70 Year Magazine Archive

If I Were King

by S. L. Varnado

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A few nights ago I had an odd dream, /n fact, it was a sort of nightmare. I dreamed that, through some Kafkaesque process, I had been transformed into President Jimmy Carter. 1 was completely myself, you understand, but I was also Carter. It was perplexing. Let me recount it slowly . . .

The dream began peacefully enough. I awoke in a large, beautifully furnished, but totally unfamiliar bedroom. Outside, birds were singing, the sun was shining, and inside—Rosalynn Carter lay in bed beside me. I blushed, shrieked, and with a blanket wrapped around me rushed into the bathroom. I slammed the door and leaned against it, panting heavily. When 1 finally looked up 1 found myself facing the mirror. A kindly, perplexed, faintly simian countenance peered back at me. I opened my mouth. A set of immense, beautiful white teeth appeared. 1 began to tremble. “No … no . . .” I muttered. “It can’t be.”

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