Barkley Bohner, Celebrity Philosopher

Chapter 34

"Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! 

Morning number three at Camp David. Waking up in the country sure beat waking up in Ungentrified Harlem, any day of the year. If it weren't for the fact that the reality field was about to collapse and that at least one wife plus a daughter wanted me dead, and that the Mongolian Betsy's wanted them dead, along with me, I might have actually enjoyed my stay.

Chard and I had settled into a routine of spending the morning to ourselves, then hunkering down together for the afternoon and evening behind our console of networked computers in the living room.

It was an exercise in futility, and we both knew it. If the reality field were getting a cancer check-up, the doctor would be saying it had less than four weeks to live. We were doomed. There was nothing we could do 

"My Purnima, my beloved Purnima," Chard sobbed. "I will never see her again. 

"But you two never met," I objected.

"But now I will never get the chance to see her so I can see her again." 

Spoken like a true quantum Bohnerologist.

Nevertheless, I wasn't about let the end of all reality ruin my morning. I waved to Chard coming out of his bedroom, and headed out for a country stroll. The mountain air was clean and crisp, the leaves headed into a change in color. For some crazy reason, it felt good to be alive.

I waved to my Marines going by. Today, it looked like they were doing speed work. No weapons, no railroad tie. Extremely fit specimens running like the wind.

I spotted two joggers in the distance, coming the other way, headed down the path in my direction. No, make that four, two women, two men. Something about the women looked familiar. They swung closer into view.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God!"

There was no mistaking the muscular physique, the tinted Little Miss Muffet ringlets. Remi! My daughter! Beside her was the First Lady, Michelle Obama. Here we go again, I could only think

My first instinct was to dive into the bushes. But this was Camp David, and the two male joggers had to be Secret Service. Already, I could feel the burning of their laser eyes.

Pretend you belong here, I said to myself. Slowly, slowly, said the thinking part of my brain, turn ninety degrees. Now walk, just walk.

Get the fuck out of here! Now!

This was the back part of my brain intruding into the conversation.

Smack!!!

This was the front part of my brain putting the back part of my brain in five-point restraints.

Barkley, you there? Ground control to Major Tom:

Slowly amble through the scrub back to the cabin. Just your normal average white man in stupid white man clothes out for a quiet walk.  

I sensed the joggers thumping closer. I actually heard my daughter giggle.

Execute a slow lazy turn, the front end of my brain instructed. Wave. Real friendly-like. But make sure your hand obscures your face. 

I waved, being careful to position my hand just as my thinking brain told me to. The joggers waved back, not breaking stride. Perfect.

I took a deep breath, then ran like mad to the doorway. Chard was emerging from a different door. I altered course, and pushed him back inside.

"Professor Manne," he said, "what is wrong?"

"Stay put!"

I ran to my landline phone. It was already ringing