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Margret A. Treiber
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AS I EXITED THE POLLING station, the misty drizzle clung to my face, triggering a slight shiver. Given the sacredness of the day, this emphasis, the punctuation to the moment was welcome. Like last decade’s election, I wanted to remember every detail. The months of research on the issues, the debates and fact-checking, it all came down to today. I had completed my civic obligation and done my best to make the correct choice.
Passing the orderly lines into the station, I gazed upon the displays that blared messages like ‘Secret Means Silent’ and ‘Don’t Show, Don’t Tell’ urging citizens to maintain propriety and remain silent about their votes until after election week. From childhood, I remembered the lessons about the sanctity of the secret ballot. “Never discuss your vote” was one of the cornerstones of our government.
“Jan!” I was pulled from my thoughts by a familiar voice. I turned my head to see my best friend, Mimi, waving frantically.
I stopped and waited for her to catch up.
She smiled. “Did you vote already?”
I nodded. “Yes. All done.”
She gazed at me intently as if trying to see inside my mind to ascertain my choice.
“I made the best choice I could,” I added.
“I know you did.” She smiled again, then pulled me into a deep hug. “It’s just that...”
I pulled back and sighed. “I know, I’ve lost a lot of friends to politics, too.”
“Hopefully, that doesn’t happen this time.”
My throat tightened and all I could do was nod. Mimi and I had been friends since our second year in school. The thought of the election pulling us apart was overwhelming. But I knew it was a possibility, suspecting we had some opposing views regarding government policy.
“Did you hear that Bo qualified for an exemption this cycle?”
“Really?” I laughed, remembering all those years growing up that our classmate swore he’d find a way to remain apolitical.
“Yeah,” Mimi answered. “He managed to get a teaching position overseas.”
“He’s always been a smart one.”
Mimi and I stood in silence for a moment. Then she reached out and squeezed my hand before turning and walking toward the entrance to the polling station.
My trip to the subway was short but the wait for a train felt longer than normal. I leaned against a column along the tracks and bided my time. Faded brown and yellow signs posted on the walls reminded riders about election year propriety with slogans like ‘Don’t Wear Your Affiliation’ and ‘Keep It Neutral.’ I longed for election season to end so I could wear my favorite red sweater or my blue jeans again. Just the previous week, I had contemplated flouting convention and wearing both together. But I knew that would be taken as an affront to our democratic process and chose to err on the side of yellow.
The train finally arrived and I stepped inside. Being this was a national holiday, and I had chosen to vote late in the day, the car was uncrowded. However, the anxiety and anticipation of the impending count still hung in the air. It was both electrifying and suffocating. Fellow riders seemed to shy away from each other’s gaze as if avoiding any connection to a potential political rival.
I accidentally locked eyes with a young man across the car. He was cute and appeared to be close to my age. At first, I smiled at him. Normally, I’d engage him in conversation, and for a moment, I pondered our potential compatibility. But I quickly snapped back to reality, turning my head and looking away. When my stop came, I practically bolted from the train, jogging the distance to my tiny studio apartment.
By the time I arrived home, I was winded. After stripping out of my gray election attire and showering, I changed into pajamas and heated up a personal pizza. I flipped on the television and perched on my bed to watch the tallies and eat. The reports had just started trickling in. The Red party was leading Blue by a slight margin, but that could change at any moment.
A reporter cut in with breaking news that several citizens had been arrested for displaying political propaganda at polling sites. Fortunately, they were discovered before any damage could be done to the election process. They should have known better. The election process was the cornerstone of our peaceful republic. Every school-aged child was taught at an early age how divided the nation used to be, how violence would erupt when the losers in a two-party system felt slighted. Now, not only was that issue resolved but by insisting on political anonymity, nobody would be targeted for their views. Trying to interfere with this process, this holy procedure, was considered high treason.
An hour passed, and my phone alerted me to an incoming message.
“Happy Election Day!” the message read.
It was from my father. I grinned.
“Did you vote?” I asked. Being past retirement age exempted him from voting. It was now his choice.
“No,” he replied. “I leave that to the young.”
I was glad. There was no reason for him to be caught up in all this furor.
“Love you!” I typed back.
“Love you too.”
I looked back at the television screen. The polls had just closed, and the vote was starting to come in solidly Blue. It would be a long night of counting, but I was certain Blue would win. I was betting on it.
I considered texting Mimi like I did every other night since we were eight years old. But tonight was different. We each stood alone in our choices. I would speak to her in the morning, or...I wouldn’t.
The sounds of revelry invaded my silence. I peered out the window to see a small crowd of my neighbors stumbling through the streets as if severely intoxicated. They yelled as they meandered. I opened the window just enough to hear what they were saying. “The end is near! Dance while you can.”
One man did a shuffle and fell. Another helped him up. As the former gained his footing he saw me and shouted. “Come celebrate with us! Life is short and we may not have tomorrow.”
I slammed the window shut and drew the curtains. Why were they so irreverent? Didn’t they understand the importance of this season?
The night continued. I tried to distract myself with games on my phone, but it did little to alleviate my unease. Red started to lead again for a short time, then Blue took an overwhelming lead. By the morning, it was clear that Blue was the winner. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was in sync with the majority.
The pollsters sent the tallies for the final certification. By noon, it would all be done, and by midnight, the process would be complete. Tomorrow would be about reflection. Reflection. I smiled at the memory of my mother.
Remembering my father, I checked my phone for messages and realized it was out of power. I threw it on the charger, cursing myself for forgetting to do it sooner. I considered napping, but I couldn’t. Despite being exhausted, the anxiety remained. I wondered who voted Red. What would it be like at work next week? I contemplated taking a sleep aid but scrapped the idea. There were still five days remaining in election week. I’d recover later.
It was time for coffee. I started the machine, looking forward to the rich flavor. However, when it was ready, my brew wasn’t as satisfying as I expected. Normally, I’d enjoy a cup before work and watch my favorite morning show. Today it lacked the anticipated kick, or maybe it was my existing exhaustion that dulled the effects. Plus, instead of the typical cheerful morning banter, all the networks showed were the closing tallies that rolled across the screen as bright blue banners announced the official winners. The final results, sixty-eight percent Blue, thirty-two percent Red. It could have been much worse.
Despite my lack of desire to eat, my stomach still complained. I got dressed and went downstairs to the bodega around the corner for an egg sandwich. The owner, Balu, manned the deli counter and the register, bouncing back and forth between fulfilling orders and ringing them up.
There were two people in line before me. They didn’t even make small talk, simply ordering and paying. When my turn came, I forced a smile and placed my order.
“Good morning, Balu. An egg and cheese sandwich on a Kaiser roll, please.”
“Hello, Jan,” he replied. “How did you fare?”
I shrugged. “I’m here.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Unless I decide to sleep in.”
Balu nodded. “You should. Is this your first election?”
I shook my head. “My second. But I was in college during my first one. We were isolated and then separated after the vote. It was a close race. I lost a lot of friends.”
“It could get ugly tomorrow,” Balu stated as he wrapped my sandwich. “I suggest downloading comedies and wearing headphones until tomorrow night. Don’t look outside.”
“Really?”
Balu handed me my sandwich. “Really. No charge. Go home. Grab whatever snacks you want and stay home.”
I frowned, reaching for a coconut water and bag of chips, feeling like I was taking advantage.
Balu handed me a plastic bag. “Take more.”
I grabbed some cheesy poofs, beef jerky, and another coconut water. “Come see me in two days,” he said. “Stay inside and lock your door.”
“Okay.” I looked down, now feeling more uneasy than before.
I made my way out and back home. Locking the door as Balu suggested, I kicked off my shoes and sat at my kitchen table to eat my sandwich. Pulling out the contents of the bag, I discovered a pair of cheap headphones and some video sticks of old comedies from Balu’s discount bin by the register. I set up my tablet and plugged the movies in.
They were corny but distracting. I giggled for three straight hours. Two movies in, I was about to play the third when I heard the crashing from outside. I peeked out the window to see the street flooded with election officials and vehicles. Refrigeration trucks parked at the end of the block, ready to be loaded.
I tried to heed Balu’s words and go back to the movies. I knew gazing outside would bring nothing but pain. But the pain was a small price to pay for peace and societal stability. This was my civic duty, and my choice was one voice, one part of the vote that determined this outcome.
A woman screamed as she ran from the officials. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I imagined it was some kind of plea, words of regret.
She didn’t get very far. An election official stepped forward and aimed a taser at her, it hit, and she convulsed, dropping to the ground. They dragged her away, out of view. More cries followed, and several more people flooded out into the streets. They were all treated similarly, immobilized, and dragged off.
“Thirty-two percent,” I muttered to myself.
Shouts echoed from the hallways. This time the cries were clear enough to decipher. It sounded like my next-door neighbor. I gazed out the peephole.
“It’s a mistake!” my neighbor cried out, pounding on my door as they pulled him to the ground to euthanize him. “I voted Blue!” he cried. “Blue!” The needle punctured his neck, and he fell silent.
I turned back to the window and witnessed the crews loading the refrigeration trucks. As the body bags were carted out and orderly stacked within the bay, I counted the number of apartments on the block and compared it to the bodies.
Thirty-two percent.
I took a breath and moved from the window. Noticing my phone flash back to life, I unlocked it and checked for messages. There were two. One was from my dad checking my status. I replied with a smiley face. The second was from Mimi.
“Goodbye,” it read.
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Discussion Questions
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FEBRUARY 2022 Vol. 3, No. 2
