Obama hits on the Swedish Prime Minister. She’s got that ofay blonde hair and her legs go on forever. They’re not really longer than Michelle’s, but Big O’s gotten caught up in the celebration of Mandela’s death. He’s let his hair down and slid into his African self, as if he’d taken a few good draughts of nitrous oxide or absinthe drinks loaded with wormwood, as if he’d torn pieces of Ethiopian spiced goat meat off a larger hunk with his sharp teeth. All the goat meat in the world, he thinks, is his. He’s the most powerful man in the world. He can eat and drink as much as he likes. He can blow up to be as fat as a deposed dictator.
Big O is looking for a slam dunk. O, this Swede is hot. Michelle is staring daggers. She’d kick the Swede’s ass in a felony fight. She reins in Big O before he can scandalize himself. He’s already gone too far. He’s been leaning in, taking selfies of himself and the Swede as a couple, cheek to cheek, here at South Africa’s wild party to send off their Savior.
The looks Michelle’s giving him can curdle milk.…
You and I took the old Jetta out there years ago. We drove into the sunset because you couldn’t wait for morning. On the drive over, you bounced your leg up and down and pointed out each color—the orange hue that turned pink, like the jars of powder you mixed t9 lemonade. I reached over and touched your thigh to steady it. You calmed. You wrapped your hand around mine. It felt soft, small. Your skin looked pale against my own, tinted red. The radio played old love songs, lyrics I didn’t know. I smiled when you belted out each word loudly, with confidence. You didn’t care that you sounded like a screeching cat when you missed the high notes. And neither did I. My memory often recreates your voice as flawless. I have to remind myself not to disgrace you with perfection.
When we got to the water, you pulled me out of the car and dragged me through the sand. It smelled like salt and taffy. The wind blew your hair in your eyes, and each time I tucked it behind your ear, more of it flew forward. You laughed and kissed me and I tasted your long, wavy strands on my tongue. …