Election Day Dreams

Dearest Rachel –

I’m not really sure why my dream this past evening seemed to be about Election Day. It’s not as if we hear in America actually celebrate the day with any festivities to speak of, especially as compared to our cousins across the sea, who will be setting off fireworks and burning some guy in effigy that night (although, in fairness, that has absolutely nothing to do with elections in the slightest; it’s that our first Tuesday in November just happens to coincide with Guy Fawkes Day).

Nor is it that Daniel and I even intend to vote on that day; at this point, we’ve penciled in a visit to Village Hall next Monday after my ophthalmologist appointment. After all, as long as the state has early voting, we might as well take advantage of the opportunity to get it out of the way and have it done with, lest we forget to do so along the way (not that that’s likely, given what political junkies we’ve turned into, even before the accident). So even if there are any such parties or celebrations on the day, we won’t be a part of it.

And now that I think about it, why would we celebrate the occasion? Sure, for political junkies, it’s the equivalent of the Super Bowl, but unlike that sporting event, it doesn’t matter to the wider world who wins or loses – after all, it’s only a football game, right? But when we’re talking about the leader of the free world (not to mention the body of individuals who write the laws for the nation), this is a whole lot more important than that. If you listen to members of one “team’s” fans, a loss here would translate to ‘the end of democracy,’ while the other “team” claims that if they lose, there will ‘never be another free or fair election’ from this point forward, which is basically saying the same thing but with a little more detail as to the specifics as to what ‘the end of democracy’ looks like. If this is just a game like the Super Bowl, there will be no handshakes or bonhomie, no exclamations of “good game” between the winners and losers; just a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth, followed by social media posts claiming the winner is “#NotMyPresident” and so forth.

Indeed, that seems almost like the best case scenario, at this point. There was a poll taken not too long ago – and while one poll does not an overall judge of opinion make, when did we ever think a poll needed to ask this question? – regarding the question of assassination, since the matter has come up. It appears that one “team” (if you don’t mind my continuing to use that analogy in order to avoid naming names) has a quarter of its fans claiming that it might be a good thing after all, with another quarter not sure. Barely half of them responded with the unequivocal “no” you’d expect; meanwhile, they claim that the other team has been fomenting violence with their rhetoric.

Sometimes, I’m glad you don’t have to live through this tumultuous era, honey. You might have found it interesting, sure, but only in the sense of that infamous Chinese curse. As for myself, I guess that my mind just wants to get it over with, even as I’m already making a point to do so in real life.

***

Now that I’m writing it down, it isn’t as if there was this great big overarching story, other than the one that real life writes in the waking world. I think Daniel and I were making our way to the courthouse across from the old racetrack – which technically, may not actually be a place we could cast our ballot early, as it’s actually in the next town over. As I said earlier, our village hall appears to be hosting residents like ourselves who want to bank their votes ahead of time.

In any event, there were simply various scenes as we made our way to the polling place. Among other vignettes, I recall seeing people playing games like touch football and frisbee on the courthouse lawn – which is weird, because in real life, I’m not sure where they’d be able to even do that, considering that the area tends being littered with various signs for various candidates, but if somebody wants to amuse themselves, they’ll find a way, I’m sure.

Upon getting to the building itself, we joined a line of people waiting to get in to vote. Folks were walking alongside the line outside the building (which I think would have still been acceptable; while there’s a legal restriction against electioneering, that only extends for a certain number of feet outside of the polling place. At a certain distance – and this line fit the bill – it’s perfectly legal, which is why there are signs for candidates outside the place, but they stop at a certain point as you approach the building) “If you want more of the same, you know who to vote for; if you want things to change, you also know who to vote for,” they were saying, which, now that I think about it, might not even be considered to be electioneering, because fans of the two “teams” probably think they know the answers to both parts of that statements, even as they arrive as diametrically opposite conclusions.

One thing that was there that I’ve never seen at a polling place was a table laden with cakes and other desserts. Perhaps my mind was coming up with a way to make the whole event more of a social occasion and defuse some of the tension between the two teams’ literal partisans; after all, it’s hard to do battle when you’re enjoying food together. Then again, we both went to college; while they were far rarer than Animal House might make them seem, food fights weren’t unheard of.

At some point, I ran into my Dad, who had voted ahead of Daniel and myself. He warned me to beware of a group of angry old ladies marching through the polling center. It sounded weird coming from him – if nothing else, who could he call “old” at this point? – until I encountered them as they strode through the precinct hall, arms linked, stepping in unison like we had to be taught to do in marching band. They weren’t old, as such – some of them looked younger than me – but their stern, humorless faces made them look eons older than they should have. They were letting no one past them, and as they moved forward, they began forcing everybody out of the hall. I don’t know if it was because the treats weren’t ready, or they didn’t want anyone in to vote, but neither of them was going to happen at this point, that was for sure. I think I tried to object to this manhandling (womanhandling?), but I wound up on my backside in the grass in short order, just like everybody else. I guess Dad managed to vote before they came through, but Daniel and I were out of luck.

Now, I know dreams are no predictor of the future, but I guess it stands as one more reminder to get out there and get our ballots banked before any shenanigans like this might even possibly happen on Guy Fawkes’ Day this year. And until we do, honey, keep an eye on us, and wish us luck, as we may very well need it.