Nov 2- the view from a dem

November 2nd was, well, painful. It hurts to even think about that night- a night that started with such hope and ended with complete despair.

Many democrats have been in mourning... almost as if we're recovering from a national tragedy. In the eyes of many, the reelection of Bush was a national tragedy.

The night started off well enough. I spent the afternoon hanging out at the polls with a group of local dems. We handed out fliers and chatted confidently about the election. Folks from the local dem headquarters brought us all french fries and sodas. Voters thanked us for coming out. With few exceptions, they smiled and even cheered at our Kerry signs. The only notable exception was a driveby yelling of "Kerry's a faaaaag!" Duely noted, good sir. And sadly, an excellent campaign strategy, in hindsight.

Back at my house, I had a small gathering of friends- Kerry supporters who were hungry for change. My good friend Ryan came over early. An ardent Kerry supporter, he was eager for a night of witty political banter as the results came in.

"Have they called anything? Have they called anything? MY GOD WOMAN! I've been in the car for 2 hours! HAVE THEY CALLED ANYTHING?" He screamed as he rushed through the door.

"Uhhhh, just Kentucky." I replied.

Although breathless, he still managed a heartfelt "FUCK Kentucky!"

Okay, so make that "witty political banter" as well as "drunken cursing." Really, the latter far outweighed the former.

People trickled in and we could feel the change in the air. Tonight was the night we would save America. We donned Kerry buttons and stickers. We wore patriotically colored beads around our necks. We gathered around the television for a night that was sure to change our country for the better.
Apparently, the rest of America hadn't gotten the memo.

I swore to myself that life simply couldn't go on if Florida went red. I had worked too hard. I had cared too much. The results from Florida began pouring in and things looked bleak. But Ryan wasn't phazed a bit:

"They haven't counted Broward yet! What the hell are you worried about?!? THEY HAVEN'T FUCKING COUNTED BROWARD!"

(for non-floridians, Broward county is one of the largest democratic strongholds in Florida. Ryan's faith in humanity rested with Broward county. No pressure or anything, though.)

Then the Broward results started coming in... and they clearly wouldn't be enough.

"20%! They've only counted 20% of Broward and you're worried? FUCK 20%!"

Fifteen minutes later...

"50%! They've only counted 50%! That's nothing! Broward'll pull us through!"

Fifteen minutes later:

"99%! Who gives a shit about 99%? Broward won't let us down! We can still..."

"100%. Huh. FUCK Broward."

At that point, most had left the party so they could cry in the privacy of their homes. The rest of us decided it was in our best interests to turn off the TV. The ultimate concession speech on election night is not the one made by the candidates: it's the one made by the lifelong partisans who say "Turn off CNN. Let's play some boardgames."

Ryan was curled up in a recliner, clutching a throw pillow and rocking nervously.
"What happened in Broward?" he mumbled like a child trying to cope with the loss of a favorite pet.

And much like the parents of that child, we didn't know what to tell him. How do you explain that no matter how much we all loved Broward, we had to let it go?

Probably unlike the parents of that child, I handed him a bottle of wine instead of a cheesy consolation speech.

The night wore on and we pretended that we were fine. Our eyes darted nervously, trying to avoid the streamers and balloons that decked the apartment walls. Suddenly, my celebratory decorations seemed to be mocking me and everything I stood for.

Ryan passed out on the couch that night and the next morning we set about to take down the decor. I tried to convince myself that this act was cathartic. But with every balloon I popped, I felt my soul deflating along with it.

And today, I wonder...

Has it really been nearly a month since that awful night? Has life really gone on like nothing happened? Am I really so melodramatic that I would compare popping balloons to the deflation of my soul?

The answers are yes, yes, and fuck yes.

I still haven't found a cheesy consolation speech to replace the bottle of wine. I still feel disconnected- not just from my government, but from my neighbors, my co-workers and my country. I still don't know why the fuck Broward didn't pull us through. Come ON, Broward!

But I do know this: In the spirit of Ryan Kent, who is probably in a straight jacket somewhere mumbling about a Broward recount, I must say:

FUCK November second.