Barack Obama opened the blinds of his window and sighed. Snow, again. This was his home, not far from the very streets and alleys he helped organize as a young man. Yet despite the familiarity, he felt out of place. It was a feeling Obama had known all his life, and as he watched snow flakes slowly descend from a foreboding sky he couldn't help but laugh bitterly. Snow in place of sand; a horrible trade, yet Obama had made worse deals with John Boehner.
The country believed that he was in Hawaii, with his family for their annual Christmas vacation. In reality, Michelle and the girls had gone without him. Obama sat down on his bed in Chicago; a few Secret Service members were outside the door, ever his shadow. He had played cards with them the night before, listening to their life stories. It seemed as if each member of the Service sacrificed so much to protect him. Family, friends, love, even their lives if needed. His senior Secret Service agent had once been married, and even had two daughters. Yet he had lost them due to the demands of his job, first as a Navy SEAL and then as a Secret Service member. The agent's hair was as white as the snow outside of Obama's house, and he wondered whether he would suffer a similar fate.
Helle. A simple name. Easier to remember than her hypinated last name, Thorning-Schmidt. Obama rubbed the coal out his eyes as he remembered the day that resulted in his current predicament. It was just a photo. A simple request, one which was asked often of Obama. He had allowed Helle to take his picture, and even posed with her. Michelle was furious, yet to this day Obama could not understand why. His wife had known him for more than twenty years, and no doubt knew he had remained faithful. "Unlike her," Obama whispered to himself, emotionless. In truth, Helle's innocent request had entertained him in a way he hadn't been in months. It was good to have a friend again.
Yet he felt no attraction to her. In truth, she reminded him of someone else. Her blonde hair, the way her eyes exploded with life, her laugh. They were comforting and encouraging, like a father's hug or being tucked in by a loving parent - feelings Obama had never known. In truth, these traits had been missing from his life since January. He remembered it like yesterday. "Once again, thank you for saying yes so many years ago. Something tells me you'll be back here in a few years..." They walked through a beautifully lit hall of the White House - his hands nervously in his pocket, hers at her sides. Hands in need of embrace. She laughed, and the hall seemed to lighten even more. "That's a long ways off. I could be back earlier than that, for events." Obama smiled. "I would like that." He had hugged her afterwards, an embrace that seemed to last forever. And with that, she walked out of the White House, out of his life.
The rest of the year was hell, from one disaster to another. He had managed to keep things together for his first few years, with her at his side. Like a child trying to impress the loving parent he had never had, he had tried his best to prove to her that he was up to the job. Yet without her presence, Obama had retreated deep into himself. He couldn't take it anymore. He reached for his phone, which was on the dresser; no one had called to wish him Merry Christmas. He dialed a number, and held his breath.
