The World is on Fire
Writer’s Quarantine #firstwritingprompt
I wake up already exhausted, it’s quarter to five and the sun won’t rise for another two hours. The sirens of my iPhone drill patterned tunnels into my head like the remnants of termites in fallen trees. I roll my legs off the bed and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I twist light from the lamp next to my bed, and then out of other lamps as I work my way through the living room, into the kitchen, into the bathroom. Who the hell builds a bathroom off of the kitchen? My bathroom is too small.
I open the medicine cabinet for my toothbrush and my diva cup falls into the sink. I’m late. Again. If it will even come this time. The stress of this election campaigning has set off all of my natural functions. I pop two more 500mg Tylenol. I’m 15 pounds lighter than I ever wanted to be. The 2020 presidential election is this Tuesday; tomorrow. It’s Monday now and every early morning rise counts. I’m glad to be sleeping at all.
I’m happy the election doesn’t fall on my birthday like it did last time. The 2016 election was my 25th birthday. A quarter century. A million years ago, it seems. We got trapped out in Bridgeport, California - serious Trump Country - after my car key computer chip died when my ex jumped into a hot spring with it in his pocket. We were serious-nomading. Not a care in the world. Just me and him in the van. Cooking dinners by gas by the ocean. I can still feel the ocean breeze on my neck. I remember watching the election results from the motel room on dirty bedding. I remember wanting so desperately to drink after and finding out that all of the bars were closed, at 8pm… and that the closest place to buy a pack of beer was over 60 miles away. I wept in the car that night. The car that wouldn’t start; while I contemplated what the future looked like - he held me - on my 25th birthday. It was a true quarter life crisis. I just couldn’t catch a break, it felt. And I didn’t want that again, not for this election. Which is why I chose to campaign for Bernie.
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The office was already buzzing when I arrived at 6:30am, unshowered but doing my best to maintain some sense of composure. We drilled forward all day. I went home at 2am again, to try and gather even a couple of hours of sleep.
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The alarm shook me awake again, this morning at 4:30am. Two and a half hours. I changed my clothes and put on some fresh deodorant. The grease in my hair is starting to outweigh the stains on the cuffs of my blouses. As I drive to work today, the rising sun casts it’s light onto barren branches like fire.
Today is the day. Election Day 2020.
The day drove forward at the same speed that it had been if not faster. But we could all feel the little fish as they swam in schools through our bellies. Unwelcomed aquatic life passing through our digestive systems. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. In this artery and out of your bowel. “Wait, what’s that in your ear?” an intern asks me as he pulls a droopy, room-temperature orange shrimp out from behind it. I roll my eyes as I watch him drown it in cocktails sauce. He shoves it into the back of his throat, laughing - I cringe. I suppose some of us display our anxiety in different ways.
A bell rings - a voice comes over a megaphone. “Grab your essentials, we’ve done all that we can, you’ve all been incredible - Now let’s win this thing!!” It’s 2:30 in the afternoon and there is no more to be done - we move our gathering from the office to Cavalry's Pub over on the corner and pray. Those of us that don’t pray, hold their breath. - We’ve done all that we can.
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The announcement comes - the results are in - the whiskey has already swam thru me, I am ready.
And Donald Trump has won the election by 6 delegates. He remains the president of the United States of America.
I fall to my knees as the world burns, and will remain on fire.