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| Usha Vance official portrait |
The straw brush of my fireplace broom broke free. I refuse
to throw it away, someone must surely need it. I could refit it,
attach it to a long branch. I dream of bringing it to Usha Vance,
insisting she take the broomstick and make for a speedy escape.
I assure her that sisters and aunties will rise to guide her and her
children to freedom.
I might be wrong in offering Usha more protection than I do
Melania, who seems ruthless, caring only for herself, money
and comfort. Who can forget: “I really don’t care, do you?”
Usha stays quiet, appears surprised by where she’s been taken
hostage––her eyes full of terror like a deer in my meadow,
during hunting season, who looks up from her grazing, realizes
I’m staring at her. Nudging her fawn, they run for safety. (Though
many men would hurt them, I never would).
When they met, Usha was an attorney, a democrat, Vance was
someone else too. But he’s been remaking himself from the
beginning. He’s a master of reinvention, like Woody Allen’s Zelig
or F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Gatsby, altering his name and persona
again and again. I’m guessing he promised Usha that with him, she
could have it all, career, kids, an opinion. Instead bit by bit, with each
change, he steals her voice then her power, leaving her unrecognizable
even to herself.
Usha, I say, save yourself, your children too. Take the broom, and
fly, fly, fly away.
