A Future Tale (Part Four)

In Part One of our Future Tale, our narrator took a walk in the city where she's lived for decades. 

She entered an alley in Part Two - a very strange alley, which we experienced with her in vivid detail. 

And in Part Three, she faced a decision on how to get out of it: step into a ridiculously out-of-place revolving door, or go back, through the terrorizing part of the alley, to the gate where she entered.  Here's where we left her.

The thought of stepping into the hug of that door was paralyzing.

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity; in reality, it was probably only a minute or two, as I considered my options. I had only two choices, I realized: try the door, or go back the way I came. Slowly, I turned my body slightly to the right, and took the measure of the alley.

Where there had been the giant screen, I saw nothing. Where I had seen all those dimly lit, frightening doorways, I saw only solid walls. I could barely make out the gate at the end of the alley, still shrouded in the confusing mid-day darkness.

I turned back to the left, towards the revolving door, and to the right again, in the direction of the gate, where this all started. I turned both directions again, and a third time, before making my decision.

Choking back my fear, I started walking.

Which way did she go? Let's find out. 

Towards the revolving door I went, with more than a little bit of trepidation. 

That was really the only choice... I mean, what sense would it make to go backwards? As I asked myself that question, the answers were numerous: I know what I'll find there; I've been there, done that, and so I know exactly what to do; they know me there, and I know them, so it'll be easier; the future is a scary place, especially right now, so why put myself through that? Why not go back the same way I came?

At the same time, I didn't want to go back through that alley, that very strange alley, with all the time-shifting, am-I-looking-ahead or am-I-looking back stuff that was, truly, frightening. There must be a better way, I thought, and that meant tackling whatever was waiting for me in the revolving door. 

I put my hand on the brass plate and gave a little push, to see if there was even a chance I could get out this way. At first, there was quite a bit of resistance. That wasn't surprising; who knows how long it's been since anyone else was in this alley? I gave another push, thinking how much this was like pushing the gate at the other end of the alley. When was that, anyway? How long have I been in here? I have no idea.

Finally, on the third push, it actually moved noticeably, if slowly, with a bit of a grinding noise, as if it needed to be oiled. Or, thinking back to when I was a child, maybe it just needed some kids to push and push and keep pushing, going round and round in their little cages within the door, like I did, chasing my older brothers... or, were they chasing me?

Thoughts of anything chasing me right now were unwelcomed, and I pushed those memories aside, focusing on the task at hand: getting this darn thing to move and, hopefully, finding a way out on the other side. I leaned in a bit, putting some oomph into it, and finally, the door moved, with purpose. 

I kept up steady pressure on the door, and then I was fully inside it, and that made me stop for a brief second. I stood, holding my breath, feeling my heart start to beat a little faster. And then, throwing caution to the wind, I pushed, hard, once more, and around I went. I couldn't tell if there was a door on the back side for me to duck through; I was moving quickly now, surprisingly fast given the outward appearance of the door. 

I started pushing again, walking and pushing, pushing and walking, thinking this has to be the biggest revolving door ever. It seemed to take forever to make it to the front, where I entered, and then to move around to where I expected an exit to be. I went fully around a second time; I'm not really sure why. On the third trip around, I slowed enough to spot an opening, right where it should have been, if this was a normal revolving door. I took a deep breath, and jumped into the darkness.

I landed, awkwardly, barely managing to stay on my feet, and waited for my senses to adjust. What did I hear? What could I see? What did it feel like, wherever I was now? As before, it seemed like an eternity for me to get my bearings. And when I did, I realized I wasn't in a room, I was outside still. 

I felt a breeze, the kind the wind makes, not the breeze from a fan or air conditioning. I could hear traffic - cars, and trucks, and the funny noise made by buses that run on natural gas, and the obnoxious sound of a motorcycle, racing almost above my head. That made me duck, and I laughed at how silly I must have looked, had anyone been there to see me.

As my eyes adjusted, I could see broken glass, fast food trash, empty cans, and a very tall wall to my right. Was I actually back in the alley again? I couldn't be!

I looked up the wall, and higher, seeing the huge beams and girders above. I put my hand  on the wall, feeling the vibrations that told me I was underneath the elevated highway that bisects my city, in one of the 'cheap-monthly-rate' parking lots, cheaper by their distance from the city center. I slowly moved towards the light I could see to my left, and eventually made it out from underneath the interstate and into the fading daylight. 

Left was west, and as I looked far down the street, I could see the setting sun off in the distance, and make out the streetlights, the traffic lights, familiar buildings, and people on the sidewalk. 

I headed in that direction, towards the place I started my walk, however long ago.

A Future Tale (Part Three)

Our Future Tale began with a woman wandering around her small city, observing and describing the places and people she saw, and ended with her hesitantly entering an alley between two buildings, the first some 100 years older than the second. 

At the end of Part Two, our narrator was deep in the alley, uncomfortably confronting the past - her past, and our collective past. Or, maybe she was seeing into the future? 

Here's where we left her.

Every recess in the wall, every dirty lightbulb, every door I encountered, brought more of the same.

Our real history

Medical care - no patients refused

Judgment-free zone 

All words welcomed here

Free hot meals

A bed for a night

There were a few more doors, offering only more confusion, until there was only a giant screen hanging in front of me, above my head, filled with images, wonderful and horrible, a cacophony of voices and music and noise, piercing the quiet that had surrounded me in the alley. It was my history, my lifetime, and histories and lifetimes before mine, all jumbled together. Good and evil, love and war, despots and dictators, politicians and orators, their words almost physically assaulting me, surrounding me, deafening me. 

I wanted to get away, to escape, to avoid what was playing out in front of me, but the cobblestones were damp and slimy as I tried to run, the trees were hitting me in the face and arms, and the din moved with me with me as I slipped and slid down the alley, tears and grime streaming down my face. 

Let's rejoin her now.

And then it stopped - the barrage of words, and music, and noise - it all just... stopped, as abruptly as it began. It was deathly quiet, and pitch black in the alley, and I stood there, afraid to move. Catching my breath. Slowing my heart. Trying to find my equilibrium. 

Ahead, I saw a light high up on the wall, much brighter than the lights above the doors. It cast a long beam, and I followed it. I moved slowly, cautiously, even gratefully toward the light. And there, at what must be the end of the alley, I saw a door.

A revolving door. 

A revolving door? It was so completely out of place, I almost laughed out loud, but caught myself at the last second. Laughing seemed as out of place as the door, after what I had just been through, what I had yet to fully process. Heck, who am I kidding? I hadn't even begun to process what had happened behind me in the alley; I didn't even know where to start, but I knew laughing wasn't it.

I stopped a few feet away from the door, all glass and brass, ornate like the doors you find in classy old hotels, and simultaneously filthy like you find in abandoned ones. I half expected there to be a bellman in the vestibule, but this wasn't a hotel, there wasn't a vestibule. I'm in an alley for Pete's sake, I told myself, not in some old movie. 

At the very moment that thought crossed my mind, about being in a movie, I became much more tentative about the door. I could get in, push it, and go out on the other side, like in old movies with happy endings, but I had no idea what was out there. What if it was worse than what I just went through? 

I could get in, give it a push, and have it stick, unmovable like in a horror movie, trapping me for who knows how long in a little cage, waiting for someone to find me, to help me. But I'm in an alley by myself, an alley that's nothing like anything I've ever seen before... Would anyone even think to look there? Does anyone even know I'm not home? And what kind of person would be in this alley, anyway?

The thought of stepping into the hug of that door was paralyzing.

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity; in reality, it was probably only a minute or two, as I considered my options. I had only two choices, I realized: try the door, or go back the way I came. Slowly, I turned my body slightly to the right, and took the measure of the alley.

Where there had been the giant screen, I saw nothing. Where I had seen all those dimly lit, frightening doorways, I saw only solid walls. I could barely make out the gate at the end of the alley, still shrouded in the confusing mid-day darkness.

I turned back to the left, towards the revolving door, and to the right again, in the direction of the gate, where this all started. I turned both directions again, and a third time, before making my decision.

Choking back my fear, I started walking. 

A Future Tale (Part One)

It was late afternoon. 

I walked slowly down the main drag, as I've done a million times, looking through the slightly dingy windows of the shops, observing the customers inside. 

Many of them appeared disengaged, as if they were only going through the motions. They sported the worn-out look that comes from reading and hearing the same thing over and over, from the same people in the same echo chamber over and over, watching the same news for hoursdaysweeksmonths on end. They looked beaten down by it all. 

I didn't want to linger there; I wondered if ennui by association was a thing? I meandered, turning randomly, until I ended up in the old warehouse district, a jumble of multi-story brick buildings. 

The ends of giant old timbers were visible in spots, copper accents and granite keystones and old leaded windows that gentrifiers adore, and put to pricey use. Many buildings had been redone; fabulous restaurants now, condos and studios and extravagant apartments; bakeries and fancy shmancy coffee shops; places to get faux-leather wing-tips and hemp pocket squares; places to see and be seen, to be vibrant, and young, and successful, or vibrant, and old, and successful, all the while sporting the tired, worn-out look that comes from reading and hearing the same thing over and over, from the same people in the same echo chamber over and over.

Moving to a less crowded part of town, I walked past smaller mixed-use buildings housing attorneys, CPAs, ad agencies, cell phone stores, payday loan joints, cigar shops, gyms, and whatnot on the lower floors, and more apartments on the upper floors. Everyone I passed in this part of town had the same look, and looked the same as everyone else I had already passed.

My pace slowed as I neared the alley halfway down the block, tucked in between a 1970s-era office building and an 1870s-era beauty. Empty but still defiant, figuratively lifting its chin in the air, brandishing the chip on its shoulder, as if daring someone to smash the windows, destroy the inside, or tear it down. 

"Try me," it said. "Just try me."

The old iron gate at the head of the alley looked as if it hadn't been opened in years. Weeds, garbage, broken glass, and more encased the bottom. It was heavy with generations of handprints, rust and dust, soot and exhaust, bird droppings, coffee and alcohol, and who knows what other human or animal excretions. Layered upon layer upon layer, a challenge to the forensic experts, the anthropologists, the historians who might one day try and make sense of it all. 

I stopped by the gate, which stood chest-high and strong. It, too, offered a dare, like the building nearby. "Try me - go ahead, give me a push."  

I looked left and right; nobody was paying any attention. I gave the gate a shove; it didn't move. 

I pushed, harder, then as hard as I could, struggling against time, and weeds, and trash, and crud, and slowly, creakily, it opened. 

I snuck into the alley.

My Middle-aged White Lady Perspective: 'Seeing' Donald Trump

This letter to the editor, from a Florida newspaper, seeks to clarify the difference in how supporters and detractors see the president. It's popped up on my Facebook page a few times, and I decided to tackle it from my middle-aged white lady perspective. Emphasized comments are from the letter; the rest of them are mine. 

You see Trump's arrogance; I see Trump's confidence. Arrogance is presenting yourself as superior to others, usually in an obnoxious way. Donald Trump is a truly arrogant man. He talks down to everyone, particularly women (even more so to women of color). He is a relentless self-promoter, with world leaders, with the Boy Scouts, and everyone in between. He is a self-proclaimed genius. He knows more than everyone about everything. He alone can fix what's wrong. He is a pompous, overbearing, pretentious, rude, whining man. Honestly, I think the case could be made that he's an arrogant jerk because he lacks confidence, but I'll let the psychological experts make that call.

You see Trump's nationalism; I see Trump's patriotism. This is the first of two references to patriotism in the letter; I'll address them together in a minute. 

You hear Trump's unsophisticated words; I hear Trump's honesty.  No; you hear yourself being manipulated. He very carefully chooses his 'unsophisticated' words; he carefully curates his 4th-grade language level, and you can see how well it works by the way many people - certainly not all (I'm not looking to get into a 'deplorables' argument here) - are so faithful to his message, even when they ought to know better.

There is NO correlation between Trump's language and the truthfulness of what he says. Donald Trump very often is untruthful. In fact, he lies about everything. He lies about some things so often, a Bottomless Pinocchio category was created specifically to document those lies. That he lies with such proficiency, even about totally meaningless things, shows his innate dishonesty.

You see Trump's racism; I see Trump's words being misconstrued and twisted by the media daily to fit their narrative.  If the president's words require a multi-level, photon-torpedo-firing decoder ring to understand, and require an entire network of people to clarify them, he's not getting his message across. Oh wait - silly me. His message is perfectly clear, and his dog whistles hit the mark repeatedly.  It's not the media twisting his words, it's his designated deflectors working at his favorite network, and in the House and Senate, working so hard to twist the media into the bad-guy mold. 

If you think Donald Trump is not racist, explain his incessant attacks on an America judge.  And let me know how you like me being just as racist in that post as Trump. Or what you'd think if your kids, or your coworkers, or your pastor said what he says. 

You see Trump as a Republican; I see Trump as a Patriot. Donald Trump is not a Republican. He's not a conservative. He goes against much of that the Rs stand for. He says he loves our country, and he hugs and slobbers on the flag, and he waves his arms around during the national anthem, while demanding others stand at attention. He tells us how much he gave up to become president, and he says - regularly - that people who think like he is are 'patriots.'  Everyone else? Not so much. If you think the only way to love our country and be a patriot is to think like you, and be like you, you're missing the entire point of our country. 

You see Trump as a dictator; I see Trump as a leader. Trump is not a dictator, but he often talks as if he wants to be one, he admires people who are, and acts as if he is one. He uses the government as if it's at his beck and call, there to do his bidding. That's a gross misunderstanding of both what our government is, and the people for whom it works. It's also not an admired leadership trait.

You see Trump as an authoritarian; I see Trump as the only one willing to fight for our freedoms. Do tell, what freedoms are Trump fighting for? No one I've ever asked can name even one. We do know, that Trump's SCOTUS picks might jeopardize people's rights; we do know that Trump has implemented gun control measures; we do know that Trump regularly threatens the First Amendment... So, again, what are the freedoms he's fighting for on our behalf? 

You see Trump as childish; I see Trump as a fighter, unwilling to cave in to the Democrat lies. He is childish; he stomps out of interviews; he shuts people down; he's a bully domestically and internationally. What "Democrat lies" is he not caving in to when he calls people names? Says they're ugly? Talks about their physical features? Lies about them? Supports conspiracy theorists? Encourages others to be bullies?  He does all of those things, unprompted.

You see Trump as an unpolished politician; I see Trump as a breath of fresh air. Donald Trump pretends to be unpolished, and not a politician. He is not a breath of fresh air, he and his lies and his bullying and his threatening comprise a toxic cloud that hangs over our country, and over our allies. And he is a classic, arm-twisting strongman pol, who threatens members of his own party who might disagree with him. Don't go along with me? No endorsement. A barrage of negative tweets. Attacks against you in your district. Support for your opponent. And you think he's not a politician? That's laughable.

You see Trump as homophobic; I see Trump as the first president who has ever entered office supporting gay marriage. If you cared about LGBTQ rights, including gay marriage, you'd be less than excited about his SCOTUS picks. And, you'd be concerned about his administration fighting for LGBTQ discrimination in the courts; wanting to allow federal contractors to be able to fire LGBTQ employees; our Justice Department defending medical professionals who refuse to treat LGBTQ patients; visas not being issued to same-sex partners of diplomats; that children of gay and lesbian Americans are not allowed citizenship unless they were born of American sperm or an American egg, and so much more. 

You think Trump hates immigrants; I know Trump is married to an immigrant. And serial killers had friends, right?  Marrying an immigrant does not mean you are pro-immigrant. Donald Trump wanted to ban an entire faith from entering our country. He tells Americans to "go back where they came from." He attempted to end DACA, punishing children who were brought here when they were babies. His own companies hired illegal immigrants. He wants to ban the kind of immigration that allowed his in-laws to become citizens.  But yeah, he married an immigrant. 

You see Trump putting an end to immigration in America; I see Trump welcoming immigrants to America legally. Trump has undermined the legal asylum process, reduced opportunities for refugees to come here; suspended the rights of some refugees already here, made the green card process more difficult, rejected many more skilled worker visas, making it harder for American companies to be successful, and more. He's done all of his immigration stuff by Executive Order, a tool he said he would not use.

You see Trump's cages at the border; I see Obama's cages at the border. Look past the cages and look at who was in them - children separated from their parents. That's not the same as detaining families together. And there was no 'zero tolerance policy under the Obama administration. And of course, there are those kids whose parents can't be located. Not a handful of them, over 500 of them. That's on Trump.

You see Trump with a struggling economy; I see Trump with an amazing economy until the China Virus and Democrats shut it down. The markets were doing well. Unemployment rates were continuing their established downward trend. Those things are true. But America is more than the markets, and people seem to forget that it was the Trump Administration that shut down the country. At least, it was Donald Trump who said the biggest decision he would have to make was when to open it back up. So, you can blame China for the virus, if you want, but you should blame Trump for shutting down the country. He said he did it. I believe him.

You see the violence in the streets and call it 'Trump's America;' I see the violence in the streets of Democratic run cities who are refusing Trump's help and call it 'Liberal America.' Woof woof. That's you, responding to the president's unsophisticated dog whistle. 

Congratulations.