finding another way

resisting another four years of vigilance and fear

I went to bed at 9:30 on election night, praying that what we were watching was a red mirage that would fade by morning. My school day alarm clock rings at 5:15am, and like many of us, I didn’t expect to see the results without days of vote counting anyhow. I woke up at 4am on my own and looked online for the status of the count, and after that, I couldn’t go back to sleep. Finally I walked downstairs pre-dawn to brew coffee and light a candle in the darkness like a vigil for whatever it is that has died and been left behind. 

When Trump was elected in 2016, I was working at a small university teaching composition classes. The best description I can give of what work felt like that day is that it felt like a funeral if the deceased died in a sudden, unexpected accident. When I got to my dusty little office in an old brick building on campus, it was weirdly quiet. I could hear the thud of the heavy front door open and close all day as people walked in and out but not much other sound. W…