The Promise

The door shut behind the President, with a solid clang.  He had the large visiting room to himself—except for the two Secret Service agents who stood on either side of the door.  Other agents were outside the room and elsewhere in the facility. 

The President took a seat at one of the visiting stations, a small cubbyhole created by dividers—like those used to provide a semblance of privacy at a men’s restroom urinal.  A phone and its cradle were attached to one of the dividers.  Thick Plexiglas separated him from an identical setup in the inmate visiting room.  This other room contained a single door at which stood two Secret Service agents in similar pose to the ones stationed behind him.

A few moments later the inmate door opened and a shackled young woman was brought in, escorted by two female guards.  The President knew his security detail well and that they’d thoroughly searched the woman prior to her being brought here.  The thought of that indignity saddened him further. 

The guards brought the woman over and shackled her to a chair in the cubbyhole opposite the President’s.  It was obvious to him that this was an unusual precaution—but he held his tongue.  The woman looked up, saw the President, and gave him a brief weak smile that spoke of confused embarrassment. 

The President picked up the phone.  The woman hesitated. 

One of the guards tapped her on the shoulder.  She made to reach for the phone in her cubbyhole, but the shackles left her half a foot short.   The other guard handed her the phone.  With her chains fully extended, it reached her ear.  Barely.

The President spoke first, a single word ripe with sadness.  “Ariel.”  As if this one word had exhausted him, he paused.  

The woman’s hand holding the phone shook.  She took a deep breath and her hand steadied.  “Uncle Brandon.  I can’t believe you’re here.  I thought they were kidding when they came to get me.  I’m…I’m sorry you had to see me this way.  I…I messed up bad… real bad.”  She looked away as her eyes welled up with tears.  A guard grabbed a box of tissues from the neighboring cubbyhole, and put it on the ledge in front of the young woman and stepped back.

The President looked at the guards, not averting his gaze.  The two women glanced at each other, stepped back, and took positions on either side of the Secret Service agents.

The President nodded.  “I know, baby.  I know.”

A minute bereft of words stood between them; silence, except for some soft sobs.  They hadn’t seen each other in many years.  Her family moved away and they lost touch, as often happens with families.  His political career, which began several years later, further weakened the connection to his family…to Ariel.  His regret at this fact overwhelmed him, but he hid it well.  If only, he told himself…if only.  

The President did not see a young woman convicted of a terrible crime in front of him; he saw a little girl and games of hide-and-seek, making mud pies in the backyard, and the bike she wanted more than anything in the world that he’d given her on her fifth birthday. 

The woman also remembered a swirl of scenes, now tearing at her heart—the Barbie doll tea parties with Uncle Brandon, his teaching her to cross a street safely, and the pet hamster they’d buried together.  The passing of years only increases the value of such memories, making one realize these are the only things in the universe of any real value.  Empires and presidencies are nothing compared to these staggeringly important, seemingly simpler things.        

The woman twirled a tissue in her hand.  “I’m sentenced to die.”

“I know,” said the President.

“I don’t want to die.”

The President looked at her for several seconds, saying nothing until her eyes rose to meet his.  “I don’t want you to die.”

The woman wiped her nose.  “I deserve to, though.  It was horrible what I did.”

He didn’t nod or shake his head.  It pained him greatly to tell her an awful truth: “I agree.  It was horrible what you did and you deserve to die for it.”  She began sobbing again.  He managed to keep his presidential demeanor in place, though this further tore at his uncle’s heart.  He told himself the anguish he felt was nothing compared to that experienced by the victims’ loved ones.   

His political enemies duly squawked on news broadcasts and social media sites their disgust that he’d made this visit.  His supporters were left in a politically awkward position, and some made the political calculation that it was better to join in the criticism rather than risk their silence being trumped up as tacit support for the President being here.  The media clamored for the President to schedule a press briefing where he, rather than his glib press secretary, could explain and provide answers regarding the current situation involving his niece, which held the nation in rapt titillation.  He refused, and thus sat at his desk in the Oval Office, a lone camera in front of him.  An aide next to the cameraman gave a signal that they were now live.        

“Good evening.  I’m speaking to you tonight to explain the current situation involving my niece and its impact on the Presidency.  Many people have said that the Presidency is the most important job in the world.  Based on my time serving as your president, I would agree.  It’s an important job, with important consequences for Americans and the rest of the world. 

“When I campaigned for the job, I promised to do my best to be honest and be willing to make difficult decisions that previous politicians were too fearful to make.  I hope I have fulfilled these promises during the past few years.  I considered the promises I made to you as inviolate ones and not merely empty words to con you out of your votes.  I did not want to engage in typical political balderdash we’ve all heard far too often, and which inevitably results in nothing meaningful getting done.         

“In life we must be prepared to give inviolate promises, but this should not be done lightly.  An inviolate promise is, after all, unbreakable.  Perhaps this is a naïve and outdated notion in these times in which we find ourselves.  Nevertheless, this is a personal tenet that I believe in and intend to keep.   

“We should not knowingly make an inviolate promise that conflicts with another inviolate promise.  Years ago, before I ever thought of going into politics, I made a promise to my niece that I’d always love her and be there if she ever needed me.  Of course, my wildest nightmares did not prepare me for this situation where two promises conflict so profoundly and terribly. 

“I made a promise to uphold the Constitution and the laws of our country, be an honest leader, and make tough choices.  Those are also inviolate promises, ones I made to you. 

“The question I face is how to resolve this conflict among solemn promises.  This is how I intend to resolve the situation: When such promises conflict, a person must give precedence to the earlier promise and then apologize profusely to the person or persons to whom you gave the later promise. 

“I love my niece and always will.  She is guilty of a heinous crime and fully deserves the punishment that has been meted out to her: the death penalty.  I promised I’d always be there for her if she ever needed me.  She obviously needs me now. 

“I have two choices: I could be there with her when she is executed, holding her hand as a just punishment is carried out, or I could commute her sentence to life without the possibility of parole.  I have chosen the latter option—commuting her death sentence. 

“Moments before coming on air tonight, I spoke to the families of the victims to let them know of my decision.  They are not happy about it, and rightly so.  As their president, I have grievously failed them.  For the victims, I have failed to provide the justice they are rightly due.  I want to be clear about the consequences of my actions: The victim’s families have every right to hate me for it.  The rest of you have every right to be profoundly disappointed in me.  

“I must keep my promise to my niece, which I made to her when she was three-years old.  I can’t let my baby die if I have the power to save her.  I do this, knowing full well it is overwhelmingly unjust to her victims and their families and friends, and to the justice system at large.  There are crimes for which the death penalty is the morally appropriate punishment and this crime is one of them.  But I must first honor an earlier promise, that I would be there if ever a little girl needed me, and that little girl is now grown up and has done a terrible thing, but that long ago promise is no less sacred because of it or that I am now your president.

“In conclusion, I have signed the papers necessary to commute her sentence.  That awful deed is done.  She will, and should, spend the rest of her life in jail.  I have also signed the papers necessary to resign as your president.  That is all.  Good evening.”

The door clanged shut. 

The Secret Service agents stood silently on either side of the door.  Ex-presidents receive protection for the rest of their life.  He was now an ex-president, and one who left behind an unquenchable anger in many people’s hearts.  On the other side of the glass, Ariel looked tired, but not quite as haggard as the last time he’d seen her.

“You’ve moved into town, near the prison?” she said.

“Yes,” said the ex-president.  “I have a lot of time on my hands now.  I might as well spend it regularly visiting my niece.  It’s a nice little town.  I think I’ll like living here.  They’re outcasts inside here, and many of the visitors are outcasts, themselves.  The town is used to it.”

“I don’t deserve it.  Those…those other people have graves to visit.  You have a live person.” 

“I know…I know…but I’d rather visit a live you rather than your grave.”

“Won’t I remind you that I cost you the presidency?”

“Don’t worry about that, baby.  My coming here reminds me of something far more important: That I’ll always love you, and that I fulfilled my promise to you.  Those are important things.  It isn’t a sacrifice to fulfill a promise, especially if that promise is for a loved one.” 

“But you were a good president.  The people needed one and still do.”

He shook his head.  “If I’d broken the promise I made to you, I would not have been the man they needed.  I know that’s a conundrum, but it is a fact, nevertheless.”