#438

The line stretched the width and most of the length of the school. A man donning the coveted "I Voted" sticker pointed at my feet and said "When I was standing at that spot, I had an hour and a half left to wait." I smiled at him, and refused the bait to become irritated. He joked that he was running off to get a mobile coffee bar to park across the street and make his fortune. A few minutes later, someone suggested selling a spot in line to another voter. Ah, America.

I silently cursed myself for not having brought a camera. How will I remember each detail of this experience? How will I tell this story to my children?

An hour and a half later, I read his name on the ballot and carefully traced the appropriate oval before filling it in as completely as possible. The ink spilled dutifully out of my pen. I read his name again. Imprinted its presence on the page on my brain.

This. Is. Happening.

Choice. Hope. Change. Possibility. Challenge. With hundreds of my fellow citizens, I chose.

The woman at the ballot machine held stubbornly to my sticker until the count had changed from 437 to 438, then smiled at me and released it.

I Voted.

Now we wait, with bated breath.