Who is President?
In 2018 I was hit by a truck. Riding my bike to work, one rainy day, I was going down a steep hill and my brakes gave out. I went through a stop sign. Narrowly missed the front bumper of a small truck, but it tapped my back tire and sent me into a parked train car. I landed on the jagged rocks that lay around the tracks. When I came to I was on my back looking at a cloudy sky. I could not get up or move my head. But I could move my legs a little.
I knew I was in trouble. The lady who hit me came into my view. Gentley placed her grandma hand on my arm, asked me how I was. I struggled and forced out “Call ambulance.” Slowly, comically, a wide-eyed rocker dude’s head came into my view. He looked scared for me. If he had a stick I think he might have poked me to see if I was still alive. He took off his black RUSH concert shirt. Gave it to the lady, “Here.” She began to dab my head with it. My voice left me. I was unable to yell, “NO! I don’t want sweaty rocker sweat in my open wound!” but I thought it. She ignored all basic first aid protocols, using a crossing motion, and she baptized me in the name of Lee, Peart, and Lifeson. Brushing off blood and gravel from my face.
The ambulance came, and a firetruck, and a police car, I could hear them. I could hear the sounds of boots on gravel, men talking to each other, one giving orders. Coming to get me out of that rocky ditch.
The first thing they do, as you may know if you have been in such a predicament, is check to see if your neck is broken. The fireman looked at my eyes and then placed both his large hands around the sides of my head to inspect the vertebrae at the base of my head with his fingers. He began to talk to me.
What is your name?
Shannon Laws.
What year is it?
2018.
Who is President?
Fucking Trump.
May have heard a snicker, or two. Or did I imagine it?
The paramedics began to cut off my favorite jacket and purple backpack. Placed me in the back of the ambulance and drove to St. Joe’s. I had a hematoma concussion. Received 7 stitches. Later, the hospital staff returned my backpack and helmet. My helmet was split in half. It saved my life! I was happy I took advice from a biker friend and paid the extra money for a safer helmet. Seeing that helmet cracked open was the first time I cried. Coming down from a trauma high, tears are a good sign, I thought.
Was up and back to work at the sawmill after a month—light duty of course. My co-workers told me they thought I would never come back, that I was dead. Well, I didn’t die. I survived.
Fast forward to 2024. November 6th to be exact. During a 3 am hot flash, I woke to discover that trump is going to be president again. One last time this meat puppet for the Christian conservative extremist will leave grease stains on the white house bedsheets. What the hell.
Somehow I feel stronger going into these next four years. My trump bullshit muscles are stronger now. I mean I survived the first impotent Trump term, topped with a COVID pandemic, all while going through menopause. Bring it on Orange Jesus! You lucky rich bastard! I’m ready for your everyday circus. The outrageous headlines of all the stupid shit your team will conjure up. Complete and utter shell shock at the ridiculous ideas your handlers will convince you to do. I’m ready. I am stronger, and I have the scars to prove it!
ON A DIFFERENT NOTE
I continue to learn musical lyrics to help with my memory. This last month I woke up with Journey’s “Lovin’ Touchin’ Squeezin” song in my head. Does that ever happen to you? A song follows you around for a few days. Anyway, I thought I knew the lyrics but I did not. The more I explored this song, the more I heard Steve Perry’s sassiness. At the end when he sings “Now it’s your turn girl to cry” then goes off in a “nah-nah-nah-nah” riff WOW–total playground sass.
It’s a breakup song. A lover sleeps with another who in turn leaves her. The hurt she gave to sweet Steve, she received in a broken heart from another. What goes around, comes around.
It’s interesting the lessons life gives us. Such as falling in love with someone who doesn’t really love us. What’s the old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me. I’ll end this post with that. Just quietly set it down.
Take care of yourselves, my 150-some-odd readers. Unlike me when I was in that railroad ditch unable to move my head or change my view, we are upright. We can look around and select what we put into our eyeballs. Take a break from the screen. Go for a day hike, and spend time with friends and loved ones.
Take care of yourself.
Be your true love.
shannon p. laws 