Trouble in the White House

by Brenda Hampton

  “This isn’t about Raynetta,” I shouted. “It’s about you, your goddamned lies, and your secrets that have hurt me time and time again! If you knew I had a son, why didn’t you tell me!”

  She threw her hands in the air and shook her head. “Because, at the time, you just didn’t need to know. You were on your way to doing great things, and Ina was a loser. Her whole family consisted of losers, and I couldn’t let her or her crackhead-ass mother bring you down. Meanwhile, I took good care of your son, and I made sure that he never, ever wanted for anything. I wanted to tell you about him, but Ina begged me not to say a word to you. I was caught in the middle. I didn’t know what to do, and she said that if I told you about Joshua, I would never be able to see him. All I wanted to do was keep a close relationship with him. He’s a bright kid, makes good grades, and he’s a star on the basketball team. Wait until you meet him—”

  “It’s too late for that! I . . . I will never be able to meet him.”

  The thought and those words pained me. I had to pause for a moment just to blink away my tears and gather myself. I was losing it for sure. Didn’t quite know how I was going to recover from this.

  “You can and you will meet him. Don’t be upset. And . . . and wait until he finds out who his father really is. I can’t wait to see the look on his face, and on yours, when you see him. You’re going to be so happy. We can go to St. Louis right now if you want to.”

  My mother grabbed my hand, but I yanked it away from her. “Y-you have lost your fucking mind. My son, Mother, was radicalized by terrorists. He’d been on the NSA’s radar, and while you and Ina were busy keeping secrets, he and his friends were busy making fucking bombs to kill Americans! He . . . he’s dead! Thanks to you!” I pounded my fist on the bedpost. “He is dead!”

  “Hell no!” she shouted back. “Who told you that bullshit? You believed them? Joshua is too smart to do anything dumb like that, and I . . .” She paused and frantically searched for her phone. “I’m calling Ina right now. Just wait. You can speak to her and him! Someone is lying to you, and when all is said and done, I want an apology from you!”

  She hurried off the bed and covered herself with a silk robe that had been thrown over the chair. With her cell phone up to her ear, she pouted and gazed at me with fury in her eyes. I snatched the phone from her hand and threw it across the room. It shattered into pieces after hitting the wall.

  “Do you think I give a fuck about what that lying bitch says? She has already lied to me enough, and so have you!”

  I stormed into her walk-in closet and started yanking her clothes from the hangers. She followed, yelling for me to calm down and trying to convince me that Joshua wasn’t dead.

  “Please, baby, just listen to me. There has been a huge mistake, and I don’t want you to listen to these idiots around here. It’s a game. It’s all a game. Please, you have to trust me on this. Yes, I have lied, but others are lying to you too. Ina has, Raynetta has, and she . . . she doesn’t even want to have your child. She’s still taking her birth control pills. And ask her about her meetings with Christopher McNeil. He—”

  I reached out and grabbed my mother by her throat so she couldn’t speak. Her back was pinned against the wall, and her tongue was hanging out of her mouth like that of a thirsty dog. “That’s right! Throw everybody under the bus to save yourself. I’ll deal with Raynetta, but definitely with you first. You’re always hollering and hooting about me throwing you out of my office, but you haven’t seen anything yet. I’ll show you how to throw somebody out! This, my dear mother, is how you do it!” I released her throat, then shoved her away from me. She doubled over, trying to soothe her neck and breathe.

  Levi touched my shoulder and asked me to calm down. He spoke softly. “My brotha, let me gather her things while you go somewhere—”

  Without turning around to face him, I continued to yank my mother’s clothes from the hangers. “Don’t touch me, man,” I said. “Please back up and let me handle this.”

  Levi knew how I was, so he didn’t push. He just kept my mother away from me, especially when she swung out her arms, trying to stop me from stuffing her belongings into her luggage.

  “See, Mama? This is how you do it.” I filled her luggage to capacity. Also swiped my arm across all her expensive jewelry and accessories that were on the island in her closet and made sure that those items went into her bags too. I removed her shoes from the racks. Everything, every single thing, was packed, and that was when I dragged her five bags to the top of the Grand Staircase.

  “Stop this!” she yelled after me. She got loose from Levi and tugged on my arm as I tossed the first bag down the stairs. Since the bag wasn’t zipped, her clothes, shoes, and jewelry were strewn all over the place. I pulled away from her grip, swiped my hands together.

  “Yes, this is how it’s done! This is what throwing somebody out of your fucking house looks like.”

  As she looked at her things decorating the stairs, tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t you dare throw another one of my Louis Vuitton bags like that. If you do—”

  She looked over my shoulder, and when I turned around, I saw Frank peeking from another room. She lashed out at him.

  “Can’t you see I need some help? Nigga, don’t stand your scary ass in that room and not come out to help me! Don’t you see what he’s doing?” she shouted.

  “Th-that matter is between you and your son. I don’t have anything to do with it,” Frank answered.

  Right answer. I tossed another piece of her luggage down the stairs and then another one. That was when she reached out and slapped the shit out of me with enough force to turn my head to the side.

  “Oh, shit,” I heard Levi say. He rushed forward, as did the other agent and the one who had been monitoring the main level. All three of them looked as if they were about to gang up on me, but with a tight grip on my mother’s arm, I dared them.

  “Stand down!” I yelled. “That is an order!”

  They all froze. I pulled my mother down the stairs, using much force. She tried to keep her balance, but on the sixth step, she lost her balance and collapsed. I kept on dragging her, ignoring every word that spilled from her mouth.

  “Let go of my arm and legs, Stephen! Is this how you treat your own mother? We’re family, and you . . . you gon’ make me break something! My ankle is twisted . . . my leg. God help me. Jesus, please don’t let this fool kill me! Owww! I done bumped my head!”

  I was beyond mad, didn’t even recognize her as my mother. I didn’t release her until we had reached the next level, where I shoved her away from me again. While on the floor, she made threats and cried. I looked down at her pathetic self, darting my finger at her.

  “That, Mother, is how you do it. If you can’t walk, crawl the fuck out of here, and never come back again.”

  I walked away and headed for the East Room to see Raynetta. Levi ran after me, holding some of my mother’s belongings in his hands.

  “What . . . Do you want me to take her home tonight?” he asked.

  “No. Take her to a mental institution. Tell them to strap her up, put her in a cell, and throw away the goddamned key.”

  “You don’t mean that, do you?”

  I looked at Levi with a straight face. “Does it look like I’m joking to you?”

  “No, but—”

  In a hurry to get to Raynetta, I stormed away. Minutes later, I entered the East Room, where Raynetta was sitting at the table, eating with Joe, another White House chef. They appeared to be engaged in a pleasant conversation, but when they noticed the rage in my eyes, the conversation ceased. Raynetta stood up, with her fearful eyes fixed on me. My eyes shifted to Joe, who stood up as well.

  “Mr. President, if you’re ready for me to serve you, I’ll be happy to go get your food too. The first lady and I were just speaking—”

  “That won’t be necessary, Joe. Thank you. Please exit. I need to speak to my wife.”

  Joe encouraged me to have a good evening
, then hastily left the room. That was when Raynetta stepped closer and threw her arms around my neck.

  “The ring is beautiful,” she said, referring to the anniversary gift I’d gotten her. “Thank you, Stephen. I love you so much.”

  With a blank expression on my face, I peeled her arms from around my neck, then stepped a few inches back.

  “Three questions.” My chest heaved in, then out. “Did you know about my son, where are your birth control pills, and have you ever met privately with Christopher McNeil?”

  She swallowed hard and was now barely able to look at me. Trying her best to distract me again, she reached for her purse and started rummaging around inside of it.

  “My pills are somewhere in here, but as you can see, my purse is junky as ever.”

  I snatched her purse and shook it upside down so the contents would fall on the floor. They did, scattering all over the place.

  “Why did you do that?” she said. “I told you my pills were in there and . . .”

  As she rambled on, my eyes searched for her birth control pill package. And just my luck, there it was. I snatched it off the floor, and as I looked at the last pill taken, it showed that it was today.

  “Now that you answered that question, how about my other questions?” I snapped.

  She slowly nodded. “Yes, I recently learned about your son, and I also met with Mr. McNeil. But please let me explain.”

  I swear, this was it. I was done. She jumped when I snatched the black suede ring box from the table and pitched it into the blazing fireplace. It was a replacement for the one she’d already had on her finger, and I was tempted to break her finger and take that one off too. But in an effort not to put my hands on Raynetta, I just . . . just turned and walked away.

  “Stephen!” she yelled after me. “Please listen! You don’t understand, baby. It’s not what you think! W-where are you going?”

  I pivoted to respond before exiting. “The question is, where are you going? Think fast. You don’t have much time.”

  Raynetta fell to her knees, crying out to me. “I’m sorry. You have to listen. . . .”

  I had no sympathy for her, and in an effort to run the White House like I was voted in to do, and to keep my sanity, I had to get rid of some people. I knew exactly who the troublemakers were—some were the same ones who had kept me from my son. All I could think about was him. I hadn’t even got a chance to hold him in my arms. It couldn’t get any worse than this, but then again, this was the White House, where good news ran rampant through the halls and bad news made it to the media. They had already begun to spread vicious lies, which had many Americans in shock and hating me even more.

  President of the United States,

  Stephen C. Jefferson

  As president of the United States, I couldn’t even think straight. My heart was broken. Mind wasn’t right. Temper was at a level I couldn’t control. Focused, I was not. Consuming my mind was my son. His funeral was on the day of my anniversary, the same day I was supposed to be on my way to Iraq to visit the troops. I pushed that visit ahead to the next week, along with my visit to the United Nations to meet with world leaders. My conference with the Black Lives Matter organization had been rescheduled, and the only things left on my agenda was attending the funerals of those kids killed in the gymnasium, participating in the Millennials Summit, and meeting with the wife of the preacher who had been killed by cops. I hated to reschedule anything, but I had to. After attending those funerals and meeting with the preacher’s wife, I was exhausted. I now knew how those parents felt inside, and when the preacher’s wife and kids cried on my shoulder, I was angry, yet sympathetic at the same time.

  No doubt, I was at a point where I wanted to do some major damage and then pack up my shit and go. But because of the oath of office I had taken, and my pride, I had to suck it up and hold it all in. Showing strength was a must, even at a time when I was broken. Somehow, I had to pick up all the pieces and go to St. Louis just to be there for my son. I only wished that I could’ve been there for him when he was alive. Things would’ve definitely turned out much differently. No words could express what I felt inside about a secret that had taken a huge chunk out of me.

  I couldn’t wait to look Ina in the eyes, just so she could witness how much I despised her. She was responsible for this. There was no way in hell I would ever forgive her for not telling me about Joshua. And what kind of mother was she to deny her own son a chance to be with his father? I just didn’t get it. I also wasn’t done with my mother yet. With her being ordered to a mental institution, she wouldn’t be able to shed crocodile tears and say her final good-bye to her grandson. I had made sure that she was out of the way, and, hopefully, she had time to think about the magnitude of the bullshit she’d done. That went for Raynetta as well. I didn’t know where she was, and quite frankly, I didn’t care.

  I hadn’t been spending much time at the White House, but I sat in the Oval Office today with Andrew, watching the news and listening to everyone rip me apart.

  “If the president can’t handle his job and has to cancel appointments, maybe he needs to step down,” a commentator said to a group of contributors who were chilling at a table with him. “World issues can’t wait, and I think it was a big mistake for him to reschedule his visit to the UN, considering all that is going on. Some of our allies have turned their backs on us. This was the president’s opportunity to strengthen those relationships, but now many leaders feel snubbed. They don’t respect this president, and the reputation of the United States has been clearly damaged.”

  “I agree,” one of the contributors said. “He should be able to handle a full plate. His speeches at those funerals were very touching, but I have no sympathy for what happened to the young man who was allegedly his son. Seems like that kid was troubled, and judging by his appearance alone, he was a thug. I’m sure he belonged to a vicious gang. I’m still trying to gather more information about his ties to terrorist organizations. In my opinion, it would be a slap in the American people’s faces if our president attends the funeral of a terrorist.”

  “You’re darn right it would be, and you can be sure that his poll numbers will drop tremendously,” another contributor asserted. “What I’m upset about is his lack of support for African Americans. How can he make a decision to attend the Millennials Summit yet cancel with the Black Lives Matter organization? That speaks volumes about where his priorities are.”

  Finally, a male contributor with sense spoke up. “I’m embarrassed to sit at this table with all of you. World issues must wait, especially when we are dealing with matters affecting our own country. The president had to attend those funerals, and it was important for him to visit with the preacher’s wife and kids. To say he’s not supportive of African Americans is ridiculous, and if he had canceled his event with the Black Lives Matter organization, instead of merely rescheduling, then you may have a leg to stand on. We don’t know all the details surrounding his son yet, but if the young man is, indeed, his son, the president should be at his funeral. I would lose respect for him if he wasn’t. As a parent of a deeply troubled teenager with many issues, I would never walk away from my child. Not in life or death.” This contributor was so upset that he got up from the table and left everyone speechless as he walked off.

  Andrew took a deep breath, then turned to me as I sat at my desk. “It’s a cruel world out there,” he said. “And as your senior adviser, I don’t think you should go. Are you sure you want to—”

  “Yes, I’m going, and no one will change my mind. I’ll deal with the repercussions later, but in the meantime, I need you to do something very important for me.”

  “Anything, Mr. President. How can I help you?”

  “I want to meet with General Atkins again, to stress the importance of finding and/or killing the leaders of several terrorist organizations that are putting forth every effort to destroy us. Going after their leaders is the only way to cripple them, and I don’t have to remind you
how personal this is. Shit has gotten out of hand. I can’t believe how much homegrown terrorism has increased over the years. We must get it under control. You are well aware of the leader my son and his classmates pledged their allegiance to. I want him alive and brought to me. Sooner rather than later.”

  Andrew cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, Mr. President, I know I said I’d do anything, but that won’t be an easy task. We can’t catch these leaders at the snap of our fingers. It takes time, strategic planning, and preparations to cripple these organizations. These individuals are highly intelligent, and they are constantly on the move. I’ll set up a meeting so that you and the general can discuss a new strategy. But I’m sure he’ll remind you how difficult it is, and has been so for years, to completely shut these organizations down.”

  “I won’t dispute much of what you just said, but I will say this. Greed got us into this mess, but there is a way out. Those leaders may be intelligent, but if one sharp-minded president and his team could bring down Osama bin Laden, can you imagine what my team and I can do? Don’t underestimate me, Andrew, and do not underestimate yourself. More importantly, never underestimate the brave men and women who fight for this country. When the right president occupies the Oval Office and makes smart decisions, the United States is unstoppable.”

  “How can I argue with that? You’re right, and I’ll set up a meeting for after your son’s funeral. I plan to attend it with you, and afterward, Sam would like for you to speak to the American people. You often say that you don’t care how anyone feels, but you wouldn’t be occupying this office if you didn’t care.”

  Andrew had a point. I did care about some of the things being said, and as painful as it was, I had to brace myself for the next few days.