In life, we often face moments that define us — moments of deep struggle, unexpected triumph, and transformation.

It’s morning, New Years Day, 2030. After a night of revelry, Americans are waking up to a dancing hologram, by now familiar, floating over their beds. Donald Trump’s three-dimensional image gyrates enthusiastically if irrhythmically to the dreaded YMCA song, tiny fists boxing the air as everyone grabs the covers. Swinging a flyswatter, throwing a shoe or spraying disinfectant at the specter does nothing; running is equally pointless as Trump’s hologram dances right along into the bathroom.

Early this morning, a body covered with a white sheet lay on the sidewalk next to the Publix parking lot. Apparently, a pedestrian was hit by a car. I don’t know the person’s age, but I assume they didn’t wake up thinking that today was the day they would die.

In recent years, millions of LGBTQ+ fans of the Harry Potter series have watched with dismay as its author, J.K. Rowling, has become a prominent figure in anti-trans activism.