Trump's Morning-After Delusions

A screenshot of the ABC-hosted Presidential Debate

In Mar-a-Lago's library, where rare first editions gather dust like forgotten infrastructure promises, Donald Trump sits in a Bordeaux-red silk robe embroidered with his initials. Wearing his trademark MAGA cap, he stares over the rim of a cup of coffee. The bitter taste reminds him of last night's presidential debate.

"I did well in this debate," Trump declares to the empty room. Silence follows. "The people love me," he tries again, with a slight tremor. Spread across his polished desk is a small collection of newspaper clippings from some local midwest publications; it is a far cry from the piles of adoration testimonials he used to scan at the start of his working days in the White House. "I nailed it," he tries one last time, but the nagging doubt in his voice betrays a creeping realization that something isn't quite right.

Trump briefly contemplates checking the reviews from major newspapers but quickly dismisses the idea. "Fake news," he mutters. Instead, he reaches for the remote and immerses himself in debate replays, cherry-picking moments that tickle his ego.

"I wasn't supposed to talk about this again," Trump grumbles, watching himself struggling for an explanation of his earlier comments on Vice President Harris's racial identity. How did he find himself in that labyrinth again? Why did he abandon his meticulously planned strategy of painting her as Biden's puppet, responsible for hordes of criminals flooding across the border?

As the morning continues, Trump's eyebrows sink deeper with each clip he watches. He sees himself veering off-script, drawn into discussions about abortion and democracy—topics his advisors had warned him to avoid. They had urged him to trap her into admitting that her policies were Biden's policies and that the two of them had trainwrecked his successful economic policy by allowing criminals from the rest of the world to enter the US illegally.

"Why aren't they showing my immigration remarks?" he wonders aloud, conveniently forgetting that the vice president had smiled in disbelief at his repeated claim that the rest of the world is safer because "all criminals moved to the US."

Trump's mood briefly lifts as he recalls his rebuttal to Harris's claim about dwindling rally attendance. "People love Trump," he reassures himself, unaware that he had squandered precious debate time on his ego instead of addressing immigration.

He watches more of the debate and realizes there is a bigger picture he missed last night. Harris, it seems, had confidently ignored his provocations, sticking to her own strategy with a composure that starkly contrasted his impulses as a showman. "It's unfair," Trump grumbles, "and who can trust politics without fairness?"

The former president walks to a large mirror positioned to create the illusion of an even more extensive library. He straightens his shoulders, tilts up his chin, and removes his red cap: "I looked presidential," he assures himself, recalling his blue suit and red tie. But as he watches more footage, the feeling of doubt returns. Did he still look presidential when he showed anger towards her? He tries to convince himself that it shows strength and that his trademark bullying is a sign of power. But the image on the screen tells a different story. Could it be that she knew he would get angry if she cleverly triggered him?

Trump realizes he can't recall what Harris looked like during the debate. He had been so focused on himself, so determined not to give her the satisfaction of his attention, that he had barely glanced at her. Now, watching the replays, he's confronted with a composed, smiling opponent who seems unmoved by his attempts at intimidation. She looks at him and shows emotion. Is it disgust? It can't be. She laughs; it must be because of one of his funny remarks; it can't be she laughs at him.

"She can't be presidential," Trump mutters, watching Harris laugh off another one of his attacks. But even as he tries to dismiss her performance, he can't shake the feeling that she somehow managed to control the narrative, to lead him into traps he hadn't seen coming.

The unease that had briefly surfaced immediately after the debate begins to resurface. Trump remembers his unscheduled rush to the spin room, his desperate attempt to "correct" the narrative. It had felt like a power move, a display of his winner's mentality at the time. Now, in the cold light of day, he wonders if it might have seemed more like panic.

Trump replays moments from the debate in his mind. He remembers Harris sidestepping his attempts to pin her down on Biden's policies. Like Teflon, no Biden policy sticks to her. Instead, she somehow turned the conversation to her own vision for the country. With growing distress, he recalls how she made his attacks seem petty and small, responding to his bragging with facts and figures that left him struggling.

Trump's thoughts turn to the moment Harris brought up his legal troubles. He had been prepared for this, ready to dismiss it all as a witch hunt. But somehow, she had framed it in a way that made his replies sound defensive, almost guilty.

It felt like being in a courtroom again, with a prosecutor spinning a legal net around him, waiting until she had the last holes tightly hooked and ready to give the net a final pull. He felt trapped, and in trying to escape, he had started talking about things he never meant to discuss, veering away from his prepared talking points and into dangerous territory.

The former president reaches for another cup of coffee, his hand trembling slightly. He tries to shake off the growing sense of unease and recapture the certainty he felt in the heat of the moment. But more doubts appear like shadows lengthening across the library floor.

He thinks about his base, the loyal supporters who hang on to his every word. Surely, they saw through Harris's tricks and recognized his strengths and her weaknesses. But a small voice in the back of his mind whispers that maybe, just maybe, some of them might have been swayed by her calm demeanor, her command of the facts, her ability to make him look small.