Hard as it was to admit, Marjorie never wanted to see another president as long as she lived. Watching Jefferson, Harrison and jolly old Taft go by in their inaugural regalia, it was all she could do not to weep.
She took a little sip of tea, her throat still scratchy from the cigarette she stole the very last time she left Jack’s apartment. The smell clung to her hair and clothes. She’d smoked it hoping for closure, but all it did was make her sick.
Aunt Josie waved down from her balcony at the procession. Marjorie’s family had always come here for the Presidents’ Day parade, but this year her parents dropped a few grand to go to the one in D.C. for their anniversary. At first she was jealous, but now she was relieved not to be in that great throng of people you always saw on TV, elbow to elbow across the National Mall.
JFK went by with Jackie and Senator Conneley in their ‘61 Continental. They shone their big smiles. From the sidelines, a drunken John Adams flung his tricorn hat over the security tape, landing it well short of the float. Seeing the poorly edged seams of his bald cap, she had a funny thought. It made her start laughing so hard tea came out her nose. Aunt Josie looked over at her with concern.
“All these presidents,” Marjorie said.
“What about them, dear?”
“They didn’t take baths back then, you know. If the real Jefferson was here, he’d be dirty and smelly. We’d probably think he was the worst Jefferson we ever saw.”
Aunt Josie tilted her head in confusion–but Marjorie wasn’t sure how else to explain it.
She wondered which president Jack was. Presidents’ Day was his favorite time of year. She’d tried to text him again that morning, but he still had her number blocked. It just about made her want to die.
The Reagans came behind JFK in their Subaru Brat, a gaggle of Little Leaguers in tow. Nancy beamed back at them with maternal pride. Marjorie sighed, and was turning to go inside when a shot rang out from far away.
Auntie Josephine squealed with delight, pointing at the Kennedys’ car. JFK was slumped in the backseat, and even from far away she could see the spatter of red against the upholstery. The Little Leaguers screamed and ducked, looking around for the source of the noise. Jackie’d made a break for it. The driver gunned the accelerator and skidded around the inaugural procession, nearly running Taft down in his fatsuit as he waddled for the curb.
Ronald and Nancy sat frozen in the Brat, their faces pale. Marjorie saw a flash of concern on Josie’s face. Her stomach turned. Didn’t this all seem a little too real?
Then Jackie stopped to dust off her pants. Seeing the game was up, John awoke and waved sheepishly at the crowd, who tittered in relief.
Aunt Josephine slapped her thigh. “They had me for a second! They really had me!”
Marjorie smiled weakly, imagining his head caving in–the real actual head, with the whole brain inside.
—
When she got to the party, Joshua Landsman sidled over from the spot he’d staked out by the door. She sighed. Without Jack around, she’d have to deal with him all over again.
His Teddy Roosevelt mustache wiggled like a caterpillar when he spoke. “I wish you’d said something. I almost came as Ford. You could have been my first lady.”
She’d decided to reuse her Betty from last year, when Jack had been Gerald. First ladies were usually just for couples, but right then she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Oh, Margie,” Andrea had begged the day before, “It won’t be the same without you. Don’t you want to help us cut the cherry tree? Think of all the boys. It’ll be like old times.”
Marjorie agreed to try, but two steps in the door and she already knew she was going to regret it.
Landsman put his hand on her shoulder. She tried shrugging it off, but he pretended not to notice. Andrea rushed over from the kitchen and grabbed her by the elbow, propelling them into her boyfriend Damien’s room. She was Lincoln, with a silk top hat and everything. Marjorie had to admit it was a great Abe. You don’t want to do the Big Five without going all out. Otherwise it’s just lazy.
“Wait ‘til you see my stash,” Andrea said, pulling a big Ziploc baggie out of Damien’s desk drawer. Marjorie counted several grams of mushrooms, a handful of prescription amphetamines, six tabs of acid, an eighth of weed, and five ecstasy pills pressed into the shape of Washington’s face on Mount Rushmore.
Andrea beamed. “Well? Pick your poison.”
“I don’t know, Dre. I’m not really feeling it.”
“Girl, listen. This time last year I was messed up over Jason. And of course I was nervous to dose. But in the end it really helped me integrate, you know?”
“You’re sure I won’t freak out?”
“No way, babe. Just do half a hit if you’re worried. You’ll be fine.”
Marjorie shrugged. Any distraction felt welcome. Andrea cut the blotter for her, and each of them took half. Giggling in anticipation, they linked elbows and washed down their George Washingtons with Busch Light.
Andrea ground up weed for a joint. The noise outside the door kept getting louder. It was like being inside during a thunderstorm. Andrea’s face looked so serious when she licked the sticky strip that Marjorie couldn’t help but smile.
When they came into the living room she heard Eisenhower outside at the lectern, delivering Atoms for Peace. He kept getting the words wrong. A real cut-rate Ike; no wonder they’d put him on first.
Landsman had fucked off somewhere for the time being. They did the rounds on their way to the back porch, saying hello and complimenting everyone’s choices. Charlie Flannigan had to be F.D.R. because he broke his leg at football practice. “Trust me,” he said, “I’d be anyone else if I could.”
Mary and Damien (Coolidge and Jackson, respectively) were already on the back porch awaiting the joint. Andrea took a few hits and passed it to Mary.
“You okay, Margie?” asked Mary.
“Been worse.” She felt the G.W. already burning a hole in her stomach.
“I hear they got a professional Nixon this year,” said Andrea.
Mary frowned. “I can’t imagine wanting to be Nixon. Such a terrible legacy.”
Damien blew a stream of smoke. “Listen to yourself. Can’t we have one day that’s not about politics?”
Marjorie excused herself to the bathroom before he could offer her the joint. By the time she saw Landsman coming from the dining room, it was too late. She scurried to get past him, but he caught up easily.
He scrunched up his face in what was probably supposed to look like concern. “I heard about you and Jack. Are you doing okay?”
He ignored Marjorie’s look as she tried to push by. She felt tingly. With a plummet she remembered the acid she’d taken. This was going to be the rest of her trip: loud noises, bright lights and Joshua Landsman.
Someone had piled a bunch of cherry logs in the yard for the bonfire. At the lectern Lyndon B. Johnson was doing We Shall Overcome–her favorite when she was a kid. In the corner Bill and Hillary spoke to each other in low, charged voices.
“I wish you felt like you could talk to me,” Landsman said. “I’ve known you longer than anyone here. That has to count for something.”
She gritted her teeth. “Step off, Landsman. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything. All you know is yourself and your own stupid problems.” The chill in her voice surprised her.
He just stood there and blinked, his whiskers drooping pathetically. For a moment she almost wanted to take it back. Instead she scurried into the bathroom, holding back tears. Her heart was pumping and she wanted to throw up. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were different in the mirror, but she looked pale and ugly and slug-like.
She sat on the toilet with the lid down, rocking back and forth with her knees to her chin. She tried doing Aunt Josie’s breathing exercises, but they didn’t help. She was there for a while before someone knocked insistently at the door. She wanted to scream, but it was as if she’d forgotten how.
“Marjorie?” whimpered Landsman. Fed up, she clambered over the bathtub to the bathroom window, but it was sealed shut. Looking through the glass into the backyard, she saw it was empty. There’d been so many people on the porch before. Maybe Nixon was on.
She wiped her eyes. Get it together, girl. It was just Landsman, after all. He was a stupid little creep, but she could probably beat his ass if she had to.
He was still there when she came out, but something was different. He’d gone completely pale. His mustache was askew, and he was staring ahead like he didn’t even see her.
“Marjorie,” he murmured, trailing off.
She noticed everyone was really quiet. Nobody was at the lectern. The TV was on and they were all watching.
“Marjorie, your parents… they’re in D.C., right?”
From the TV she heard a horrible clamor. She pushed past him to see. The screen showed a live recording from a news helicopter above the Washington Monument. All she could make out was a billow of smoke, and beneath it a roiling mass of bodies. Embers drifted by on the wind.
Her hand shot to her mouth. “Oh my god.”
Andrea came up beside her. “My parents are there,” Marjorie said, choking with fear. “What’s going on?”
Andrea just shook her head.
Margie watched the reporter’s face waver and distort. “We’re still waiting for official word about the source and severity of the damage. On-the-ground footage will resume as soon as we reach our camera crews. America needs us now more than ever. We won’t let you down.”
The last few words were drowned out by a sequence of loud pops and a gush of sulphur from over by the World War II Memorial. People splashed in a panic through the reflecting pool. A crowd of armed men in uniforms swarmed the Washington Monument, and through the smoke it wasn’t clear who they intended to shoot.
Mary Todd let out a choking sob. Bill tried to put his arm around Hillary. “Get the fuck off me!” she screamed, running into the kitchen with her head in her hands.
Trembling, Marjorie dialed her mom and ran outside. After six rings the line went dead. The grass fractalized under the porch light. She couldn’t breathe. She called her dad, too, but the line cut after one ring.
She scrolled down and pulled up Jack’s contact. In the empty box she wrote, “I’M SCARED.”
She was surprised to see three little dots pop up on his side of the screen. “ME TOO.”
She tried calling her parents again. Nothing. She looked through the window at the TV. The air was still thick with smoke. The emergency vehicles had cleared out for the tanks, but the crowd was too dense to let them by. Snipers peered down from the rooftops, their rifles swaying uncertainly. Presidents scattered like ants in all directions.
She kept expecting Andrea or even Landsman to come out and try to comfort her, but they were fixed to the TV. By now she felt so terrible it had come back around to a weird calm. She picked up the phone again and dialed Jack. He picked up after the third ring.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said unsteadily. Everything felt wobbly. “My parents are there.”
“I know, baby. Stay strong for me, OK? Don’t assume the worst. Somebody will tell us what’s going on.”
“You heard the news. What else could it be?” She could already picture tomorrow’s headline: HUNDREDS KILLED IN PRESIDENTS’ DAY MASSACRE.
She was trying so hard to hold back tears that she kept hiccuping. “Why couldn’t you just stay away from her, Jack?”
He was silent for a second. “It was stupid. I was stupid.”
“Just say sorry. I’ll take it back. Come here. I need you.”
There was a long silence. “You mean it?”
“Come to Damien’s party. I took a tab and I’m freaking out. This is the worst Presidents’ Day ever. I need you.”
He paused even longer. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
She sniffled. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be there. I’m coming, baby. Hang in there.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she loved him, but he’d already hung up.
On her way back inside, Andrea opened the door and collapsed into her arms. “Oh my god,” she said. “Oh my god, I was so scared. The acid… I was losing my mind. But it’s okay now. We’re okay.”
Marjorie stiffened. “We are?”
“It was the pyrotechnics, Margie. They all went off at once. It made a huge fireball. All the smoke was from the cannons they brought out for the 1812 Overture. It looked awful, but they said everyone’s okay. Some people got stepped on. But they’re all okay.”
“My parents?”
“They’ll call when they can. I’m sure of it. Come back inside.”
Marjorie trailed behind her, still uneasy. The world was bunched at the edges. Landsman was leaving as they went in. He gave her a long, inscrutable look.
Her phone buzzed. She looked at it, hoping it was her mom, but it was from Jack: “ON MY WAY.”
She sighed. All night she’d wondered what president he was, but now she didn’t even care. She looked around at everyone. They were all so disappointing. You think you see life there, a shade of something real, but when you hold it to the light, it’s just gone.
On the TV, the smoke had cleared. People gathered together again, their fear abating. The army had withdrawn, and the snipers were back in their hidden positions. Paramedics with stretchers carried away the unlucky trampled few. The camera zoomed in on the stage, where the actual real life President approached the podium to speak some heartening words. He was frail and hunched. The knuckles stood against the skin of his hands.
Andrea switched off the TV. Someone cracked a beer, and they looked around as if remembering where they were. Mary whispered something to Damien, and they both giggled. Bill and Hillary made up and kissed. U.S. Grant lit a cigar.
Out by the bonfire pit, Marjorie watched Landsman split a cherry log. The falling hatchet caught a glint from the porch light, leaving a trace behind her eyes. She tried to blink it away, but it only shone brighter in the dark. Setting his feet, he brought the blade up again, and she braced herself for the flash.