How We Become Great Again

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

I’m getting out of my car when, from deep in the pitch black of the night, I hear a voice calling my name. Repeatedly. It’s our next door neighbor, the one whose name I can never remember. During the 2016 election, they put a T***p sign on their lawn and I had to resist the urge to drive over it every time I left the house. It wasn’t right, I thought, that simply leaving the house could spark so much anger. Then, a day or so later, a blanket was thrown over it, much to our great delight and amusement.

This was almost three years ago. We’ve had one conversation since then.

Now, it’s so dark that I can’t even make out where she’s standing.

She calls my name again. Goddammit, what is her freakin’ name? My eyes focus and I realize she’s closer than I thought and I have this momentary fear that I’ve run over their dog or cat or God forbid, both.

How’s your husband doing? she asks, but instead of “your husband”, she actually uses his first name. I instantly feel bad that she knows my husband’s name because I’ll be damned if I know hers.

Oh, I say, he’s doing all right. I know she knows he’s had some health problems; like everyone in the neighborhood, she saw the ambulance come during Thanksgiving dinner four years ago. He has some good days amid the bad ones, I add, purposely being vague. You know how…