Something So Small
By Phebe Jewell
You didn’t think twice after dropping me into the ballot box outside the library. You were busy, and I was one more item to check off your list. Return books, vote, and then on to the grocery store for a dozen eggs and a head of lettuce.
Still, I hope you felt something, a shiver as the present bent back to the past and into the future.
We’ve met before, many times. The first, waiting in line at the VFW Hall with your mother before she tugged you into a booth, pulling the curtain behind both of you. She took her time, putting on glasses, reading the ballot with the quiet attention you only saw when she played the piano after dinner. The last time, you voted in person while your son ate a donut shared by poll watchers before you walked out together into the wet November morning. Holding hands, his fingers dusted with sugar, yours tacky from unpeeling the “I Voted!” sticker before placing it on your coat.
This time, sliding me into the slot, you didn’t know it was the last time. It wasn’t a major election, like president or governor. A school levy, funding for public housing.
I fell into the box, landing on top of hundreds of other ballots before being picked up and loaded into a van by election workers. One of them whistled as he hoisted the bin up on his shoulder. The other ballots called to each other, arguing about policy and expenditures. I drifted, soothed by the debate. My favorite part of any election, so many voices jumbled together in messy piles before the counting.
But your vote will never be tallied. No one’s will, no matter which oval they filled in. The Leader declares that no one needs to vote anymore. The country will be better off if no one disagrees. You have been freed of the burden of choice, the Leader says in front of cameras, face flushed, eyes narrowed. No need to waste time or energy on something so small as a ballot.
The new military police have been ordered to destroy all ballots. For weeks we wait on shelves in warehouses. None of us know when it’ll be our turn. As we wait to be shoveled into the incinerator, we share our stories. Your stories. I learn about the single mom in Pittsburgh working two jobs, scared the rent will go up again. The imam from Detroit welcoming new members. The Portland couple staring in wonder at their newborn. I talk about you and your son, who just voted for the first time. And the last. Already the heat curls my edges.
Phebe Jewell’s recent work appears or is forthcoming in Bright Flash Literary Review, Does It Have Pockets?, SoFloPoJo, BULL, and elsewhere. A teacher at Seattle Central College, she also volunteers with the Freedom Education Project Puget Sound, an abolitionist nonprofit providing college courses and degrees for incarcerated students in Washington State.
Photo credit: Philip Chapman-Bell via a Creative Commons license.
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