The third man - part four

Re-entry

Our boy has served two terms as President--all of the second and about half of the first one triumphant. He got a lot of his agenda accomplished, thanks to his own refusal to compromise his standards, and to more than a little bit of good luck. He's enormously popular, at home and abroad, and thanks to his endorsement his Veep gets elected next general election, overwhelmingly. That's a different story.

The real story begins now. Our boy--POTUS--is now our boy--private citizen. He still has a Secret Service detail but he doesn't truck around on Air Force 1 any more. Often, even though he gets a daily intelligence briefing, he has no idea what's going on in the trouble spots in the world. He has a staff and an office, but now he'll have hours--sometimes even a day or longer--where his every minute isn't already planned out and he can actually sleep until mid-morning.

It's an effort for him to not pick up the phone to call the current POTUS during a crisis--he really misses the feel of those reins in his hand and he remembers how annoyed he'd get when he'd get a call from a former POTUS with unsolicited advice. So, he watches the news with the remote in his hand, ready to change the channel when the story turns to something that would make him cringe and dive for the phone.

His wife has no trouble adjusting. She likes having her own house back--she was never comfortable with the army of servants and likes resuming her former role as a traditional house wife who cooks and shops for her family.

The boy digs being able to make breakfast for his wife again--it was a bit of a tradition with them but he had to stop during his terms in office. He misses being able to go shopping with her, or going to visit friends or just take a vacation without it becoming a major event. His popularity has not diminished--indeed, it has grown since he left office, and his predecessors can feel his shadow over them and it makes them really nervous. He gets asked--begged, even---not to take a stand on matters of policy, even if he is in agreement with what's being done, as it would cause problems with the current administration. He pretty much has to keep his mouth shut, smile for the cameras, and play nice.

It ain't easy. He can feel that people expect him to take a stand when something is happening, somewhere in the world, and he does get sent to hotspots to negotiate with troublesome world leaders--he's still respected, as everyone knows his word is good and the current administration would not dare to betray him by not following through on what he promises.

But after a while his popularity becomes troublesome, even among his friends who still hold office. He's the eight-hundred pound elephant in the room. Even his friends, even people who owe him their careers, wish he would just disappear sometimes.

Even he wishes he could do that, or at least go somewhere where people don't know him, where he can run down to the drug store at night to buy some asprin or a six pack of sodas without a motorcade and bodyguards. He'd love to go to a theater box office and buy a couple of tickets to a film and watch it with his wife like everyone else does.

So, does he eventually adjust? Of course he does. As he gets older so do the people who adore him so strongly--in his old age he's as popular as ever, but his supporters are older, wiser, more mellow, and consider him one of their gang. After several years he is able to go out, socialize, hang out with people--they still know who he is, and still love him, but they accept him as part of their own group without making a big deal about it. They love having him, and make him feel welcome, but consider him one of their own. Now he's able to go see a movie, or have dinner in a restaurant, or go shopping, and he'll be recognized and greeted by everyone, but he won't be mobbed--he's allowed to live his life surrounded by millions of people who consider him a personal friend.

He realizes, finally, that this is all he ever really wanted. If life is a mission, his was accomplished.