7:55 AM:
Such is the dreadful readout on the alarm clock on Raymond Sanchez’s nightstand, adjacent to the right side of his bed. Only five minutes until his transformation. Then, again, every day for the past few years he has dreaded the inevitable. For in just five minutes, he no longer possesses his own personality and free will. No more Ray, the epitome of a good time, a man so charming when you met him you felt as if you were the most important person in the world. No more Ray of Sunshine, as his friends used to call him, for whatever sullen mood you were in, or if you had a bad day, you can count on Ray to be your beacon of light and cheer you up. Nope. In five minutes he would turn into…President Sanchez. And it always happens at 8 o’clock. On the dot.
7:56 AM
Four minutes! In just four minutes he turns into the meat puppet that the world knows as ‘President Sanchez.’ For, in four minutes, Raymond Sanchez’s ocular implants automatically activate, and so his day will begin. Today’s schedule of briefings, new intelligence, the whole nine, will somehow be displayed in perfect color-coded collocation on the 11.5 mm diameter of his cornea. How do they do it? How is it even possible? It’s not his job to know. His only job is look pretty and carry out the ocular digital instructions. Alas, Raymond knows that the day will come when his job is rendered useless. He is sure that they are just waiting for the right technology to use a man-made machine that can convincingly imitate human behaviors. He reaches in between his legs for the daily reminder that he is, in fact, human. It is also, perhaps, the main reason he hasn’t clawed his eyes out the way he has fantasized so many times before. It used to be that a president had to have a first lady, but nowadays, nobody cares who the commander-in-chief is sleeping with. He had been married before. Never again. Ever so often, in between the hours of 12 midnight, when his implants are in sleep mode, and whenever he finds the peace to get some shuteye, he celebrates his status and celebrity by inviting beautiful models into the White House along with his old college buddies. They drink, smoke, and mitigate his pain any way they see fit without facing repercussions. Even his own 17 year-old daughter shows insouciance to the situation, walking in on the infamous soirées and asking her dad homework questions. And he would happily oblige. Besides, they would never do anything openly illegal or so egregious as to make page 6. Any time things seem to get hot and heavy, Ray would lead his prize into his room and enjoy precious privacy. But other than that and the few hours of sleep (if he slept), life was Hell. Pure Hell.
7:58 AM
Please don’t let me get re-elected! Who am I running against? Donald Trump Jr…I’d love to see that prick walk in my shoes. While stressing about the upcoming election in a few months, Sanchez glances back at the clock, wondering if he can just get through the day. He shuts his eyes, hoping to make the last one minute or so last forever. Maybe he could just wish this all away. No. Pray for relief. In his 48 years, Raymond Sanchez has never been religious, or even spiritual for that matter. His mother, however, would scold him for skipping out on Church to play basketball with his friends. Although strict, she was a sweet, loving mother. Even when Ray would go hang out with his friends instead of going to bible study, before he left she would put her hand on his head and recite a prayer:
Ángel de nos guarda,
dulce compañía,
no nos desampares,
ni de noche ni de día,
te damos el corazón y el alma nuestra
que son mas tuyos que nuestros.
Amen.
Out of respect for her, Raymond would keep his head bent down counting down the seconds until he could run outside. He never bought it.
7:59 AM
He ironically swore he would never give in to the biblical dogma imposed on him by his mother. He thought nothing could change his mind. But now, in a final moment of desperation, Raymond Sanchez feels something come over him. He finds his hands clasped together, pressed against his chest, with his eyes closed. He recites:
Ángel de nos guarda,
dulce compañía,
no nos desampares,
ni de noche ni de día,
te damos el corazón y el alma nuestra
que son mas tuyos que nuestros.
Amen.
He repeats this prayer four times before he opens his eyes to look at the clock.
8:00
What? He rubs his eyes and looks again: 8:00 AM. He stares in stunned silence for a full minute until the clock reads 8:01 AM. Sanchez feels his chest pounding with excitement and confusion. He does his best to not get his hopes up, so he turns away from the clock, climbs out of bed and heads to the bathroom. He takes a shower, anticipating the return of the unwanted visual display at any moment. But it never came. He takes a towel, dries himself and looks at the clock again: 8:20. At this moment Raymond Sanchez decides that regardless if i this is some joke or not, he runs outside and enjoys the sunlight while it lasts for the first time in years.
An hour later, Raymond Sanchez is relaxing on the bench in the White House South Lawn. He folds his arms behind his head and closes his eyes as he takes in the sun. Ray of Sunshine. Back in action.
“Mr. President” a voice and a shadow interrupt his brief moment of heaven. He looks up to see a big-suited figure blocking his sunlight. “Mr. President you have your meeting with congress to discuss the drug reform bill.”
“Fuck.”
