all i see (scares me).

“Sometimes talking to Kimberly is like slapping yourself in the face.  You know something is wrong, you know you ought to stop, but somehow you keep hoping it will start to feel good.  So I pull way back and make myself remember that dealing with Kimberly is like dealing with a cat.  You may have played with it and fed it and let it sleep on your face forever, but if it suddenly cowers when it hears you and shudders when you stroke it, you can’t just slam it against the wall, even if you want to.”  –t. jones.

it was over. nearing six in the morning, it was still very dark outside. erin sat in the mostly deserted campaign office quietly. all the confetti was still stored in bags, and the streamers looked presumptuous and mocking. she looked at her co-worker, her closest friend, the most dedicated volunteer in the office. they had a bottle of grey goose between them, and they hadn’t spoken in the last hour. erin suddenly stood up, rummaged through her purse, and pulled out a pack of camels. “you can’t smoke in here!” susie said, watching erin sit back down and flick her lighter. in response, erin turned over one of the now-useless campaign buttons and ashed her cigarette in the slight indentation of its silver back.

susie rolled her eyes. “ok, i’m leaving. i can’t mope any longer. this is the most disappointing night i’ve had in a while. i have to sleep. you lock up, ok?” she tossed erin the keys and gathered her things. “and put that out. you’re gonna get lung cancer.” 

defiantly, erin smoked four in a row. she lined the butts on the table, shortest to tallest. she stared at them for awhile. for the past month, she had practically lived in this office. she had done everything. she had her candidate’s voting record memorized. she could stuff envelopes in her sleep. she braved intimidating doorbells and rude strangers to beg them to vote.  all of it was wasted, all of it, all of her whole-self effort. she cared.

tucking the grey goose under her arm, she stood up, wobbling a bit. she was almost drunk, but she was driving home anyways. she couldn’t explain to anyone, to herself, why she felt she had lost so much. just another election was finished; her candidate hadn’t won. and yet, in tasting the disappointment of his defeat, she felt a large part of herself separate and float oddly away. she had believed in him. she thought it would happen, thought that the collective they could change things. she had thought a lot in the past month.

four years passed, and she didn’t vote in the next presidential election.