By Butch Freedman
“I’ve had it with this country,” Harry said. “I think we’re going to have to leave.”
“You say that,” his wife Lilly responded, “but you don’t really mean it.”
“I do this time. The place has gone batshit crazy.”
“It’s always been that way, honey. Nothing new. We’ll survive.”
“I’m not so sure,” he grumbled. “This feels different.”
“What does?”
“Everything. The hostility, the division. I mean, you can’t even talk openly to people at the grocery store anymore without worrying that they’ll put you on some right-wing hit list or something.”
“Since when do you talk to people in the grocery store?”
“That’s exactly my point.”
“You’re impossible. Don’t you think there are still some good republicans out there?”
“No I don’t. What kind of good person approves of ripping brown people off the streets with no cause other than their appearance, or approves of taking Medicaid payments away from needy people so that the money can be given to fat cats, and now these ass-wipes are going to give millions of dollars to the same people who attacked law enforcement on Jan six. I mean, it’s all too much. What next? A world-war? Oh, I forgot, he’s already working on that.
“Damn, Harry, slow down. You’re gonna have a heart attack. I mean, I get it. But we still have to go on living our lives. We’ve got to stay strong so that we can resist this nonsense.
“You’re right,” Harry said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Of course not, sweetie, but you still have to relax. Why don’t you go for a nice long walk on the beach. Or get your board out and go play in the waves?”
“I don’t want to go for a damn walk. A walk isn’t going to stop what’s happening.”
“Look, I’m worried too. Especially about our kids. All the young people really. They’re the ones who are going to have to deal with this mess.”
“Right.”
“But angsting about it doesn’t help.”
“I know,” Harry muttered.
“We’re doing what we can—protesting, sending money when we’re able, talking to the neighbors,” she said. “Now all we can do is wait for the mid-terms and hope enough people come to their senses.”
“But waiting is the hard part,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep. I dreamt last night that trump snuck into our bedroom.”
“Really? What did he want?”
“He was trying to smell your hair.”
Lilly laughed. “Sounds about right. He’s a perv. Did you protect me, sweetie?”
“I hit him with a whiffle-ball bat.”
“Did that do it?”
“Yeah, but his diaper came off.”
“Gross!”
“I woke up sweating at that point.”
“You really have to chill, babe. Take a breath. Take three.”
“You’re right. Maybe I should go surfing. I never think about this crap when I’m out in the ocean.”
“Good, I’ll walk down with you. I need it too.” Lilly stopped then and looked at her husband of many years. “It’s gonna be okay, Harry. Truly.”
“You really think so.”
“Maybe,” Lilly said.
Harry laughed, and shook his head. He loved this woman. Together they could stay strong. “I’ll go get my wetsuit on,” he said.
