Obama’s Victory in a Train Car By Anne Fricke
We were two hours south of Chicago on a train bound for New Orleans. My four-year-old daughter and I had left California three days earlier. We had driven five hours to the nearest train station, and tonight, when we disembarked in Southern Illinois, we’d drive another three hours to my parents’ home in Southern Indiana. I wondered about my decision to make this trip by train; it was time-consuming and exhausting. To top it off, I was traveling during one of the most monumental elections in United States history.
There are benefits to living in a rural area, one of which is voting by mail. I didn’t need to navigate long lines or try to squeeze into the voting booth with a child, but neither did I get the camaraderie or the “I Voted” sticker. I was alone at my kitchen table when I filled in the circle next to Barack Obama’s name.
As power lines and trees whooshed by the train window, I thought about the Election Day gatherings I was missing. My friends back home were eagerly coming together to watch the results of this epic election unfold, and I was traveling through the Midwest. At least I was receiving texts and phone calls from my husband about the brewing excitement.
In reality, I was exhausted from three days of traveling with my child, and I’m not a savvy city person. Joining the throngs of hopeful Obama supporters on this historic day would stay a fantasy; I needed to get on that train and sleep.
I had just nodded off when my phone buzzed. I groggily looked at the first message as more texts bombarded my phone. Friends were reporting the Electoral College vote tallies, and the numbers were close to 200. Obama needed to hit 270 to win. More texts came in as the numbers rose. My friends’ excitement invigorated me and I was suddenly wide awake.
My husband called from his brother’s house, where he was with some of our closest friends. I talked with a few of them, and I could hear the jubilation in the background. This contrasted drastically with the quiet of the train car. Once again, I lamented that I had chosen this time to travel. I wanted to be with my friends to celebrate this hopeful turn of the election.
It still felt too soon to declare victory. I looked around at the other faces in the train car. Many were sleeping, but a few roused and seemed to be getting the same texts I was. We strangers were glancing up from our phones to make eye contact confirming our growing anticipation and hopefulness.
More texts came in, and the numbers my friends reported were high enough that Obama’s victory seemed inevitable. I looked around at the faces in the train car again, and the excitement was palpable. We looked questioningly at each other, wondering if we were getting the same numbers, and our smiles confirmed the good news. Then my phone rang.
“They called it. Obama won!” my husband exclaimed.
A man a few rows ahead of me burst out in excitement. He must have gotten a similar phone call. The news spread rapidly through the car, the man calling out the victory to those freshly waking.
The sleeping train car came alive! We could finally celebrate the victory. People cheered and hooted, and there were high fives, handshakes, and even some hugs. We laughed and sighed heavily with relief. It seemed that some were taking the first deep breath of their lives.
I thought of my friends in California, all hugging and celebrating, and while the joy in the train car was exciting, I still longed for home.
Eventually, we all began to settle into our seats, the rocking train lulling us back to a resting state. The elderly woman came back up the stairs and noticed the quieting energy. She sat down in her seat and asked me what happened.
“Obama won!” I told her. The giddiness was oozing from my voice. Her face flushed with surprise and happiness. She reached her hand out for mine, and I took it. We clasped hands for a moment, both of us with beautiful tears of joy in our eyes. We smiled at each other before pulling away and retreating to our own thoughts and inevitable sleep.
As my eyes drifted closed, I thought of my friends in California, celebrating, and no longer wished I was there. This moment was powerful, and I was in the perfect place.
There are benefits to living in a rural area, one of which is voting by mail. I didn’t need to navigate long lines or try to squeeze into the voting booth with a child, but neither did I get the camaraderie or the “I Voted” sticker. I was alone at my kitchen table when I filled in the circle next to Barack Obama’s name.
As power lines and trees whooshed by the train window, I thought about the Election Day gatherings I was missing. My friends back home were eagerly coming together to watch the results of this epic election unfold, and I was traveling through the Midwest. At least I was receiving texts and phone calls from my husband about the brewing excitement.
* * *
The election results had started coming in while my daughter and I were waiting in Chicago for our connecting train. It was too early to call, but Obama had a strong lead. There was a huge rally to support Obama happening close to the train station. As I sat watching for our train’s arrival, I daydreamed about rushing out of the station with my daughter balanced on my hip, hailing a cab on the windy street corner, and joining the bustling crowd of exhilarated celebrators. In reality, I was exhausted from three days of traveling with my child, and I’m not a savvy city person. Joining the throngs of hopeful Obama supporters on this historic day would stay a fantasy; I needed to get on that train and sleep.
* * *
As the train car quietly rocked over the tracks, I wondered about the rally. I could almost feel the energy building back in Chicago from my spot in the dark, quiet car. The people around me were dozing as best they could in the coach seats. My daughter was sprawled out, her head on my lap, contentedly slumbering. She and I were some of the very few white people in the car, and I thought about how, while I love the beautiful rural area where we live, it lacks diversity.I had just nodded off when my phone buzzed. I groggily looked at the first message as more texts bombarded my phone. Friends were reporting the Electoral College vote tallies, and the numbers were close to 200. Obama needed to hit 270 to win. More texts came in as the numbers rose. My friends’ excitement invigorated me and I was suddenly wide awake.
My husband called from his brother’s house, where he was with some of our closest friends. I talked with a few of them, and I could hear the jubilation in the background. This contrasted drastically with the quiet of the train car. Once again, I lamented that I had chosen this time to travel. I wanted to be with my friends to celebrate this hopeful turn of the election.
It still felt too soon to declare victory. I looked around at the other faces in the train car. Many were sleeping, but a few roused and seemed to be getting the same texts I was. We strangers were glancing up from our phones to make eye contact confirming our growing anticipation and hopefulness.
* * *
The older woman across the aisle stood up and asked me where the bathrooms were. I told her they were just down the stairs and wondered if I should help her. We had spoken briefly earlier, enough to relay where we had come from, where we were going, and our mutual finger crossing for Obama. This woman, a black woman in her sixties at least, traveling alone to visit family, told me she was born and raised in Tennessee. I grew up not too far north of there. I knew enough of the history to understand what hardships must have accompanied her throughout her childhood. She made her way to the stairs and started down them before I could extract myself from my sleeping child. She didn’t seem to need my help.More texts came in, and the numbers my friends reported were high enough that Obama’s victory seemed inevitable. I looked around at the faces in the train car again, and the excitement was palpable. We looked questioningly at each other, wondering if we were getting the same numbers, and our smiles confirmed the good news. Then my phone rang.
“They called it. Obama won!” my husband exclaimed.
A man a few rows ahead of me burst out in excitement. He must have gotten a similar phone call. The news spread rapidly through the car, the man calling out the victory to those freshly waking.
The sleeping train car came alive! We could finally celebrate the victory. People cheered and hooted, and there were high fives, handshakes, and even some hugs. We laughed and sighed heavily with relief. It seemed that some were taking the first deep breath of their lives.
I thought of my friends in California, all hugging and celebrating, and while the joy in the train car was exciting, I still longed for home.
Eventually, we all began to settle into our seats, the rocking train lulling us back to a resting state. The elderly woman came back up the stairs and noticed the quieting energy. She sat down in her seat and asked me what happened.
“Obama won!” I told her. The giddiness was oozing from my voice. Her face flushed with surprise and happiness. She reached her hand out for mine, and I took it. We clasped hands for a moment, both of us with beautiful tears of joy in our eyes. We smiled at each other before pulling away and retreating to our own thoughts and inevitable sleep.
As my eyes drifted closed, I thought of my friends in California, celebrating, and no longer wished I was there. This moment was powerful, and I was in the perfect place.
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Anne Fricke is an author, performance poet, storyteller, podcaster, mother, and wife. She lives in far Northern California, writes daily, and travels when she can. Her newest book of poems, One Mother’s Revolution, is an attempt to make sense of the current state of the world through poetry. She shares her experience of raising a child with special needs, along with the stories of other parents on similar journeys, on her podcast Walking with Freya. |