The Day after the Election

The day after the election, I was on an early morning flight to Washington DC. I hadn’t flown in a while, and I was trying to get settled in my seat, balancing my book, the yogurt and bottle of water and 1-ounce-sized bag of nuts for six dollars I’d just bought. It was a small plane, and I was cramped between two men. Where was I supposed to put my elbows, my legs, the yogurt? Could I eat the yogurt without disturbing the men? 

The man on my right was watching a sitcom on his phone. The one on the left was scrolling the news. The news! I had woken up that morning, cautiously optimistic. The Democrats had swept the House and probably the Senate. The cruel, arrogant Billionaire from Ohio lost and it wasn’t even close. My seatmate glanced at me. I wanted to tell him, Don’t worry, I’m not reading over your shoulder. I misplaced my reading glasses. Oh, wait, they’re on my head.  

Instead, I said, Do you know what’s going on in Mississippi? He straightened up. He said, It’s still undecided, but all the betting markets say the guy’s going to win. He was smiling. I was smiling. You know, he said, This would be the first time a Black person won a Senate seat since Reconstruction. I took my chance and ate my yogurt. When we landed in DC, the weather was warm and bright and beautiful. 

The night before I was at an election night dinner. The event has been held at the Grange, our area’s arts and cultural center, every election night since 1916. When I got the invite, immediately, I said, Nope. I was imagining big TV screens blaring the election results as they trickled in. I’ve been to things like this in the past. They make me sick to my stomach. 

No, my son said. It’s not like that at all. It’s just a nice dinner with people from town. Your neighbors. No matter what happens in the election, we’ll all still go on being neighbors. 

This is true. 

I went. The Town Manager Ken, who’d just been reelected as Town Manager, was serving the food. It was your choice of chicken pot pie or a veggie version. I took the chicken. My husband and I hugged our son who was sitting with his friends, and then we went to sit with some of our new friends. There were no TVs. No one was talking about the election. 

Instead, we talked about the weather (how unseasonably warm it is in the Adirondacks), ticks (how I keep finding them hopping around on me!) the potpie (freaking delicious!) the lake (how someone swore she spied Champy the Sea Monster cresting above the surface. 

He’s like the Loch Ness Monster, someone else said.) I was nodding along, smiling. I was thinking, What do I really know about anything? 

DC was the same as when I left it last summer. My daughter and son-in-law’s lovely condo in a leafy neighborhood, far far away from whatever is going on with the reflecting pool. I am here to watch the dog, while they head out of town for the weekend with friends (their usual dog-sitters). It’s weird being in a place that’s not mine and being here alone. 

I’m a guest, but a guest who is walking the dog and poking around in the cabinets. I had images of a mini-vacation, glutting myself on city amenities. I could walk ten steps out the door and buy anything I want, treat myself to any food, uber off to the ridiculous reflecting pool. 

But day one, I stubbed my toe so hard I saw stars. So now I’m hunkered down on the couch. I read my book. I snuggle with the dog. I peek at the news and get teary-eyed at the pictures of people in Minneapolis sticking their I-voted stickers on the spot where ICE murdered Alex Pretti and Renee Good. 

Back home in the Adirondacks, the leaves have turned brown and mostly fallen, but here, in DC, it’s still full-blown fall, all of the trees fluttering red and yellow. I limp around the block with the dog. I can’t get over it. How beautiful this place is. It hits me that the past ten years I have forgotten how to pray and what would I say anyway, if I remembered? 

But that’s not true. I know what I would say. 

Thank you. 

For safe flights and kind neighbors. For cuddly dogs and sunny weather. For whatever this feeling is, as I shuffle, as I plunk, as I hope.