Central Indiana on a puddle-ridden, weather beaten road, President Donald Trump gives a speech to the cameras on Hoosier soil. It's cold and Autumn. A slight sleet blows across our skin under the dull gloomy sky. The dead, dry cornstalks in the field looks like skeletons sprawled out. Across a nearby field is my boyhood home. Air Force One is parked on the skeleton's backs.
We stand inside our circles and talk. My sister stands there too and talks. The President tells us that we need to fly out of the United States. We step aboard the American metal bird. Some faces I recognize. Others I don't.
We mingle in a dim lit cabin with maroon velvet seats. Refreshments and alcohol sit on two tables. In the captain's chair is President Donald Trump. He is flying the plane.
Passengers fill their plates and their glasses. I go back for seconds and thirds. They make witty remarks and ask the President questions. Laughter can be heard. I sit there shy, I have Nothing to say. My mother appears from a bedroom behind us, her eyes sleepy, her voice scratchy and faint. She's confused. Doesn't know where she is. Her eyes meet the pilots and she smiles and giggles and takes a few awkward steps back. They talk. I laugh, "she won't leave him alone," I say. She monopolizes their conversation and drags Don by the hand and leads him to talk a little more. Nobody is flying the plane.
I wake up
