We wait. Some patiently, some not. The line stopped moving. The computers went down or the copy machine got jammed. Something like that. Ten minutes have past. I don't stare at anybody too long. Mostly Mexicans and White people stand side-by-side....awkward...besides the three of us who are neither. Our little eyeballs move around, we take short glances at each other. We study the ceiling, the water spots on the corners, the wall, that may have been white a long time ago, and this unmoving line. I notice an older lady glaring at a woman in short dress, the lady had her arms folded staring at the woman's red high-heels tap away at the City Hall's staircase, her wrinkled face folded into a frown. Dude, what's her problem? The young Mexican woman, the one checking her phone every two minutes, tapping away with her red shoes, she finally makes a call and brakes the silence. The line moves slowly. A family comes out of the voting room, a Ralf Lauren moment, a picture perfect family, just beautiful. Their faces look relieved. They can sleep tonight. Even their curly hair looks relaxed. They have casted their ballots, their children are safe. A farmer opens the door, picks up his Ford hat and runs his hands to fix his graying hair, he leads his daughter out, maybe it's her first time voting, too, she keeps her head down, her eyes intent on the floor tiles, her father's hands sat on her shoulder. With their heads down, the farmer and his both descend. The older woman standing in line across from me catches my gaze and smiles, it's like she's saying, "you know who they voted for," I wonder what she means by that, she has no idea I'm voting Green. I get the feeling she's voting for Romney. Two African American, two Black American or dark American's, stand in line. I'm the only Yellow in the room. We didn't come together. There's not enough of us to come together like that in a small town like this. But we're here tonight. It's 7:00 p.m. and two pairs of tired feet echoTHUM THUM THUM the heavy steps of two lady janitors, still in their uniforms, climb the stairs brushing by the picturesque family carrying their children. The Mexican ladies drag their exhaustion at the end of the line and manage to a smile at the family, there's still one last thing to clean up before they go home and be at peace. The line moves like a slow stream now. We all know why we're here. We say nothing. I wait my turn. Voted. Gave it to God.
I heard someone say, once, every voice matters, ask and you shall receive. I believe that, so I voted for the first time. I'll sleep real good tonight.
When the candidates were still campaigning, a friend tell me that the country was more important than it's people. I just don't understand how he doesn't see that the country is its people. But, maybe it's high time people understoodnd that, too.
