The acolytes avowed he had earned unilateral powers; hung the very stars in the sky and covered them with blankets of ICE. I was there too, believing the apocryphal, lockstep in March formation Donning party regalia and my reddest hat. I ran when I heard the news. The reporter in me still valued a quest for truth. The supporter in me thought she knew what truth was, never questioning until I saw the ‘hanger of stars’ hang a right right into a wrong turn past human rights and left my mind wiped of programming finally as he made the very wrong right lane change and nuclear fissioned himself both away from and into the corner of Distraction and Files.

Did he know I was on the cosmic fence? Did he know I was, at last, woken and ready to wildly vacillate between the blinding light night of the sol and illuminating luna visions of vivid void? Did he know that I already felt shaken like an astronaut in a centrifugal force spinner when I spun my path (almost late, of course) into the West Wing briefing room? Could he have known? When he stood before me from behind his pristine podium, I did not register words; could not register to SAVE my life.

I witnessed an idol breaking, chunks of former charisma and hypnotism chipping off like asteroid pebbles I wanted to take home and sell to other blinded acolytes because of their worth that is worth nothing to me anymore.

When he started fielding questions, I raised my hand. The Leader Of The Bound World pointed at me, and I nervously began. “Hi. Andromeda Vega, with the Times. In light of recent events in the Middle East, what is this administration doing to prevent an astronomical rise in gasoline prices?”

His response:

“I think that’s a silly question. If the Middle East knows what’s good for them, there will be no rise in gasoline prices. These other countries playing hardball with us…they won’t do that. We’re America. Even with lowered supply, drone attacks, what have you…it’s still their choice to say ‘this is the price per barrel,’ and if it’s not up to our standard, we’ll say ‘nuh-uh.’ That’s what we’ll say. ‘America says nuh-uh. No way.’ and we’ll get the price that best helps the American people. I’m surprised that someone from the Times…you surprise me. That you don’t know our power. That you don’t know how strong America is. We’re a very healthy nation. A lot more healthy than you. I’m shocked that the Times would send a woman of your size. Like, who invited the planet in here, with her own gravitational pull?. Geez. Next question.”

And I now make the break in my mind, check out and take the flight to the planet that can shrink me.

And I now reside on Jupiter.

And I now wish to drown in hydrogen.

And I now yearn to be one with the red storm that crushes, rips, freezes for hundreds of years.

And I now do not know how I walked out of that room on my own power, absent and dissociated, and drove to the gym to appease him.

And I now do not know why I thought this was okay when it happened to other women.

And I now am darkness and distance and pressure looking down on itself, wondering who is running my body on Earth while i’m dying out here in the Mesosphere, buried by the wait on America to prove it is actually great when Canada and England and France had been there the whole time: true companions forever saying ‘If you need us for anything at all, feel free to come over,’ patient with me as I gaslit myself into staying with America again.

And I now know who’s lying to themselves when my scale only reads 150.

When I opened TikTok on my phone at night, the first video was that genius astrophysicist saying “Did you know, that because of gravity, you weigh 2.5 times as much on Jupiter as you do on Earth? So the next time you’re on the scale and you’re like ‘150? Really?’, don’t feel bad! That’s 375 on Jupiter!”

For the first time all day, I let myself cry.

___

BIO: Forty years' experience ethereal like wind through the bones, chiming out a Patti Smith song in the six six sixth dimension, riffing on nonsense about a nine years' love cast away happily; already forgetting while college never passed away. The Asheville. The Winter. The jacket left on purpose at Joe's: the only one who absolved me of my sins.