He was the first to nod. I was the first to shiver.
    Under a block later was another. A third wasn’t too far away.
    I hustled faster. I thought of hobbling another few blocks as a decoy, but realized there would be no use.
    There would be no escaping the swirling madnesses.

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