The Fantasy Years

A THUNDERSTORM NEARED, SWALLOWING up the sky above Jenny, as she drove down the highway. Jakob and Joshua were buckled into the back seat, Jakob barely able to breathe because his nose was crusted over with dried mucus.

Usually he would be yelling. Or making noise. Or even crying.

He wasn’t crying now. The expression on his face broke Jenny’s heart each time she caught glimpses of it through the rearview mirror. Jakob stared out the window. His eyes were glassy. He breathed through his mouth. She couldn’t bear watching her little one suffer. She just wanted to get him to the doctor. Now.

They used to have a pediatrician just in their neighborhood. But when her company switched insurance plans, she had to choose another doctor further away. Her HR department said the change give employees more “choice.”

Outside, over the endless plain, girded by highways and strip malls, the storm front rolled alongside Jenny’s car. Lightning shot out of the approaching cloud. She hoped only to be at the clinic before it hit. Before it really hit and she was driving blind, suddenly, amid the deafening rattle of rain on her car.
“Mom?” Joshua said.
“Yes, hon?”
“Are we there yet?”
“We’ll be there soon.”

She leaned on the gas, hoping to escape the menacing force swirling above in the sky. Jenny wasn’t a speed demon. She didn’t like driving fast with the boys in the car. But she wanted to avoid the approaching darkness, too. The emptiness and the obvious threat that hung over it. The darkness was everywhere on one side of the car.

On the other, a clear sky. Space. Nothingness.

Rick was probably heading home from work, if it was raining over in Urbandale. She wished he was here. She wished, desperately now, not to be alone behind the wheel of the minivan, in charge of these two little sick boys. And poor Jakob so quiet.

A hangdog expression his face. Not squirming and hitting his brother. Not pointing and asking questions. Just buckled into that seat. His eyes glazed over by illness. His mouth hanging open to breathe. The wheezing from his lungs.

Something crackled, like a whip across the windshields. Jenny started in her seat, the belt restraining her. It crackled again and made the world blurry. Then she saw they were raindrops. The killer thunderstorm bore down on her. She took a deep breath and flipped on the wipers.

Another thing Rush fans knew about liberals; they didn’t know how to take a joke. And that’s what the voice in Utah had in mind, as it explained with glee:

“Liberals depend on poor minorities for their votes.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Liberals need minorities to stay poor so they can harvest their votes.”
“Yeah, but I think the equation is a little more complex than that.”
“Which is a liberal’s way of saying I’m right.”
“I’m not saying you’re right.”
“You liberals sure get mad if someone dares to disagree with you.”

Rush fans knew what made liberals tick. They knew it was fun to razz them. To win the debates they were so well prepared for. And if life was hard, if you felt trampled on day after day because you couldn’t earn enough, or you couldn’t break even, if you felt like loser, it sure was nice to win.

“Why do all Democrat presidents have affairs?” a voice in Atlanta asked.
“That’s not true.”
“Presidents like Clinton do.”
“Like Carter?”
“Like JFK”
“Like Truman?”
“Like FDR. What is it about liberalism that makes them that way?”
“I didn’t know there was a pattern.”
“Liberals are permissive. Liberalism says everything’s okay. If it feels good, do it. That’s why they all have affairs.”