i dreamed of obama

© 2012 by Mica D'Orléans

Whether it was based from reality or from last night's dream, on the corner of Amsterdam Avenue and a hundred seventh street I heard of this new Portuguese restaurant that had an excellent cuisine, and the food was incredibly cheap to boot. I got off the bus on a hundred and sixth and walked the block up to one-o-seven. Even if I wanted to miss it, there was no way I could, for the restaurant looked like a colonial home surrounded with a white picket fence. It even had a white A-shaped vestibule that was resting on two round columns, and the grass on either side was brimming with purple, pink and white wildflowers.

I cocked an eyebrow when I saw perhaps a dozen or more women queued in line with their daughters, wearing flowery cotton maiden dresses as the busy waiters and waitresses occasionally came out to make a head count. Realizing the wait would be long, I crossed the street to a more modest, dimmer lit bar/restaurant that had its years numbered in the stress marked wood that decorated its interior. I recognized it to be the dive bar before its renovation, shrugged my shoulders, and made my way through its kinda cramped family-style tables with long wooden benches tucked beneath. All the way to the back was an elevated section that used to have the pool table. Since it was less crowded and a bit out of the way, I mozied my way to one of the tables over there. From this back view, I could still see the passersby strolling by through the wide glass windows that opened up unto the street.

I don't know what those silly Portugese people had in mind, but I thought that this place where I sat felt much more comfortable than that stuffy pretentious colonial restaurant across the street. The crowd here was more "real" with a nice mix of age and different sexes. As my mind wandered while looking across the street through the opened windows, in walked Obama with his entourage of girls; that is, his wife Michelle, daughters, Malia and Sasha, plus two secret service men. He was laughing with his girls as they stood by the table across from the bar, close to the entrance.

My thoughts were, "cool..." as an incredible urge for a cigarette befell me. Once again, I inched my way through the crowd. As I walked past them I noticed Sasha had the same motorcycle jacket on as I did. She must have noticed it at the same time, because, when our distance closed in, she shyly grabbed her father's arm and pulled him closer to her. Obama looked up at me and threw back his head while laughing, showing his immaculate white teeth.

"Why didn't you go to the place across the street?" I asked him.

"Oh, that place." he answered, "I heard the food wasn't all that."