I never like seeing myself on film. I hate hearing my speeches. I wonder, after 20 years in politics, how anyone can be swayed by me when I so often interject “you know” and “actually” in places where few know and actuality is uncertain. I've always been so wary of how I'm captured vs. how I'm percieved.
I heard the clip playing on people's devices when I was out getting my morning muffin. Reagan had his jelly beans, I have my muffins, okay? Plus, I like enjoying my time with the public. I know I'll be tired of always being out with the secret service when I get elected into office. Or IF I get elected into office. I used to be sure, but not anymore.
The clip is bad. It's ruining my public image, my advisers say. I know it's bad. I slipped. I slipped once, and I really slipped. I was always able to think myself out of the feed, to trick it. It's all in people's brains, and I had figured out how to fool it. My numbers weren't outrageous, but neither were they the numbers of a saint. They were palatable to the public – they made me more likeable and more relatable, which was key when I did something stupid.
It was simple. I took the details of lewd stories I had come across in my 52 years, and internalized them until my memory was convinced that I had looked them up myself. I falsified my numbers this way for years. Then that walking bamboo skewer of a reporter asked me the one question I always feared.
“How does your wife feel about your numbers?”, the talking preying mantis asked me. My wife. She was my undoing. We met in college. We were young, we were vivacious, and we were obese. I know it's what drew her to me, and I to her. We were hedonists, feeding each other for hours. We looked nothing like our Pro-Fitness, Pro-Environment current selves.
I thought of my wife in that moment. She knew all about me. My memory faltered, briefly, but I was caught. I stumbled for answers as the crowd began to buzz. I saw camera flash after camera flash, adding to the memories of our first year together. We both needed money for law school, we were doing the performances for that reason, and that reason only. We had a plan to stop, and we did. We changed everything, left it all in the past. It stayed there. It did, until that moment. My memory betrayed me!
I had never seen a pornographic performance. I was the performer. And soon they all would know.