64
I woke up in the gray predawn of five and rolled over, willing myself to fall back asleep. But it was no use. Not with the polls opening in a couple of short hours.
I brought Debbie and Robbie to the polling station with me, my parents meeting us there. They would take them home, and then I would join Michael and Stuart to drive around to different polling places throughout the day.
As we went to walk in, someone called my name. I turned around and was blinded by a flashbulb, then another. Then a third. There was a news camera there as well, the reporter holding a microphone out toward me.
I hadn’t expected that.
“Who are you voting for today, Beverly?” the one with the microphone asked.
I smoothed Debbie’s hair down and then looked up at the reporter. “Why, for Michael Landau of course,” I said with a big smile.
“Why?” another asked.
“Because he is the best choice to represent Maryland in the Senate,” I said. “To represent all the people of Maryland.” I saw a pop of color from the corner of my eye and turned slightly to see my parents walking toward us, my mother wearing an expression that said she was ready to revert to Millie the Magnificent if the reporters were harassing me. “Here’s my father, former congressman Bernie Gelman,” I said. “Why don’t you ask him who he is voting for today?”
“Representative Gelman,” a reporter called, and I took each child by the hand and led them to the polling center doors.
I knelt down to their level before we went inside. “Now this is a big day,” I told them. “Who knows why?”
“It’s Election Day,” Robbie said.
“Yeah, ’lex sin day,” Debbie echoed.
“Very good. And what does that mean?”
They both thought for a minute. “We get ice cream?” Robbie asked hopefully.
I smiled. “Yes. If you’re good. But it means today the adults choose who we want to represent us in the government. And who do we want?”
“Michael,” they said in unison.
“And why is that?”
“Because he gave us flags?”
I laughed and ruffled Robbie’s hair. “I suppose that’s the way to win a five-year-old’s vote. Come on. Let’s go see if Mama made history or not.”
Proudly brandishing their flags, the kids waved as they drove off with my parents. I would see them that evening, after the polls closed. We originally had planned to watch the news to find out the results at the office, but it turned out that all the volunteers wanted to be there as well, many with their families. So I arranged for the club to host us, and they agreed to provide televisions and refreshments. My parents refused to miss it as well, so the kids would be up late, despite it being a school night for Robbie. But I had fond memories of sitting on my father’s lap, waiting to hear if he had won or not, though I never made it to the end of the evening when I was little. I doubted Robbie and Debbie would either. Especially if it was close.
We went to four spots in Montgomery County, shaking hands and handing out flyers to people as they walked in, before making the drive up to Baltimore, where Michael was photographed with Helen, their hands clasped together triumphantly in the air in front of a sea of primarily Black and brown faces.
I leaned in to Stuart. “If they win, that’s the front page shot right there.”
“Maybe in ten years,” he said. “We’re not there yet.”
I felt my smile fading. He was right, of course. “Maybe sooner,” I mused. “If they win, they’ll make progress.”
He nodded. “No matter what, we gave it our best, didn’t we?”
“That we did.”
Stuart squinted at his watch. “Don’t get all sentimental now. We have to be in Bowie by four.” He started gesturing subtly at Michael.
“What time is it now?”
“Time for you to get a watch. Why don’t you have one anyway?”
“That’s a long story for another day.”
“We’ll have nothing but time after today.”
I looked over at him. “What are you going to do when this is over?”
His eyes were still on Michael. “Assuming we win, stay on as his chief of staff.” He glanced down at me. “Unless you’re planning to steal that job as well.”
I shook my head. “My only job title is mom, come tomorrow. Well, mostly. The Post ’s women’s section offered me a job.”
Stuart’s whole body turned toward me. “Really?”
“Writing a column about politics for women.”
He leaned away slightly, his arms crossed, then let out a whistle. “I couldn’t have dreamed up a better job for you if I tried.”
I grinned. “Why, Stuart Friedman, was that a compliment ?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Unless they expect you to turn it in typed. They’ll fire you in an hour if that’s the case.”
A huge, unladylike laugh bubbled out of me. “Never change,” I told him.
“I don’t intend to.”
I wrapped an arm around him in a side hug. He stiffened at first, then returned it.
“Well, you two look cozy,” Michael said, surprising us. “Don’t we have to be in Bowie by four?”
We just laughed.