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“Hello, sir, how are you feeling?”
The Vice President shot up out of his seat the moment the president walked through the door, back from an emergency medical checkup. A thick tendon in President Willard’s neck flared as his face stretched downwards before resuming its usual sagging appearance.
“Tourette’s, would you believe it? Your old man’s getting old. Aren’t you glad it’s not something serious though?”
“I think you might find it serious if you start having a wheezing tic during a meeting with a dignitary again.” The VP turned and motioned to one of the three senators in back to watch the president’s chest and neck closely.
The president was going dull, everyone knew it. He would never smell or taste anything but sugar again, he could hardly make it from one end of the white house to the other without assistance – assistance it had fallen to the vice president to offer – and now he had uncontrollable urges to make strange sounds and concerning movements. It was just another step down on the tall stairs down to death, and he was nearly at the bottom.
Fundamentally, both of them wanted to feel free but they saw each others as impediments to that. One found himself constrained by the loss of youthful power and the other found himself constrained by duty, and each blamed the other. President Wilhelm felt his vice president was in some way the cause of his infirmity because he gave him the help he refused to admit that he needed now, reminded him of it, asked him to abdicate. The vice blamed Wilhelm for taking away his ability to execute what he really wanted to do. He was glued to an ornery old man who couldn’t face the facts day and night.
The vice president decided to put an end to Wilhelm’s miserable un-life. To that end he gathered three senators to witness the president’s sad state in hopes of getting an impeachment going, to take away the last scraps of power over the world he clung so jealously to. Perched in back with a good view, the senators certainly would witness everything that was about to happen.
In a similar attempt to claw youth back to himself emotionally, Wilhelm had a trick of his own. Something from his doctor to fend off those who would try to take his vitality from him, and it would be arriving soon.
In the mean time, the vice president decided to provoke him.
“So, did your doctor say there was any treatment for Tourette’s? Otherwise I think you may have to step down, these are troubled times. We someone free to act, maybe a bit younger?”
The president, his own scheme in the works, was not as inclined as usual to be baited.
“I find that with an assistant as helpful as you I’ve hardly slowed down at all. I may even run for reelection depending on how my next checkup looks.”
The VP laughed but his eyes flashed.
“I don’t think you’ve counted how many times you’ve had to excuse yourself from a meeting to take a leak. Is that the flower of youth to you? How often you’ve distracted me from my own tasks as well because you need help getting your pills.”
“I didn’t force you to be my vice president, what happened to your duty to the executive?”
“Who said my duty was to be a nursing home worker?”
One of the senators stood up. “Ah, perhaps we ought to leave. I believe we have meetings with donors soon, if you wouldn’t mind…”
The VP waved him back down. “Sit, sit! We have drinks coming. I’m sorry to make you uncomfortable but I’m certain we’ll be down to business soon.”
The president stretched out his neck, relieving the mounting tension in the tendon. It felt good. He forced his chest inward releasing a satisfactory, powerful wheeze. Perhaps he should get the senators to go, it would not do to have witnesses. Then again, maybe a captive audience would be nice as well.
Everyone’s plans were interrupted when the bourbon was finally brought in. Everyone kindly thanked the aide who brought in the glasses and sat back down. Only the vice president noticed something amiss.
“This smells medicinal. Does yours seem off?”
A senator looked at him oddly, took a whiff, took a sip, and declared the bourbon tasty and fit for human consumption. The vice president somewhat awkwardly passed his glass underneath the senator’s nose who picked up a stranger expression. “Smells bitter. Was the glass dirty?”
The president turned white or, at the very least, paler than he usually was. The medicine was bitter. How could he have known? He could only taste sugar, it was why he had requested bourbon.
The vice president, faithful aide to the president, knew the fact the president could hardly taste anything very well.
“Did you spike my drink with your meds?”
Well, it was not his medication in there. That did not seem to appease him though, his madly twitching face and painful wheezing gave the old liar away, not as good at concealing the truth as he was in his glory days. The vice stood up with the glass, strode over to the president, and grabbed his head. Forcing open his jaw, he poured the whiskey down his throat until the senators could restrain him. The job was already done, however.
“You’ve ruined my life! Why are you doing this? Why can’t you just die and let the rest of us live our lives?”
The president could not respond, his muscles would not respond. His labored breathing did not allow for speech. One senator left to make a call while the other two did their best to calm the president as the secret service dragged out the vice. A younger one turned to his elder hoping he could make sense of it all. The older senator took a deep breath and considered the situation.
“Every man has the preconception that freedom is worth killing for. To most men though, freedom is just being able to do anything you will with no inhibition, a total hallucination. I think that all we’ve seen here are two men who couldn’t deal with it.”