Peter Emanuel

ENG181

Project 1, Draft 1
Everything is black. I hear a pounding coming from somewhere
nearby. I open my eyes.
Sir! Sir! We must be on our way!
A voice came from the same spot as that goddamn pounding
noise that woke me up.
Ever since I had started these time-traveling escapades, I have
gone from closing my eyes in one body to opening them right back up
in another. Honestly, I just want some sleep right about now. Why does
this voice have to wake me up?
You best be getting ready!
The voice calls out again. I guess whatever time period Im in
now doesnt have alarm clocks.
Mr. Jackson!
Oh boy. So Im a black guy living in a time before alarm clocks.
Wonderful. At least Im not an Indian though.
Reluctantly, I get out of bed and go to open the door where it
seemed that guy was knocking from. The room Im in is definitely too
fancy for what Im used to, but at least I can say with moderate
confidence now that Im not a slave though. Not to mention I feel
extremely tall.
I slam the door open. Ah, Mr. President, youre finally awake.
Your speech is in 30 minutes. I hope you are prepared.
Fuck. Im Andrew Jackson. Im the guy who screwed over every
Indian south of the Mason-Dixon line. Im the guy who called himself a
war hero after winning the Battle of New Orleans, which took place
after the war had already ended. And Im the guy who probably
overslept because I was out late last night with ten different ladies who

couldnt wait to get their hands on me after my wife died. And this guy
is my butler. See, the History Channel teaches you a lot after all.
As fast as possible, I tidy myself up in the bathroom and get
changed into a suit my butler lays out for me. As much as Id want to
go back to sleep, for some reason I have less control over this body
than usual.
I looked at myself in the mirror of my million-dollar bathroom,
but I surely do not have a million-dollar face. I look old, stressed, and
depressed. Kind of like how I picture my father, but not as white and
not as tall. Same grey hairs all over.
As I walk out the door of what I now know is the White House, my
handy-dandy butler gives me a short stack of papers.
Your speech, sir.
For the first time, I get a good look at my butler. He is wearing a
tuxedo with a red tie and his skin tone is a brick-color. The dudes an
Indian.
There always has to be an Indian involved, doesnt there? Thats
the point of all these dreams, right?
For some reason, my body doesnt want me to look at my
speech. Maybe Mr. Jackson has read it over so many times that he
doesnt want to look at it again. Maybe Mr. Jackson doesnt like his
speech. Unfortunately, I cant tell.
The butler then leads me to our ride. I have no idea where we are
going for me to give this speech, but my body doesnt seem worried. If
anything, it seems annoyed.
Is Mr. Jackson still depressed about his wife?
No.
He clearly doesnt care about his wife. I can tell. I think he is
annoyed that he has to give this speech.
Then something weird happens. The horse pulling our carriage
stops and starts bucking. Looks like there is a crowd up ahead.

I was about to ask my butler what was going on, but before I
could get my word in, my butler interjects.
Just some protesters. They will break up once we cross.
As we got closer, I could make out some of the signs these
people were holding. One of them said Andrew Jackson as Great
Father and had a picture of me sitting in a throne. My face looks
distorted, different than it did in the mirror this morning. I almost look
like a demon.
At my feet were little Indians doing the household chores.
Clearly the Indians are made out to be slaves here.
Crap.
These are protesters. They seem angry.
And they are protesting against me.
Sir, these people dont understand what you are trying to do.
Dont let them fool you.
Wait a minute. This butler is an Indian though! Why wouldnt he
side with the protesters?
What in blazes is going on here?
Nonetheless, the protesters made a path for us to continue on. I
hope they dont close up on us like the Red Sea did on the Pharaoh.
That would make for a lousy experience, but I digress.
A couple minutes later we make it to what appears to be the
United States Congress building. It looks larger and whiter than on the
Internet for some reason. Maybe in the 21st Century they decided to
make the buildings look less white to seem politically correct, or P.C.,
as they call it.
Whatever.
The carriage loops around as we stop at the back entrance to this
hall. Instinctively, I take my speech and enter the building. I start to
walk, faster and faster, to the back entrance to the podium room, my
mind calm and resolute, yet exasperated and slightly hung over.

I cant believe I am about to give a speech in front of Congress.

I enter the podium room and I hear rounds of applause. Some of
the audience refused to clap though. Coincidentally, those who werent
so keen on clapping happened to be wearing blue or yellow ties.
The colors of the Whig Party.
I wanted to ask them why they werent clapping for me today,
the same way I wanted to ask the protesters on the street why they
hated me, the same way I wanted to ask my butler why I had to get up
so early this morning.
But my body didnt care enough.
Andrew Jackson clearly doesnt give a shit.
Andy here starts talking too. I dont want to give this speech, but
I cant do anything about it. He doesnt want to give this speech, but it
seems like he cant do anything about it either.
"It gives me pleasure to announce to Congress that the
benevolent policy of the Government, steadily pursued for nearly
thirty years, in relation to the removal of the Indians beyond the
white settlements is approaching to a happy consummation. Two
important tribes have accepted the provision made for their
removal at the last session of Congress, and it is believed that
their example will induce the remaining tribes also to seek the
same obvious advantages."
Oh no.
Hes talking about the Indian Removal Act, that which forced the
Five Civilized Tribes, the Chickasaw, Creek, Cherokee, Choctaw, and
Seminole tribes, to relocate west of the Mississippi, losing their native
land in exchange for money and hope of a better life.
Bullshit.
All this movement did was cause pain, suffering, and death. The
Americans want to relocate Indians and isolate them so they will
vanish. Oddly enough, it seems as if Jackson is thinking the same

thing. He knows what is really going on here, and I dont think he likes
it. Im not entirely sure though. At least I know he knows that a fair
amount of the audience and a fair amount of the public disagree.
The consequences of a speedy removal will be important to the
United States, to individual States, and to the Indians
themselves. The pecuniary advantages which it promises to the
Government are the least of its recommendations. It puts an end
to all possible danger of collision between the authorities of the
General and State Governments, on account of the Indians. It will
place a dense and civilized population in large tracts of country
now occupied by a few savage hunters.
I cant believe he just pulled the savage card. I guess this is
where everyone gets it from. Andrew Jackson must be the Original
Gangster of Native American racial profiling, the O.G. Indian-hater.
It will relieve the whole State of Mississippi, and the western
part of

Alabama, of Indian occupancy, and enable those States to

advance rapidly in

population, wealth, and power.

Then I heard cheers from the crowd, well, those who werent
Whigs at least. They were applauding me because I told them how
awesome the South will be when the Indians are gone.
I even heard a cheer from behind me. It had to have been
coming from the butler.
I knew there was something fishy about him.
That turncoat!
How could he be OK with his brothers and sisters leaving their
reservations forever?
This is madness. Its people like him who are responsible for the
slow but sure killing of the Native American culture. People like my
father. The Indians could have been resilient, but no, those who
werent directly involved in the atrocities didnt care.

Just like Andrew Jackson and the rest of Congress. They didnt
care either.
Even the Whigs dont care that much. If the Whigs really cared
they would do more to oppose this speech, but I have a feeling they
are just not clapping to perpetuate the political drama.
Now I am thankful for those protesters. Maybe they can
assassinate me so I dont fuck over the Indians anymore. But wait, the
Indians fuck themselves over. And the Whigs fuck Andrew Jackson over.
Is Andrew Jackson fucking me over?
These thoughts are racing through my mind and before I can
even come back to reality, Andrew Jackson has finished giving his
speech and is leaving the podium.
I see my stupid butler ahead, waiting for me at my ride.
Sir, that was quite a fine message you gave. Surely you will
have won over

the rest of

Quiet!
I push my butler aside and hop onto the carriage myself. Wow. I
think I finally had control there. I slam the carriage door shut, and then
everything goes black again.