Election Day began with the promise of change and the sound of my alarm clock beeping promptly at 5:45 in the morning. My husband took our dog downstairs to relieve herself while I hazily dressed in shorts and running shoes. We hit the road running, literally, at 6:30, and were in line at the polls by 6:35. The plan was to cast our vote and continue our morning run over the Brooklyn Bridge. What better way to jump start what was easily one of the most important dates in history, and in my life?
The lines at the polls were hundreds deep, and yet they had only been open 35 minutes. Even though lines annoy most New Yorker’s, they happen to be used to them, and so I found it humbling to join a line of people who were also in the mood for change. Needless to say, we never got to run over the bridge that morning. After waiting in line for 1 hour and 45 minutes there was only enough time to run home and get ready for work.
It was a long day in the office, simply because my Republican coworkers compensated for their election anxiety by teasing and making comments about my choice of candidates. I came home feeling defeated, and yet I knew in my heart there were no losers even if Barack Obama didn’t win. His candidacy alone represented progress.
For the last eight years the sight of the American flag has left me feeling both proud and embarrassed. But on Election Day, standing in line at the polls, I wanted to wrap myself in one, so as to be closer to the possibility and hope that permeated throughout the campaign.(Not to mention it was also cold standing there in running shorts!)
Our dog, a rescue who has two broken elbows and gets her bandages changed every Tuesday, came home from the vet decked out in a red, white and blue cast with stars all over it. Even my canine companion took part in the overwhelming patriotism of that day.
That evening we remained confined to our apartment and glued to our television screen. Friends of ours who live in the building and who recently moved from Michigan were coming over for dinner, and what we hoped would be celebratory drinks… an election party of sorts.
We gently berated the couple, who were Obama supporters, for not representing Michigan in the election, where their votes would have counted more. But it was inspiring to listen to the wife retell her three-hour experience on line at the polls. It was her first time voting – not because she was finally of age or because she just got her citizenship, but rather because it was the first time that she cared to.
I went from eating Thai food to eating my fingernails as many of the 50 states began to light up in blue. I uncorked a second bottle of wine after Obama took Pennsylvania. And then it happened. I’ll never forget Brian Williams’ victory announcement, “Eleven o’clock p.m. on the East coast, we’re back on the air and we have news: there will be young children in the White House for the first time since the Kennedy generation. An African-American has broken the barrier as old as the republic…” I kissed my husband, saw our friends well up in tears and immediately changed my status on FaceBook to reflect the pride I was feeling at that moment.
I called and woke up my father who went to bed thinking the results would not be in until the middle of the night, and told him the news. We watched John McCain’s graceful concession speech and waited patiently to see and hear from the new President Elect of the United States.
Then we joined the streets of Brooklyn where strangers hugged, danced and cheered. It was there that I was reminded of what is so peculiar and yet so familiar about being bound to strangers by such massive events in history – I had not been witness to something as profound and as shared, since 9/11.
Election night ended the same way it began, with the promise of change. Only the beeping I heard wasn’t coming from my alarm clock when I laid in bed that night, but from the cars on the streets below, celebrating the historic victory.
