All language subtitles for Coastal.Elites.2020L.DD+5.1.H.264-monkee

We will make
America great again!

I'm a very stable genius.

- You can do anything.
- Whatever you want.

Grab 'em by the pussy.

Lock her up! Lock her up!

Nobody respects women

more than Donald Trump.
That I can...

I know more about ISIS

than the generals do,
believe me.

Doctor Fauci's
made some mistakes.

Supposing we hit the body
with a tremendous,

just, very powerful light?
And then I see the disinfectant.

Why are
African Americans still dying

at the hands of law enforcement
in this country?

And so are white people.
More white people, by the way.

Are you suggesting

that you might not accept
the results of the election?

No, I have to see.
I'm not gonna just say yes.

Lock her up!
Lock her up! Lock her up!

Yes, officer, I know what I did,

and I know
why that man pressed charges.

Oh my God.

I can't believe I'm here.

I've never... I've never been
in a police station in my life.

Wallpaper would help.

What? What was that?
Do I want a lawyer?

You mean my son?

What did you say?
Your son is a doctor?

It's not a competition.

What kind of a doctor?

Oh, a pediatrician!
Oh, that's wonderful!

My daughter's a neurologist.

What?

Your daughter's
a cardiac surgeon,

and she's been published?

Fuck you!

Oh, I'm sorry.

I didn't mean it like that.
I really didn't.

Please. Please, just listen.

Let me speak so...
So you'll understand.

Because this morning, I wake up,
and I'm reading the Times

because I love the Times
like it was my child

or it was my... my parent.

I mean officer, do you know
what the New York Times means

to a liberal Jewish woman
like me?

On the census,
when it asks for religion,

I don't put Jewish,
I put the New York Times.

So I pick up the Times,
which I have delivered,

the real Times,
the newsprint Times.

Yeah, yes,
I know I'm old-fashioned,

but really, officer, please.

Reading the Times online
is like having sex with a robot.

Yeah, I mean, it's cleaner
and it's faster,

but you can tell the difference.

Okay, I'll just say it.
The New York Times online

is the New York Times
for the gentiles.

I mean, have you ever had dinner
with a Lutheran family?

That's not food.

By the way, officer,
are... are you Jewish?

Uh. Oh, you're Catholic.
That's fine.

And I'm the one being arrested.

I'm kidding.

So, I pick up the paper.

See, there's a reason
it's called "the paper."

Only there he is.

His face above the fold.

Him.

You know who I'm talking about.

I can't even stand
to say his name,

because I'm a New Yorker,
and we always hated him.

And it wasn't just the lying
and the hair

and the ugly buildings.
Oh my God, no.

He has no style.
He has no sense of humor!

He tore down Bonwit Teller
in the middle of the night!

He wouldn't rent
to Black people!

Move to the Kremlin,
you son of a bitch!

Ugh.

I didn't say that.

But yes, I did.

And that's part of the problem.
I hate being like this.

I mean, even years ago,
when I had no money

and I was waitressing
and I was going to City College

and... and my parents
kept nagging me to get married

and we had Nixon and Roy Cohn

and whoever the fuck
invented patios!

I mean, I never felt like this.

I never went to bed in a rage
and woke up

having a panic attack.

I didn't spend every day
in anger and dread and...

And I didn't hate
those other people.

Those people from Nebraska
and Ohio and Alabama.

I mean,
I fly over them, but I'd wave.

And when they came
to New York City to visit,

I... I'd give 'em directions
to Lion King.

I mean, I'd start to recommend
the new Sondheim.

They'd say, "Who's Sondheim?"

I'd say,
"Have fun with the puppets."

I mean, maybe we weren't...
We weren't buddies, but...

But we didn't despise
each other.

That's what he did.

Oh, God.

I'm doing it.

The fury, the agita,

the constant need to shake
my copy of the New York Times

and scream at it,
"How could you let this happen?"

Not the Arts section.

You know, sometimes I worry
that maybe

I'm a little too attached
to the Times, like...

Like maybe it was my best friend
or something, or like...

Like when my late husband, Nick,
was still alive,

and we used to spend all day
Sunday in bed with the Times.

His cinnamon and raisin bagels
and lox,

and you know what we call that?

We call it "a Jewish orgy."

But there's his face,

and it's such an insult
to the Times,

and to Nick,
who hated him more than anybody.

I can't talk about Nick, though.
I... I...

No. Not now. Maybe not ever.

So, I take a shower and then
I turn on The Today Show

because I love those co-hosts,
Savannah and Hoda.

I just love them.
They're so smart.

They're so upbeat.
It's like they're always saying,

"Hey, there's been a plane crash
and a tsunami,

but we're both wearing
sleeveless dresses,

so mazel tov!"

Only today...

...and I can tell
they're not enjoying it,

they're doing a report

on the daughter's
Goodwill World Tour.

"The daughter."

She's always laughing
and smiling.

She wears more makeup
than the Rockettes combined.

And I don't know what the fuck
she's doing in the White House.

I mean, will you tell me?

She wasn't elected.

And before that,
she had Chinese sweatshops

churning out that crappy jewelry
of her... hers,

while her dad jabbered on
about American jobs.

And when 12 women
were brave enough

to come forward and say
that he had assaulted them,

she says, "I believe my father."

And then when the tape comes out
where he talks

about grabbing women...
...by the pussy,

she says,
"That's not the man I know."

Well, let me introduce you,
sweetheart.

And I'm not gonna say a word
about her marriage

because
that's her personal life,

even if she chose
to marry a rich boy

who looks like
Celine Dion's sad niece.

You know, she went after him,
but he said no.

No, not unless she converted.

So she meets with a rabbi,
and overnight,

alakazam, sis-boom-bah,
she's suddenly Jewish...

like it's a... a L'Oréal product!

Ugh. Oh, God.

Enough. I'm sorry.

I... I... I'm really tired of it.

We're all so tired of it.

So, today...

as a diversion, as an antidote,

I decide I'm gonna enjoy
New York City.

What?

Oh! I'm retired.

After 45 years as a teacher

in the Queens Public School
System,

did I mention I'm Jewish?

And I loved it.
All those children.

They gave me so much hope,
such happiness,

because teaching a child
to read, you think...

"Oh, that child has a chance."

And not just a chance to...
To... to go to college

and get a good job, but a chance
to learn to love reading,

to be curious,
to discover the whole world.

Maybe even the theater.

You like the theater?
Oh, you love Phantom?

So that's a no.

I'm kidding!

Well, anyway, today,
I have a ticket

for a matinee at The Public,

and I have some time, so I go
to the Starbucks down the block.

And I'm sitting by myself,
sipping my latte,

reading the business section,

which I brought
in my NPR tote bag.

Mm, don't you do it, officer,
don't you mock my tote bag...

Because, officer,
you want to know a secret?

That's how
we recognize each other.

Women like me.

It's a secret code.

NPR. The New Yorker.

The Estée Lauder tote bag
as a gift with purchase

with the Barnes & Noble
Virginia Woolf Centennial
tote bag

folded up inside. Shh.

Then I see him.

Two tables away, he's...

He's about 40.

He's wearing jeans
and a windbreaker and...

And the hat.

The red hat.

You know the one. The MAGA hat.

The "Make America
Great Again" hat

in New York City,
in the East Village,

two blocks
from The Public Theater,

at Cooper Union,
where Lincoln spoke,

and Larry Kramer!

It's like me going to Nebraska

wearing a yarmulke,
waving a rainbow flag

while reading a book.

And I apologize to Nebraska.

I'm sure they're very
lovely people there, but...

you know their state bird
is a meadowlark?

They shot it.

And at first, I think,
"Miriam, don't do it. Oh, God.

Miriam, don't do it.
Don't take the bait."

But then I think,
"Maybe he's a psychology student

and it's an experiment."

And then I think, "Nah.
It's a performance piece."

Because in the East Village,
you never know.

I once saw a naked man
standing on a street corner

screaming obscenities
at a Cabbage Patch doll.

Two Obies and a Drama Desk.

But then it happens.

He's reading the paper.

Not the Times.
Something conservative.

And he says...

And not under his breath.

Right out loud, he says,

"Lock her up!"

And he looks all around
at the students and the tourists

and me. He looks right at me.

He says it again, "Lock her up!

That stupid bitch Hillary,
right?

She should be in jail."

Okay.

Hillary.

I know she's not perfect.

She can be a little chilly,

a little pleased with herself
sometimes, but to me,

she's the New York Times
in a pantsuit.

I love her.

She's my generation.

She wanted to make a difference,
so she tried everything.

She pushed, she fought,
she kept her eyes on the prize.

And she lost.

She won
by three million votes...

but she lost...

because the Electoral College
is a white Republican man

who says,
"Not so fast, little lady."

Okay. I... I feel...

I really need to ask you
a question.

Are you a Republican?

Be honest.

Oh, thank God!

Because then
I'd have to gouge out your heart

with my house keys.

I'm kidding.

No, I'm not.

If you want to know
what it means to be a woman...

in America,
you just take a look at Hillary.

While her husband got to be
charming and handsome,

slept with everything
that moved,

she had to grit her teeth
in public,

and no matter what she did
or said or wore,

she was attacked.

Too smart! Too opinionated.
Too blonde. Not blonde enough.

And maybe...

maybe people were right
about her. Maybe...

Maybe she was too compromised.
I... I never saw it.

Maybe she wanted it too...
Too nakedly...

and they wanted to punish her
for that.

As for me,
I'm only gonna say this...

She mattered to me.

She was a woman
who tried her best,

and the whole world said,
"Fuck you!"

I don't know
what's happening to me.

I never used to talk like this.

This language,
it's so offensive.

And yet,
since the election, I...

I haven't been able
to stop cursing.

The other day,
I bought another tote bag.

It said, "Bed, Bath
and Fuck You!"

So, I'm at Starbucks,
and I stand up and I walk over

and I say to the guy...

"So... the hat.

Why are you wearing it?"

And he looks me up and down,
and he smirks.

And I know
I shouldn't be judging,

but show me one person

who voted for that man
who doesn't smirk.

And he says...

"I'm wearing it because
it drives you fuckin' nuts."

And I think to myself, "Well..."

"He's not wrong."

And then I say, "But why do you
want to drive me fuckin' nuts?"

And I say it clearly.
I asked the question

so the "you repulsive piece
of racist shit" is silent.

And he says, "Because you got
Obama. What did we get?"

And I just have to
stop and think

because I have no idea
what he's talking about.

So I say to him,
"But what did you want

that Obama didn't give you
or try to give you?

Healthcare? A... a... a good job?

A decent place to live?
Did you want to... did you want...

Did you want to feel like people
were listening to you?"

He says, "Nah. What...
Yeah, whatever. Sure.

But mostly, mostly," he says...

"I look at people like you...

in your nice clothes and your...
Your bachelor's degree,

your fancy coffee with
your New York fuckin' Times,

and I think, 'Fuck you.'
You're not better than me."

And do you know what it took
for me not to say...

"Master's degree?"

But I don't.

I suck it up...

and I say,
"But I'm not better than you

because we're all...
We're all created equal.

And I would fight to the death

for your right
to wear that hat."

And he smirks and he's laughing
and he says,

"Ha! And that's
why you're fucked!"

"You did it to yourself!"

"And that's why we won,
because we don't care."

And now my breathing
is getting choppy,

and he sees that,
and he's really happy

'cause he knows he's getting
to me. I'm taking the bait.

And then he says,
"And you know what else?

Hillary was never gonna win,

'cause no matter what
your husband told you

to shut you up,
he hated that bitch

just like every other guy
in the world,

and most of the women too!

I dare you. Ask him."

And then I just stop.

And I don't want to.

I'm fighting it
with everything that's in me...

but I remember...

my Nick, my husband, Nick...

who marched...
who signed every petition...

who taught Phys Ed.

My husband, Nick,
who got cancer,

but who stayed glued
to the television,

who'd get so angry that I knew
it must be affecting his health,

so I made him turn it off.

My Nick, who was in so much pain
and on so much morphine

that he... he lapsed into a coma.

And when he finally
came out of it,

it was after the election.

He looks up at me,
and he says...

"She won. She won, right?"

And I wasn't gonna tell him,
but the nurse...

She didn't know any better.
She was just a kid.

She said, "No."

And she said that name,
she said the name,

that man's name, and Nick...

Oh my God.
Nick's eyes got so wide.

He started choking,

clenching his fist,
trying to s...

Trying to sit up, and then...

And then he was gone.

And that's what
I'll never forgive.

That man...

that smug criminal...

hateful man who uses
Metamucil for makeup.

That man killed my husband.

That man made a liberal
Jewish gym teacher...

explode.

So when that guy at Starbucks,
when that guy says,

"Nick hated Hillary," I...
I snapped. I lost it.

I went full-on
Worldwide Wrestling Federation,

Navy Seal, Jason Bourne Goa,
and I grabbed that hat.

I'm gonna throw it
on the ground,

but he grabs my arm,
and he's twisting it.

He says, "That's my hat, bitch!"
I said, "Not today, asshole!"

And I yank my arm away,
but I keep the hat,

and I run right out of Starbucks
down the street.

He's chasing me
for two city blocks.

Thank you, Doctor Scholl's
air cushioned insoles!

And I tear up the stairs
like a fuckin' mountain climber.

My heart is pounding.

I'm operating
on pure adrenaline.

And he's yelling,
"Give it back! Give it back!"

And I say, "This is The New York
Public Theater,

the home of Hamilton,
Shakespeare in the Park

and A Chorus Line.
You have no power here!"

And he says, "The fuck I don't!"
And he grabs the hat

and he shoves me with both hands
like he wants to kill me.

And I lose my balance,
and I'm on the floor...

on my back.

And he leaves...

and he's laughing.

And now everyone
is all gathered around.

"Oh my God. Oh my God.
Are you all right?

Are you all right?
Do you have a concussion?

What'll we do?
Should we call 911?" And...

I just don't know what to say.

I got a bump on my head.

I've twisted my ankle, but...

I don't even care...

because I... I'm looking around,
see...

and I say to myself...

"What am I doing here?

Why am I trying to see a play
and learn about the world

and... and keep up with things?

What good does it do?

Who does it help?"

And that was the moment when...

I can't say it.

I can't say it. It's blasphemy.

It's unthinkable.

No, you know what?
I'm gonna tell you,

because you really
will understand.

That was the moment...

when I almost cancelled
my subscription

to The Public Theater.

Do I shock you?

But it's true.

I had looked into the abyss.

I said, "No more."

No more five-hour plays

where people in nice apartments
debate socialism.

No more musicals
about Joan of Arc

as she was fighting the Taliban.

Because everything,

my whole life,
my whole image of myself

as a decent, cultured...

curious human being...

Why...

it was just a bad joke.

A cliché. Fake news.

And then this young woman
comes over.

She's wearing overalls,
and a pink pussy hat and...

And a ring in her nose,
and not on the side, either.

We're talking
the full Ferdinand.

I mean, it's a look
my mother would say,

"Did you have to wear that
to our Seder?"

And she says her name
is Heliotrope...

and she's the house manager,

and she'd seen
what just happened.

She brings me some water
and a ten-dollar brownie.

She says, "Go see the play.
You'll feel better."

And I said, "But...
But won't the play

just blame all the world's
problems on gentrification

and inequality
and the patriarchy

with full frontal nudity?"

She says, "What do you got
against nudity?" I said...

"Nothing, but it's
always the wrong people."

But I thought about it...

because I knew I had a choice...

to see the play, or surrender.

To have some guts... or give up.

And I looked at Heliotrope...

and I said...

"I'll bet your real name
is Helen."

But she was young. She had hope.

And then I thought about Nick,

and everything
he was so passionate about.

And I looked around
at all the other theatergoers,

and I thought...

"Every ticket is a weapon.

Fighting that guy,
fighting that bastard

and fighting all the bastards."

And then I thought,
"Miriam of Arc,

that's who I am."

Joan of Arc. Hmm.

I'm Miriam of Arc...

because I stand for something,

and everyone in this lobby,

we all stand for something...

and everything
that man is afraid of,

everything
he doesn't understand,

everything he hates.

So I got to my feet,
brushed myself off,

put on some lipstick,
and I said,

"Fuck you,
Mister MAGA hat dickwad.

I am going to see a play."

And when I get out,
there you are, officer,

because that guy filed
a complaint

because I'd threatened him,
which I did,

and which I would do again
in a heartbeat.

We want our country back,
and we are going to march

and sign petitions
and register people to vote,

and we are gonna watch
Norwegian detective shows on HBO

because that's what we do.
We fight.

We tweet.

Some of us even TikTok,
whatever the fuck that is.

So take a good look
at me, officer.

Remember my face

and my drugstore
reading glasses...

and my spirit...

because I'm the wall.

Lock me up.

That institution

that forms the backbone
of our society,

traditional marriage.

It wasn't our idea.
It was God's idea.

Hi, Doctor Morton.

It's Mark Hesterman.
Thank you so much for seeing me.

Yeah, my regular therapist,
Doctor Beret,

he's recovering, thank God,

but he still has a fever
and chills,

and the coughing
was getting to me.

So...

I'm so sorry, by the way,
to have taken you away

from your friend's
drive-by baby shower.

That sounds so sweet.

And I would love to have a baby
at some point... ish.

It's just, um...

I have been feeling
kind of stuck lately,

and I think I might need
to just talk this out,

otherwise my brain
might short-circuit.

So... here's what's going on.

I'm an actor.

Have you seen me in anything?

Um... Well...

I played a crusading gay
congressional intern

in that ABC series
Halls of Power,

which lasted a season
but won a Peabody.

And I played
a rookie gay firefighter

in Showtime's edgier
Five Alarm Hangover,

although I died
in the third episode

after sacrificing my own life
to save a Klan member

from a burning church,

for which I was nominated
for a Queer Spirit Award,

which I know sounds sort of
like a ghost story on Bravo.

And I played a quirky gay
tech guru

on HBO's Early Adopters
with a six-episode arc,

although they might be
bringing me back.

I mean,
people on Game of Thrones

get eaten by dragons,
and they come back, so...

And I just booked a commercial

where my boyfriend and I
go on a picnic

because
we both have health insurance.

So, and I...
Yes, I mostly play gay roles,

and I'm totally grateful
for that

because the huge majority
of actors are unemployed,

and, you know, I'm... I'm all for
queer representation.

Uh, yes. Sometimes I say "gay,"
and sometimes I say "queer,"

and sometimes I just show people
a picture of myself

on Halloween in high school

dressed as Julianne Moore
in The Hours.

And I love being gay,

you know, which is sort of
why I'm here,

because for the past three weeks
leading up to this...

shutdown, I had been auditioning

over and over again for...

for what could be
a breakthrough role.

Not just for me, but kind of
for the entire world...

because the character's name
is Fusion,

and he would be the first
big-screen summer blockbuster

studio tentpole
openly gay superhero.

Exactly.

So I have just been
sitting here.

I'm... I'm supposed to hear
from my agents and manager.

They're supposed to call me
or text me or something,

because even though everyone's
working from home,

apparently the studio is making
their final decision today.

And I know
this is probably sounding, like,

very self-absorbed...

but it's a lot deeper than that
because, when I was younger,

I used to search every movie
and TV show

for even the tiniest
hints of gayness...

and yes, I had My So-Called Life
for a season.

Which is why I think
I love comic books so much,

because there are just
so many queer characters.

You know, there's Iceman,
who used to be straight

until he accepted himself
as gay,

and Green Lantern is gay
in a parallel universe,

and Coagula is
this incredible trans woman

who can coagulate liquids
and dissolve solids,

and I love Josiah Power,

who is not only gay
and Black with super strength,

but is also the foremost lawyer
in Metropolis.

And one of my favorites
is Northstar,

who's this Canadian
Olympic skier with super speed

and the ability to create
these photonic energy blasts.

And they have
killed him off, like,

at least three separate times,

and he keeps
getting resurrected,

until recently,
where he was recruited

by the X-Men at Xavier Academy,
where he now teaches

business, economics, and French.

And there are so many more,

and they're all so smart
and interesting and complicated,

which is probably why
I don't see them in the movies.

And then there's Fusion...

who is this young gay orphan

who was raised in a string
of abusive foster homes,

and everybody bullied him
and... and worse.

And one day, he goes to lie down
on the railroad tracks

to kill himself,
when he is simultaneously

run over by a train,
struck by lightning,

hit by a piece
of radioactive asteroid,

and his phone explodes.

And all of those different forms
of energy fuse...

to form his superpowers,

and he travels the world
using those powers

to fight racists,
sexists, and homophobes.

Find me a better superhero.

Find me a better part.

And I... I know this is sounding
so L.A....

but I really want this part.

I could act the shit
out of this part

because if you, you know,
include community theater,

three emotionally
unavailable ex-boyfriends,

and an uncanny ability to
predict Golden Globe nominees,

he and I are not that different.

Yes. Well, the audition,
which is, uh, why we're here,

okay, so not even that long ago,

my being gay would be a secret,
and I'd be miserable.

But there has been progress,
thank God,

and I am now out and proud.

And I get to meet
out and proud casting directors

at out and proud fundraisers,

and I then get to audition

for those same
out and proud casting directors,

who then tell my agents
I'm too niche...

or emotional or "sophisticated"

or whatever
the current codes are

for being just a little too
out and proud.

Which is why Fusion
is so important,

because originally
they were gonna cast

a... a straight actor
until, thanks to the internet

and millions of Fusion fans
from the comic books,

everyone said, "No way."

And then they were gonna hire
a... a closeted actor

like that was
some sort of compromise,

but people said, "No."

Fusion can't bring his mom
to the Oscars

because he's...
He's not the gay best friend...

or the...
The quirky gay sidekick.

He is the lead of the movie.

He is part of the Victory League

along with Power Blaster,
Death Stalker,

Tornado, Blue Ultra,
and Bobcat...

all of which admittedly sound
like minivans,

but they are being played
by A-list straight actors.

And one of them's
African American.

Thank you, Black Panther.

And one of them's
Korean American.

Thank you, Crazy Rich Asians.

And one of them's
Scarlett Johansson.

Thank you, Scarlett's agent.
And...

And I would be the gay one.

And maybe it's Hollywood

genuinely trying
to be inclusive,

or maybe they're just doing it
to be trendy, but okay.

Because in most movies...

the gay character falls in love
and dies...

or falls in love
and his partner dies,

or falls in love

and experiences approximately
30 seconds of happiness

before the end credits.

But this time...

just maybe...

the gay character could
fall in love and fucking fly.

So, they send me the script,
and I decide to play it safe,

you know, just straightforward,
wholesome, pure,

all-American superhero

who has just faced off
against the evil Valdor.

So... so, I pop a beta blocker...

and I walk into the room...

and I give them what they want.

Don't worry, Susie.

Valdor can't hurt you.
Not now. Not anymore.

Not without his head.

And, Susie, I want you to meet
my husband. This is Cortex.

Oh, no. He's right here.
He's just invisible.

He is also a superhero.

Yes, he is entirely faithful.

But more importantly,
the world has been saved

by all different types
of superheroes.

And I say thank you,
and I leave...

wondering if any of the other
superheroes

were asked about
their partner's fidelity

by a five-year-old girl,

and I know
I wasn't totally dropped in,

but I thought maybe
that's what they wanted.

And so, a week goes by,

and I finally hear
from my agent,

and they want to see me again.

So I go back in,
and immediately,

the director tells me
to forget about the script.

Just go for it.

Improvise. Be out there,
be beyond out there

because we don't want
to play it safe with Fusion,

so just... just be super gay.

Hmm. "Super gay."

So, I ask
if I could have a moment

just out in the hall...

and my first impulse is,
"Do not do this."

Because whatever
you're gonna do in there...

you won't own...

because you're not celebrating
your queerness,

that's not what this is,

because it's being
demanded of you

by a straight executive
who wants a cartoon.

And I... I wouldn't do that.

But I'm there...

at the callback...

and it's Fusion,
and it's opportunity,

and I panic, and I go back in.

I go back in.

Partly because I...
I didn't know what else to do,

and partly because I was scared
of letting them down.

And I did what they asked.

Don't worry, Susie.

Valdor can't hurt you.
Not anymore.

Not without his head.

Looks like someone needed
a haircut.

Oh, and Susie, I want you
to meet my husband, Cortex.

He's invisible,

which means that he can do
whatever or whomever he wants.

And as for Valdor,
he might've thought

that the entire planet
was terrified of him,

but his only real superpower

was the ability
to end a pool party

just by showing up, sweetie.

And I say thank you,
and I leave...

and I get to my car...

and I start to sob.

And at first,
I don't even know why.

You know,
the tears are... are flowing,

and I'm trying
to detangle my feelings.

Like, am I crying
because the whole thing

is just so fucking cliché?

Or am I crying
because I was just asked

to parade all of the magic
that I love about myself

in front of a room
full of strangers

like I was some sort
of carnival sideshow act?

And then my phone rings.
It's my agent.

"They loved it.

Don't change a thing.
They want to see you tomorrow.

You're still in the mix."

So I go home to clear my head,
and I turn on the TV

to just distract myself
for a second, but I can't...

because he is there.

The vice president of
the United States, Mike Pence.

And he's on the news
giving a speech at an army base

in Missouri about a mile
from where I was born.

And this is the same
Mike Pence that thought

that gay marriage would cause
societal collapse.

Mike Pence, who campaigned
for a constitutional amendment

to ban marriage equality
because it's not...

And I'm quoting him on this...
"God's idea."

And he wanted to ban
gay adoption,

and gays in the military,

and thought the Matthew Shepard
Hate Crimes Bill

was a "radical social agenda."

Mike Pence, whose wife,
whom he calls "mother,"

teaches at a school...

that doesn't just
expel gay kids,

it expels any kid
with a gay relative.

And she teaches art!

And here I am...
...sitting on my couch,

having just exploited

all of the most charming parts
of myself...

for a job I might not even get.

But I agree to go back in.

And I go in the next day,
and I...

I haven't looked at the script,
because at this point,

the whole world just...
Everything feels so absurd.

And I say hello to the people

in their cashmere and Converse.

And I start the scene, except...

Except I don't do the scene
that they asked me to prepare.

I picked one
from earlier in the movie,

before I had caught the bad guy,
but at this point,

just the sight
of them all sitting there

was so disorienting that I...
I forgot the lines...

...but just decided
to go ahead with it anyway.

The reason the world's
in danger, Susie,

is because Valdor
is still out there.

And Valdor doesn't believe
in queer superheroes.

He doesn't think we exist.

Isn't that right, Valdor?

Just think we're, what,
sight gags or punchlines?

Just people you could
have prance around

for your entertainment?

And we could agree to disagree
that you think it's okay

for doctors and nurses
to legally deny

life-saving healthcare
to gay people,

even in an emergency room,

even during a global pandemic,

because of what you call
"personal beliefs."

But I'm here with my friends.

Victory League.

And you have...

no idea what you're up against.

And I say thank you,
and I leave...

and then I think...

"What the hell did I just do?
What did I do?"

But whatever it was...

that was Fusion.

That was someone
that I could be proud of.

And it turns out
that they admired my bravery,

and I'm still in the mix.

My father
not only has the strength

and ability necessary
to be our next president,

but also the kindness
and compassion...

Nina, were you marching?

Yeah, I was in Union Square,
but I came home

so I could expedite bail money
across the country and...

And... and start a legal team,
but that's not why I'm calling.

I have to talk to you. Uh...

I'm shaking. I'm terrified.

Nope, it's not COVID.
It's something else,

and you're the only person
who's gonna get this because...

okay, bear with me...

because I knew her.

Not well,
but she was a year ahead of us

in boarding school.
Do you remember?

But we would nod at each other,

and she always made a point
of remembering my name

and smiling and saying,
"Hi, Callie."

And I'd say, "Hi, Ivanka."

And she had this voice,
you know?

Sort of light and feathery

like a lot of the girls
at the time,

which was fine,
but I remember thinking,

"Is that your real voice?

Is that anyone's real voice?"

I know, I'm terrible.
But, you know,

she really was very nice
and very sweet.

She would get there
in September in a limo,

in the backseat all by herself,

and at first, I thought
she was a floral arrangement.

And she had friends,
but she was more...

sort of this floating presence.

You know,
like a visiting princess.

I remember discussing her
with you and Melisande,

and we all agreed

not to blame her
for anything her family did.

'Cause it was like you said,

"We have to treat her
as if she was Susan Noriega

or Courtney Stalin.
It's not her fault."

You... you said that.

And I would watch her,

and this one time,
we were both in the library,

and she was watching
something about 9/11,

and she turned to me

and she said,
"It's all so awful."

And I knew she meant it,

but it was so strange
because she smiled,

and it was like she had
this natural instinct

to make things better
or nicer or prettier,

and I know that
that's a rich white girl thing

and it's how she was raised,
which was probably scary,

but then I figured out
what was really going on.

Because it was something

the rest of us
didn't have to deal with.

She was practicing being
photographed for the tabloids.

And... and this was
pre-Instagram, right?

But it was, like, she knew.
She, uh, she saw it coming.

She was like the Steve Jobs
of smiling.

That was not mean! I mean,
because she really was...

she was so sweet, and...

you know,
she tried all sorts of things,

modeling and business school
and sweatshops

and, of course,
working for her dad.

But come on.
It was an opportunity.

I mean, I work for my dad.
I run the foundation, which...

yes, it's different from
making guest appearances

on The Apprentice.

Did you ever watch that show?

Because her dad
would fire people,

and then she would try
to make things better.

The smile.
It was like she was saying,

"I'm here, but I'm not.

I'm part of this,
but I'm somewhere else.

I'm smiling."

And then it happened.
The White House,

the move to Georgetown,
the shitstorm, and...

Okay. Okay, okay.
Get ready, 'cause you got...

You're sitting down?
You got a glass of wine?

A whole bottle, a whole case,
because this is where I come in.

Because a few months ago,
before quarantine,

before everything,
I get a call from my dad

because Trump has invited my dad
to the White House...

because I guess Trump
knows my dad

because he started
the most successful

Black-owned brokerage firm
in history.

And so I say, "Dad...

but you're not going, are you?"

And he says, "Yes."

He says, "I'm curious,
and you're coming with me."

And I say, "No, I'm not.
Uh, there's no way in hell."

And he says, "Callie.

Listen to me.

He's the president.
We have access.

No one will know.
And you could learn something."

So we fly to Washington.

Yes, private. And...

the car pulls up to the gates,
and I... I wonder,

"Are they gonna stop us?"
I mean, Black people

at the Trump White House
who aren't Kanye?

And for a second, I had this...
This image of us

being dragged out of the car
and arrested,

which would already be bad,

but then people would also know
we were there.

But the Secret Service guy
just nods and we drive through.

And... when I walk
into the actual building,

I get a shiver

because I can't do this,
you know?

This is our house. It's supposed
to be everybody's house.

It was built by slaves. And yes,
Nina, I know, Barack, but...

I was there,
and I am freaking out.

And my dad whispers,

he says, "It's okay.
You're gonna be okay.

Enemy territory."

And an aide comes and guides us
to the Red Room,

where the dinner's being held,

and when we get to the room,
I feel something else.

An echo.

Because there aren't many tables
or other guests

and the lighting is bad,

so the whole place
feels a little abandoned,

like a bankrupt casino,

like the eyes on the portraits
are gonna move.

And of course,

we're the only people
of any color whatsoever.

And the only way I can be there
is to feel like a spy, you know?

Like I'm working undercover
like a resistance fighter

dressed as a Nazi
in a Tarantino movie,

which is exactly what it's like

because then there she is,
Melania.

And... Yes.
Oh my God. Nothing moves.

Even her hair has Botox.

It's like she's Dracula
with a blowout and a spray tan,

and she's a birther,
so fuck her.

Then he comes in. Trump.

And I have to tell myself,

"Remember what my dad said.

You can learn something."

So I pretend I don't know
anything about him.

What do I think?

Nice guy, friendly, works hard?

No. So creepy, so disgusting.

I want to run.
I want to take a shower.

I mean, someone needs
to follow him with a Dustbuster.

And he finally glances up
from his phone and he sees me,

and I think I get the look,

the rich white guy look,
which... which is all about,

"Am I pretty enough?
Am I showing enough skin?

Am I good enough
to fuck maybe once?"

But before he can decide,
he sees that I'm with my dad,

and he comes right over.

And he's grabbing my dad's hand
and he's calling him "Jack-o,"

and then it hits me.

Because my dad is rich...

seriously rich,
richer than Trump will ever be,

that's the real turn-on.

And even if I was
a naked porn star...

he'd rather fuck my dad.

Hold on, wait.
Okay, get ready. Because...

just as my dad
is introducing me, I hear,

"Callie!"

And it's her.

And the whole scene
is so bizarre

because the place
feels empty, but...

the guests are all looking up,

and it's like this happy,
blonde four-year-old has...

Has scampered
into the haunted mansion,

and she's wearing all white,

and she glides right over to me

and she gives me
the perfect air hug,

and the perfume is a lot.

And she says, "Daddy,

can I steal Callie away
for a few minutes?"

And he gives her a nod,

or he gives her tight
white dress a nod,

and he says, "Sure, honey."

And she says, "Come on!

It's so great to see you.
This is such fun."

Like we're on a play date.

Or no, like she's Nancy Drew

and we're exploring
the Old Mill,

which we are,
because she leads me upstairs

and she says,

"When I first saw this room,
I knew how much you'd love it.

It's the Lincoln Bedroom."

Whoa. Whoa. And it's...

No. It keeps getting worse,

or better, depending
on your sense of humor.

So, she pats an armchair,
and then she sits on the bed

and I think, "Something
is definitely up.

She wants something."
And so I sit down

and she cuts right to the chase
and she says,

"Callie, I need you...

because I know that people
hate me,

and... now, be honest...

But why do you think that is?

I mean, jealously,
of course, but why else?"

And she's looking
right at me and...

she's this glowing blonde cloud,

and I decide I can't do it.

I can't... I can't just be polite
because then I'm part of it,

so I say, "People hate you
because you're not qualified,

but your dad hires you
to work in the White House."

And she's nodding like...

"Of course, of course.
And what else?"

And so I say,
"The racism, Charlottesville,

putting kids in cages,

the way your dad treats women
and you defend him,

the insults, the sneering,
the lies.

All my gay friends hate you
because of Pence

and the trans ban and trying
to repeal gay marriage,

and you post pictures
of yourself hugging

the evangelicals who said that
gay people are going to hell."

And she says, "Oh...

But gay people know
that I love them.

I'm from New York.

So I signal them quietly, like,
I tweeted 'congratulations'

to that new Black lesbian mayor
of Chicago.

And I'm creating so many jobs.
My dad says it's 15 million.

And unemployment,
especially for minorities,

has been at its
lowest levels ever.

It's done."

It's done. She thinks it's done.

And so she keeps going,

and she gives me a huge...

"just between me and you"
secret smile,

and it's twinkling.

And she says...

"But I need to
turn things around

on a perception level.

I need people to see Ivanka."

Her brand. The third person.

Then she says...

"So, what if we became friends?
I mean, real pals.

What if I could come to New York
and you could take me places?

Because if I go to a show
or an event by myself,

or, God forbid, with Kellyanne,
everyone snubs me.

One person even spit because
they think I'm a traitor,

but if I was with someone
like you,

someone with total
social street cred...

we could go to a restaurant
or a gala

and you could be my angel,
my protector,

my backstage pass,
my human shield."

And I think, "Why?"

Why does she think
she can ask me this?

Because we went
to school together?

Because we're both rich?

I mean, who the hell
does she think I am?

And then I get it.

Yep, Nina, you guessed it.

Because her entire fucking life,

she's never heard the word "no."

And then it happens.

She unleashes it. The smile.

The one she's been working on
for decades.

The miles of lip gloss,

the hint of Vaseline
on her teeth,

the chin implant
slightly lowered,

the pageant-ready
smoky eyeshadow,

the full-on megawatt billboard

advertising nothing
but greedy perfection.

The product.

Only this time, it's not some
failing golf resort in Scotland

or a diamond tennis bracelet
on the Nordstrom website

or a ghostwritten guide
to empowering women.

It's all her.

Total Ivanka. Dream Ivanka.
President Ivanka.

And it's this blonde avalanche
just pounding towards me and...

I'm paralyzed. I'm reeling.

And I flash on Abe Lincoln
in the corner going,

"What the fuck is happening
in my bedroom?" And...

Ivanka says,
"I know it's overwhelming,

but this could be so great.

The two of us, a team,
a power couple."

And then she stands up
and she says, "I'll call you!"

And she's out the door.

And Melania's hanging
somewhere upside down

and her dad is touching
my dad's arm,

and he's saying, "Great talk."
And then we leave.

And so when we get in the air,
I ask my dad what Trump wanted.

And he says, "Money,
a photo op, golf.

You think he has everything
he ever wanted, but he doesn't.

He never will."

And I say,
"So what does he still want?"

And he says,
"The thing he claims to hate.

The thing he tells his
Klan rallies he doesn't need.

But all he really wants
is New York.

The New York Times,
to stop wearing the MAGA hat,

to be rich and powerful
without being a joke.

He wants something that he's
just smart enough to recognize

but too clueless to achieve.

He wants style and ease

and to stand up
without crumbs in his lap

like the Coastal Elites.

Why do you think
he's so obsessed with Obama?

He wants us."

And I can't believe
I'm about to say this, but...

for a second, I almost feel
sorry for Trump and Ivanka

for being so needy...

for being all alone
in the White House

with only each other

and the sort of people
who would be there.

And then today...

I get a call, an hour ago,
and it's her.

And she says...

"Callie, it's happening!

We're opening the country
back up.

It's all about 2020,
so let's get started."

And I'm stunned.

And I say, "Ivanka,

George Floyd, Breonna Taylor,
Ahmaud Arbery.

Do you have any idea
what's going on?"

And she says,
"But didn't you see

what I tweeted
the day it all started,

when people needed
to hear from me?

It was from the Bible. It went,
'This is what the Lord said:

I have heard your prayers
and seen your tears.

I will heal you.'

Isn't that perfect?"

And do you know...

when Trump had
the National Guard

clear those peaceful protesters
with tear gas

just so he could walk
to that church

and hold up a Bible
like it was his fucking phone...

I read that walk,
that whole thing,

was Ivanka's idea.

She had the Bible in her purse,

in her fourteen-hundred-dollar
Max Mara bag.

And did you see that her dad
just said that he's done

more for Black people than
any president in U.S. history?

Like... like he expects
a fucking thank you note?

And she keeps going. She says,
"So, Callie, whatever you want.

Women for Trump,
Black Voices for Trump,

Senior Advisor.
I'll send the plane."

And I am beyond...

Because she really thinks
this can happen.

She really thinks that she can
stand off to the side, and...

sit in her little bubble

where nothing can touch her
and she really thinks that

she can social distance herself
from history.

And she thinks I'll help her.

And I'm... I'm staring
at my phone and I want to yell,

"Fuck you! Just fuck you!"

But instead...

all of my boarding school
training kicks in,

just like hers, and I say...

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I can't.
Previous engagement.

I hope you understand."

And there's a pause,
and she says...

"Of course, Callie.
All the best. I love you."

And I've been sitting here
shaking...

because she scared
the shit out of me.

Because even here, Nina,
all the way in New York,

I can hear it.

I can hear her smiling.

Four more years
of President Donald Trump...

Four more years!

Four more years!
Four more years!

I know you're scared.

We all are.

We're sitting at home.
There's a virus out there.

The world is upside down.

So, welcome.

I'm Clarissa Montgomery,
and we're streaming live.

Episode 28
of my Mindful Meditations.

I hope my words will soothe
and enlighten you,

or at least allow you
to watch CNN

without screaming
at your partner,

"Have you seen this?"

Let's begin.

I'd like you to close your eyes
and envision

a beautiful hillside
lush with wildflowers

and overlooking a peaceful,
undisturbed valley.

You're like Julie Andrews
singing "The Sound of Music"

with her arms open wide
and never dreaming

she'd soon be trafficked
by the Catholic Church

into becoming an unpaid nanny
under a Nazi regime

and ultimately marrying
an employer twice her age

in a scenario that could
more rightly be termed

hashtag EdelweissMeToo,
hashtag NoneOfMyFavoriteThings,

and hashtag SoonYeVonTrapp.

Let's return to our hillside.

You're happy. You're at peace

because you're not allowing
political trauma

to poison your bliss.

Take a deep, healing breath

and imagine that you're not
even on Twitter or Facebook

or Xanax.

Are you starting to feel better?

More centered?

More sane?

We're floating.

We're breathing.

We're in a calm, neutral space.

No one is angry. No one is sick.

Um...

Okay, I, uh...

Uh, this isn't... Oh.

I'm sorry. I'm... I'm...
I'm so, so sorry, but, uh...

I... I don't know
if I can keep doing this.

No. Let me explain. Let me...

Let me try to explain.
I owe you that...

because this morning,
I saw something on the news,

except it's not just that.
It's... it's everything

that's been happening
to all of us.

It's... Okay. Hold on.

Let me start from the beginning.

When the virus first appeared,

like all of you, I was frantic.

I... I didn't know
what was going on,

so I decided to fly home
to Wisconsin

and isolate with my family.
I know. I know.

But I'm a hopeful person,

and I just wanted to see
if it was possible,

if just maybe we could use
this terrible illness

as... as some sort of...

gift, uh... a timeout

to heal and bond.
I know. I know.

But I love my family,
and I just thought, "What if?"

My folks still live
in Lake Auburn,

this tiny little town,

it's like 8,000 people
and change,

in the farmhouse where I grew up

and where the Montgomerys
have lived for five generations.

I always love it...
...when a couple on HGTV

is renovating
their Craftsman-style home

and they demand
a farmhouse sink,

"We have to have
a farmhouse sink,"

because you know what we call
that in Lake Auburn? A sink.

And as I'm driving through town,

I... I notice something.

No one is social distancing
or wearing a mask.

So maybe this is a refuge,
a... a safe zone.

How great,
how potentially great.

And... and I pull into
our driveway,

and there's a Trump sign
on the lawn,

but I tell myself, "No."

Stop. Lower your knee-jerk
liberal defense mechanism

because that sign
isn't automatically hateful.

It's not a Confederate flag
like last Christmas on the tree.

I go inside,
and I hug my parents

and my five
brothers and sisters,

which feels so good, except...

almost all of them
are wearing MAGA hats.

Even the dog.

"No," I tell myself, "stop it.

They're just hats. Calm down."
And I'm offered one.

And it's on my head.

And everyone is chanting

and... and my brother Ned
reaches into my chest,

and he pulls out my heart,
and they eat it.

No. Stop it, Clarissa.
Stop exaggerating!

But I can't.
There are tater tots!

So... I'm with my family

and I am trying so hard
not to be a snob,

because it's not a horror movie
or Stephen King.

And then my Uncle Dirk says,

"Trump's a real
straight shooter.

Tells it like it is."
And I'm drowning.

I'm choking. I...
I try to say something,

but only random words come out.

It's like I'm in The Exorcist.

"Charlottesville,
Obamagate, golf!"

And... and my mom grabs me
and pulls me into the kitchen.

She knows me, so she says,
"Stop it, Clarissa.

Right now,
you're driving yourself crazy.

We are so happy to see you,

but I'm not sure
what you're doing here.

This whole corona
whatever-the-heck-it-is

is a hoax.

It's just like
that impeachment doohickey,

or that Russia whatchamadoozie,

or... or the idea that Melania
speaks with a foreign accent.

She's from Maine."

And I have no idea
what to say to that.

And... and she keeps going.
She says, "No one here is sick.

Well, sure,
your sister's on methadone,

and Randy lost a finger
in that snowmobile accident,

and your cousin Brittany
has a little cough

from working
at the fulfillment center,

but we're fine.

And have you ever thought

that maybe there is
some kind of disease,

but that it's all happening
in New York and California

and maybe that's because
all of you are so upset?"

And...
And maybe she's not crazy.

Maybe she's not wrong,
so I listen,

and she says, "Think about it.

You wanted an enemy,
so you made one up.

It's like with climate change.
If it snows in New York,

you commission a study,
you write 58 op-ed pieces,

and you blame it on us.
If it snows out here,

we put on a sweater."

And she's actually making sense,
and I'm calming down,

and she hands me a cup of tea,
and she says,

"And we're not racist.
That's nonsense.

There aren't any Black people
here in Lake Auburn,

so who would we be racist to?"

She said that.

And then she says,

"And please don't lecture me
about pronouns,

because I'll admit it,
I don't understand

all that transgender, nonbinary,
LGBTQ business,

so I just call everyone 'dear.'
Done."

Which is almost sweet,
so I smile and she takes my hand

and she says,
"And real soon, like tomorrow,

this whole virus hoo-ha,
it's all going to be over.

Just like President Trump said,

it's gonna be like a miracle,
and it's gone.

Why can't you believe him?

He's given us
the best economy ever,

and it's coming right back.

I love you, sweetheart,
but you need to have faith."

And in that moment, I...

I want to believe her.

I want it so badly, because...

she's my mom.

And so I start
really thinking about it.

What if I met him?

What would I say?

Would I just sputter and scream?

What if he listened?

What if I listened?

What if everyone
in this country,

what if we all just stopped
being so angry and listened?

So, I leave the kitchen,
and I look around at my family,

and they're all smiling,
and I think...

"Maybe this is possible.
Maybe this can work."

And then my brother Travis says,

"Clarissa, you know what's wrong
with you?

You've got TDS."

And I ask, "What's that?"

And he says,
"Trump Derangement Syndrome!"

And they're all laughing...

and it's like Rosemary's Baby

if the Satanists
all had corndogs,

and before I know it,
I'm crying,

and I blurt out, "I can't!

I can't do this.
I love you all so much,

and I don't want to hate you
or argue with you

or just grit my teeth and pass
the gravy boat and say,

'No, actually, Canada doesn't
have nuclear weapons.'

I can't act as if
there are two sides

to questions
that don't have two sides.

And Mom,
I know you're going to say

I'm choosing politics
over family,

and maybe I am, but I can't!

I can't be here!"

And my dad drives me
to the airport,

and when we pull up
outside the terminal,

he says, "Hold on.
I have to tell you something."

And this is the weirdest thing
of all, because my dad...

he doesn't talk.
I mean, not ever.

He... he's a contractor
and a vet and a really good guy,

but he's not chatty,
or huggy, or...

Okay, he's the sort of person
who, if he's not interested,

he shuts his eyes
and falls asleep sitting up...

except for right now,
because he's looking right at me

to make sure
I'm paying attention,

and he says...

"I have to tell you something
because I have to tell someone,

and if you tell your mom
or anyone else, I swear to God,

I'll deny it till my dying day,
and I'll kill you...

but I'm not voting for him.

Not this time. I can't.

And it's not about the virus
or collusion or whatever."

And I say...

"Dad."

"Dad." And he says...

"John McCain.

He flew 23 missions,
and then he got shot down

and held prisoner
for five and a half years.

He was starved and beaten

so badly that
for the rest of his life,

he couldn't raise his arms
over his head,

and Trump, he said, 'I like guys
who weren't captured.'"

And... and I have never seen
my dad like this.

It is pouring out of him.
He... he... he said,

"Trump kept insulting the man
even after he died.

Trump was making some
goddamn appearance,

grinning like a baboon.
He was in front of

a naval destroyer
named the John McCain,

but Trump had them cover up
the name."

And he stops...

because
he's so furious or appalled

but I... I mean,
I have never heard my dad

say this many words in a row,
but he holds up his hand,

because he's not finished yet.
He... he says,

"I... I didn't always agree
with McCain.

Hell, I don't even know
if I liked him,

but the man was a hero.

An American hero,
and Trump's a rich boy,

a five-time draft dodger
with bone spurs,

and I don't even care
about that.

I care about McCain."

So, I hug him...

and I get back on the plane,
and I fly here to Vermont,

and I think,
"I'll just keep making...

my meditation videos
to help people."

Except I can't stop thinking
about my dad.

I can't stop thinking
about everything.

USA! USA! USA! USA! USA! USA!

I live in Wyoming,
where we've been lucky.

They needed nurses in New York.

My best friend, Kendra,
was volunteering.

And I was...
I was really scared...

but Kendra said Wyoming
is so boring, so...

Here... here I am.

It's... it's just like
everybody says.

Even the New York
doctors and nurses,

they've never seen...

they've never seen
anything like it.

Uh, I just...

I just got off a 14-hour shift,

and I know I should probably

take off my clothes,
put 'em in a plastic bag,

take a shower.

It's just all so surreal.

Mostly because
of this one patient...

Miriam.

I first met her, like...

three weeks ago.

I was working in the tent
outside the hospital

doing nasal swabs,

and she's all dressed up...

and she's got this amazing shawl
and lipstick, and I said...

"I... I... I like your bracelet."

And she says,
"Oh, thanks. Isn't it pretty?

My... my son got it for me
after I told him to."

And I said, "Are... are...
Are you headed somewhere else?"

And she said, "No, I just wanted
to look nice

for the doctors and nurses."

And I said, "That...
That's awesome."

And then she says, "I'm Jewish."

And then I went, "Oh, uh...

Nazel tok."

And then she says,
"You'll get there."

She's smart and funny.

After I stuck the swab

all the way up her nose,
she said,

she said,
"Thank you and fuck you."

And we laughed.

And her temperature was 99.8,
so the doctor sends her home,

tells her to monitor
her symptoms.

And she says, "I know. I know.

My daughter's a neurologist
in Seattle."

And she turns to go,
and then she turns back

and says, "Single."

And then she turns to go,
and then she turns back

and says, "Again."

Uh...

The next time I see her,
um, I'm working the ER

and she's being admitted...

'cause she's up to 102
and coughing.

Not... not terrible,

but the doctor just wants to do
a chest X-ray,

and Miriam,
she... she remembers me.

And she says,
"You're from Wyoming, right?"

And I said, "Yeah."

And she says,
"So you weren't kidding."

And then I hand her a gown,

and then she says,
"Before this goes any further,

I need to ask you something.

Are you a Republican?"

And I said, um...

"No. Uh, I guess...

I guess I'm...
I'm an Independent."

And then she just stares at me
like Darth Vader

and just says, "Oy."

And I... I ask her
what that means,

and she just says, "It means
that if you say that any louder,

everyone in the tri-state area
will kill you."

Her X-ray isn't good...

but she's not showing
any advanced symptoms,

but the doctor just wants to
find her a bed for observation

and start her on
this experimental protocol.

And she says, "You mean that...
That hydro-whatever-it-is?

That... that Trump bullshit?"

And I said, "Yes, Miriam.

It says right here
on the IV drip,

'550 CCs of Trump Bullshit
every hour.'"

And then she says,
"Oh, it's just like Fox News."

And then I said, "Yeah, well,
maybe it'll start working."

And she says,
"And that's what his parents

said about Jared."

She's tough.

She's tough.

I told her, I said... I said...

"I've never met
anyone like you."

And she says, "What, you mean...

You mean a strong,
independent woman?"

And I said, "No, so much Kleenex
in your purse."

And then she...
She starts coughing,

and I... I guess I... I guess
I must've looked worried,

and she says, "Well,
let's hope it's cancer."

We don't say shit like that
in Wyoming.

And the days are just getting
more and more insane.

The halls are filled
with patients on gurneys

waiting for beds.

We're all wearing more
and more PPE

when we can get it, and...

the whole hospital just looks
like a... a cross between

a space station and...
And a subway.

Now we're all just trying
to hold it together 'cause...

that's what they taught us
in nursing school.

Do the job, provide comfort...

because if you start crying,
you'll never stop.

And one day,
we lose eight people.

The next day, it's 18, 27...

and the only thing
that's keeping me going is her.

Miriam.

Because she's stable,

and I... I keep telling myself
she's gonna make it,

'cause people are making it.

And I... I take her vitals
and she's...

She's got this terrible look
on her face,

and I ask,
"Miriam, what's wrong?"

And she points to the...

To the TV
hanging up on the wall.

And it's one of those
White House press briefings,

and the president's talking
about how great everything is,

and what an amazing job
he's doing.

And Miriam's wheezing,
and she says,

"I need Advil, the bedpan,
and a gun."

I just said, "Miriam,
we're... we're turning this off,"

and she won't give me
the remote,

and then we both hear him
talking about

how we can maybe
start injecting ourselves

with... with disinfectant
or bleach,

and she says,
"What is he talkin' about?

Is he talking
about cleaning products?

Is... is it a Jewish disease?"

And then she tells me,

"I need 800 milligrams
of Lemon Pledge, stat."

And she starts coughing,
and I said,

"Miriam, you just need to...
You just need to calm down.

You... you can't...
You can't watch him."

And she says, "Don't you get it?

My rage is the only thing
that's keeping me alive."

The doctor comes in and we have
a conversation out in the hall

about putting Miriam
on a ventilator,

if we can even find one,

and I ask him if...
If, you know, maybe she's right.

Maybe she just needs
to keep talking.

And then, the next morning,
I get to the hospital

and there's a refrigerated truck
parked outside

because there are
so many bodies.

And I get to Miriam's room,
and she's doing a little better.

Her cough is intermittent,
she's sipping Pedialyte,

and she tells me, "Sharynn...

last night, I had a dream."

And she says that...
"I dreamed that when I woke up,

everything was different.

People were still sick, but...

everyone wasn't fighting
or calling each other names

or blaming everything
on the Chinese

or waving Confederate flags."
And I said...

"Well, in your... in your dream,
who... who was president?"

And she said, "Me."

And then I just got so busy...

'cause we admitted 58 more
COVID patients in one day,

and I... I didn't have time
to check in on Miriam...

because...

four nurses tested positive
and were quarantined.

I had one patient
that was giving birth...

and her husband wasn't allowed
in the delivery room,

and another patient was dying,

and I had to hold
the phone to his ear

so that his family could
tell him that they loved him.

And the only thing that was
getting me through it was...

her.

Like, Miriam's gonna make it...

'cause God wouldn't dare.

Then the next morning,
she's even better.

We don't need a ventilator.

And I asked the doctor
if she can be discharged,

and... and he says,
"Yes, this afternoon."

And I tell myself, "Okay...

This is what hope looks like."

Later, just... just after 2:00,
I get to Miriam's room...

with a wheelchair,
and I'm picturing myself...

wheeling her
out the front door...

into the fresh air...

while everybody cheers.

But she's gone.

A stroke.

She couldn't breathe.

We tried everything.

I didn't even have enough time
to call her daughter in Seattle,

and she had a living will...

but I wasn't there.

I mean, I'm not her child.

I'm not her family.

But I wasn't there.

Uh...

Over the next few weeks,

things got... things got better.

Fewer COVID patients.

Less death.

They shut down
the Javits Center...

and the navy hospital ship left,
and, uh...

tomorrow, I'm going home.

I, uh...

I met Miriam's daughter,
and she's so sweet.

She gave me Miriam's bracelet,
a Playbill,

and a tote bag
for Planned Parenthood.

And she said
if Miriam was a Pharaoh,

that's what would be
in her pyramid.

And I ask her what she thinks
is gonna be on her tombstone...

and she thought about it.

And then at exactly
the same time...

we both said, "Fuck you."

I keep thinking
about ways I can honor her