Five Days Later

"We have arrived in hell. You can build paradises and sanctuaries there too." - Rebecca Solnit

On Friday afternoon, I decided that after three straight days of anxiety and grief I needed to get out of my house and breathe and be in the world without having to talk to people. I'd been talking to people nonstop; on the first morning we woke up in hell, I had to go to school and teach, and then I had to drag my chair and my laptop down to the Commons and have conferences with students and their parents for five hours. I hadn't slept more than a couple of hours since Sunday. To say I was exhausted is an understatement, but I knew I wouldn't do anything as sensible as take a nap if I stayed home. I couldn't yet.

So I hopped on the light rail, intending to take myself to lunch, walk around a bit, and head to my favorite bookstore where I'd drink coffee and then a glass of wine, and write. I just wanted to be an anonymous person out in the world for awhile, with the space to eat and read and write without having to manage my emotions or needs for anyone else. I wanted space to breathe.

But when you're in a city and you pay attention, when you're on public transit or sitting in a cafe or coffee shop, you can hear a lot. And all day, I heard snippets. Two men and a woman wearing football jerseys and making crass jokes about Kamala on the light rail. Two women hunched over their salads at lunch, voicing their fears. Two baristas reliving election night, how nerves gave way to dread, and here we fucking are. Again.

I wrote this eight years ago:

It's been one week. One week ago, I spent the entire day in a state of horror, pasting on a smile when I had to interact with kids and their parents, dissolving in tears in the bathroom (where I encountered other teachers doing the same) or in my car. Since then, I've been despondent, and I've been angry, and I've tried to take care of myself and my family and ground myself in the beautiful present. And then I wake up and say, "Nope, I'm still angry." Last night I could not fall asleep, which is becoming my new normal, unless I take Tylenol PM. I swung between fury and terror. I've had horrible dreams about keeping my children safe. And my children will be among the "safe"; they are white, raised by two white, straight, "Christian" parents. (Is it any wonder that I put "Christian" in quotes? I'm really struggling with that one.) No one has threatened to come after them, although I absolutely worry about raising a daughter in a world in which our Commander-in-Chief objectifies women ("Not a 10!") and normalizes tearing them down and assaulting them. Again, this isn't new, and women know this, but when a man can scream about a woman's pussy as she's out for a jog or taking her kids through a drive-thru and happens to have an "I'm With Her" bumper sticker on her car, he's not just being vulgar; he's quoting our elected leader.

What's wild is that all the things that should have been deal-breakers in 2016 seem almost laughably mild now. Eight years after "You can grab them by the pussy," he won the popular vote after threatening vengeance against anyone he considers an enemy, after openly fantasizing about shooting Liz Cheney, after going on and on about Arnold Palmer's penis size, after simulating oral sex onstage, after swaying nonsensically to music instead of speaking for like forty minutes at a rally, after repeating bizarre and grotesque lies about immigrants (lies our future VP admits were lies but like, if you have to lie to get what you want, whatever). Now it's "Your body, my choice." I could go on, but clearly, I don't need to. Because it doesn't matter. There is no bottom.

But. You do not get to vote for him or for his supporters in your local elections (looking at you, Montana, 'cause you broke my heart, even though I saw it coming) and claim your love for individuals this will harm, individuals who will be less safe. Those individuals include my daughter (who I am so, so thankful to raise in Washington) and all of my students. Of course it includes far more, but I am so tired of folks thinking that they can love specific people, congratulate themselves for that, pray for them in church, and then vote for what will harm them.

Please, tell me I'm "too angry."

At the bookstore, I ordered a pumpkin spice cold brew and later a glass of wine from those baristas and I appreciated that they didn't try to make small talk. They didn't say, "How's your day going? Any fun plans for the weekend?" When I bought an Americano on my way to work on Thursday, the barista said, "How's it going today?" Totally chipper, no meaningful tone. And I replied automatically, "Oh, I'm good."

How absurd. The day wasn't "good." I wasn't "good." It's just that automatic, that we're so conditioned to prioritize comfort over truth. It's wild to me that some folks are so comfortable just moving on, posting chatty little updates without ever acknowledging what has happened. Again. And sure, sometimes we need flashes of normalcy and self-care, but as a friend of mine said, it's pretty clear who was never all that stressed out by this. I guess that's the wild part. 

It's wild to me that folks can talk about "respect" and "agreeing to disagree" and say, "Of course, there should be no place for bullying in schools!" And some of them are the same folks who helped elect the biggest bully we've seen in office in our lifetime. And to those who would say we shouldn't have to share who we voted for, that it's a private decision -- sure. And I don't actually care who you voted for or even if you voted, frankly, as long as you didn't vote FOR Trump or FOR people and policies who will elevate the hateful MAGA agenda. I care a great deal about whether or not your beliefs align with what's coming for my own family and my students and anyone who can't just go merrily about their day and not consider the harm to folks who are not white, or straight, or Christian, or men. If you're one of these folks and you're still reading, please consider this: if you can largely go about your day, business as usual, if you can happily carry on in your life without having to think about misogyny and racism and sexism and its direct impact on real people, then this is our mess to clean up. Watching the mental gymnastics some Christian folks are doing to convince themselves otherwise is exhausting.

I've lost some friends in the last few years. Some Facebook friends, some high school friends, and two formerly close friends whose loss I genuinely mourn. I write their names privately, on paper, and I grieve. But when I was tempted to reconnect after three years of silence, I went to their social media profiles and realize that I cannot open the door for those relationships again, because while they "loved" me, that love is hollow. If your vote will harm my child, or my students, that door is closed. I want to know who I need to protect my loved ones from, and this is not hyperbole. Sometimes this realization breaks my heart, but also, I don't have time to sit around in my feelings about that. America is the same country it was last week; we've just shown ourselves so much more clearly. And while my heart might be broken, it's still beating, and so I'm not quite ready to surrender yet.