Sweaty palms grip the precinct 21 ballot tightly as I scan the room for an empty booth.
A year to decide and still the right answer remains elusive. What are the important things, not just for me but also for the country, for my brother and sister Americans? The choices are grim and the outcome unsure.
So many blinded by greed and selfishness, ego-driven and ignorant to the suffering of others. Some deceived vote against their own best interests and those of their communities. I think I know what I will do, but it doesn’t make me feel proud or happy. Too many questions about the legitimacy of the process make it hard to have faith, but doing nothing isn’t an option.
I enter a booth and open the ballot. I do the questions first then all the others, saving the worst for last.
I make my final selection and fill in the bubble completely making a stark black permanent decision in sharpie.
What have I done? How did we get here? Will we ever recover? I ask myself these questions while having second thoughts, and folding up the ballot quickly stuffing it into the envelope.
I hesitantly drop it into the collection bin and linger. It is out of my hands. I turn to go and sigh with a feeling of helplessness. I can only hope a higher power is planning to make order from this chaos.