Breathing III

The woman led Malia through a maze of the back corridors of the stadium. In a couple of places she had to use an access card and once they were stopped by a guard but he let them pass when the woman flashed him an identification card. They went past other people; all going about their tasks, none of them gave the two women a second glace. Finally they reached a table and the woman motioned Malia to put her load down.

“Thank you so much. I’m fine now, do you remember the way back?” the woman asked. Malia shook her head, there was no way she could remember such a twisting route.

“I’m afraid I really don’t have time to take you back right now. I’m already running late since I dropped all my papers. You came to watch the speech didn’t you?” the woman asked. Malia nodded. It was easier then to explain that she had already given up.

“Well you can still do that anyway. Come with me, you’ll have one of the best seats in the house. We’re right behind the stage right now.” Malia stared at the woman. She hadn’t realized. That explained the high security anyway.

The woman beckoned Malia to follow her and be quiet. They tiptoed through a door and sure enough they were right in the back of the stage. All that was between them and the president were some curtains. There was a small gap to one side of the curtains large enough to see through that the woman pointed to Malia. She put a hand on Malia’s shoulder as a farewell gesture and went off to do what ever it was that she had to do.

Malia was mesmerized, to be so close to her hero was like a dream. She wished she could hear what he was saying more clearly. There was a mechanic sound nearby that made it hard to hear. It was annoying enough that Malia even stopped staring at the president’s chest go in and out as he breathed and looked around to see what it was. She recognized it immediately when she finally spotted it. A breathing machine like people, including Malia, had in their bed rooms. This one had a very long cord coming from it. The sort of cord that usually connected to people’s heads to send the signals to the brain that made them breath without thinking about it. The cord went under the curtain. Malia could feel her stomach churn with a nasty epiphany. She had to make sure she was right. She crawled up to the curtain and peered under it.

The cord snaked across the stage floor. Malia lifted the bottom of the curtain a little more and could see it go right up the last thing Malia had wanted to see. It entered the pant leg of the president. It was impossible to see where it went after that, she would have to lift the curtain enough that it would be visible, but it didn’t matter. The president was lying. He couldn’t breathe without help; he was just like everyone else. She was filled with rage, he was misleading so many people, and he had led her on for that matter. She had truly believed it was possible to overcome the way her body was made. She was just trying to fight down the urge to run out on stage and scream to the whole world what a lie everything was when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“And what do you think you are doing ma’am?” asked a guard. There were several others behind him, including the woman she had helped earlier.

“She told me to watch through here,” Malia protested, her anger melting into panic.

“It’s true,” the woman admitted.

To be continued....