as featured in Desert Exposure Magazine
I recently got the Trump Vaccine, and I wonder what my superpower is going to be. I hope it’s invisibility, but without the turning insane part.
When I was first given my appointment to receive Trump’s Miracle Coronavirus Cure my plan was to make fun of the whole process, but, the truth is, it was very well run, leaving me no room for satire. I got in and out of there quickly, both the first time and the second. The fifteen minutes I was required to wait before leaving was uneventful. My arm didn’t hurt so bad. Fever and chills? That’s for lesser mortals like my brother. I bet he cried like a baby.
When news of the vaccine was first reported, my father wanted to know who made it, as if it mattered.
“Pfizer,” I said.
“The same company that makes Viagra?”
“Yes,” I told him, wondering how he knew about Viagra.
“That’s one great company,” he said.
In the early days of the pandemic, I made the mistake of telling him one of the symptoms of Covid-19 was losing your sense of smell. Now, when he passes gas in my vicinity, he claims he’s performing a “health check” on me. I may have to volunteer him for Elon Musk’s Mars colony.
They tell me schools will open next year. By “they,” I mean the mothers and fathers desperate enough to believe any rumor that they might be getting their life back. If parents had known their children would be home for this long, I bet one of them would have developed a vaccine way before Operation Warp Speed.
As for holidays, we’re still encouraged to keep things small. I can just imagine what the next Valentine’s Day is going to be like.
“Will you be my valentine?”
“Can I see your vaccine passport first?”
Yeah, like THAT’S romantic.
I’ve been quarantining for so long I now know why my father’s dog gets so excited when someone’s at our front door. I may need to social distance from my refrigerator, but as far as side effects to Trump’s Magic Elixir goes, I didn’t experience any.
Well... maybe one.
I’ve been having some really crazy dreams. They remind me of a saying from the Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou who lived about 2,400 years ago, waaay before Covid-19. He said: “Am I a man who dreamt I was a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I’m a man?”
It’s rare when I dream. I know they say everybody dreams--and, by “they,” I mean annoying know-it-alls--but the last dream I remember having was years ago. It was when my granddaughter, who was only two at the time, was in the hospital. I won’t go into any of the details, but I woke up to my very concerned wife rocking my shoulder, asking me, “Are you okay? You were crying.”
She was being kind, because I was sobbing.
“I’m okay,” I told her, needing to get the words out quickly. I rolled on my side facing away from her. The dream was already fading away and that was fine by me. During the day, you pray for your dreams to come true, but at night you pray that they don’t.
These butterfly dreams of mine have been really odd, but entertaining. I now look forward to going to sleep just to see which roller coaster I’ll be riding on. I was in a Magnum PI episode one night, and a James Bond movie the next. I wasn’t in the Spiderman movie I conjured up, but neither was Tom Holland.
Mainly, I’m heading somewhere with a purpose. In one, it was at a hospital with sick, elderly patients littering the hallways. If you’ve seen the movie Jacob’s Ladder, you’ll know what I’m talking about. In another, I was making my way through a home much like the Winchester House, an endless maze of rooms and corridors, leading nowhere. I never know what I’m trying to outrun. All I know is I have to keep moving.
One dream took place in Las Vegas, but on the outskirts of town. I found myself at a casino with a giant clown entrance. You had to walk through his open arms to enter.
Yeah… hmmm. No thanks.
In another Vegas dream, I was again on the outskirts, trying to make my way to the main strip, but it was always in the distance, just out of reach. The last dream I had that took place in Sin City, I was hustling from one casino to another, all-you-can-eating at their delicious buffets. That one, however, might have had more to do with the diet my beautiful wife has me on, rather than Trump’s Gift of Life.
Still, I couldn’t be sure if my dreams were caused by the vaccine, so I took an unscientific survey of the people closest to me. I first asked my brother, because he’s always got something to say whether you want to hear it or not.
“I’ve been dreaming that I’m asleep,” he told me. “Which is great, because, when I wake up, I’m TWICE as rested.”
My brother the joker.
I wonder where he gets his sense of humor from.
My youngest daughter, who got the Moderna shot at CVS, told me she’s also had some odd dreams.
“Remember when I woke up and gave you a big hug?” she nudged my memory. Of course I remembered it. I remember all my children’s hugs, especially the unexpected ones. “I dreamt I was dying and wanted to comfort you.”
My wife got her first Pfizer shot and had vivid dreams for about a week. She’s getting her second shot as I’m writing this. Let’s see what happens.
My father and I also got Pfizer shots.
“Dreams?” he said. “You bet I’ve been having dreams. Real nightmares. Last night, I dreamt I was Dolly Parton’s baby and she was BOTTLE-feeding me!”
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Only in our dreams are we free. In the real world, we need jobs.
theduchenebrothers@gmail.com
@JimDuchene
