You can note varying degrees of respect in a person’s voice when they talk about a particular U.S. president. For some presidents, the degree is nonexistent, the tone more like contempt. For others, the name is turned into something magical and inspiring, filling you with the same feeling you’re supposed to get when you look at a red, white, and blue American flag: pride and hope. Such was the case with the Lawrence Hamilton presidency—the administration started by Matt’s father several terms ago.
My own father, who until then had supported the opposite party, soon became a staunch Democratic supporter, swayed by President Hamilton’s charisma. The man’s incredible connection with people spread across not just the nation but overseas, improving our international relations. I was eleven when I was first introduced to Hamilton’s legendary charm.
Matt Hamilton, in his teens when his dad began his first term, had everything, his future bright. I, on the other hand, was still very much a girl, with no idea who I was or where I was going.
Over a decade later, even now I struggle with the sense of failure of having not lived up to something important. A meaningful job and a guy that I loved, those were things I wanted. My parents wanted more from me, politics. I went into social services instead. But no matter how many people I’ve helped, how much I’ve told myself that being an adult only means that I will be in my prime to really make a difference, I cannot help but feel like I not only didn’t live up to what my parents wanted for me. But what I wanted for myself.
Because at this very moment as we wait for the next President of the United States to be announced, both of those dreams of mine hang in the air—and I’m afraid when the results come in, they will both vanish my hopes into nothing.
I wait silently as the men create conversation, Matt’s voice reaching me occasionally.
Ignoring him feels impossible, but it’s all I can manage today.
The suite is grand, decorated to appeal to the tastes of those who can afford rooms that cost a thousand dollars a night. The kind of hotel to offer mints on your pillows and they have been extra hospitable to us, because Matt’s a celebrity. They’ve gone as far as to send up yogurt pretzels, after the press made sure everyone knew they’re his favorite.
There was even a bottle of champagne being chilled. Matt asked one of the campaign aides to remove it from the room. Everyone was surprised, they all felt that it meant Matt thought they’d lost the election.
I know that’s not the case, instinctively. I simply know if the results are not what he hoped for, he won’t want that cool champagne sitting there, a reminder of his loss.
Leaving Jack on the couch, he restlessly stalks across the room and takes a seat beside his campaign manager by the window, and he lights a cigarette. Memories play in my head. Of my lips circling the same cigarette that was on his lips.
I watch Jack, his warm puppy eyes and lightly wagging tail, to avoid looking at him. The dog raises his head on alert as Mark walks into the room, breathless, eyes wide, as if he cannot believe whatever it is that just happened—or is happening. He informs the room that the count is in. And as he announces the name of the next President of the United States of America, Matt’s gaze locks with mine.
One look.
One second.
One name.
I close my eyes and duck my head upon hearing the news, the sense of loss overwhelming me.
2
AND MATTHEW IS HOW I’VE THOUGHT OF YOU FOR YEARS
Charlotte
Ten months earlier …
Ever since I started working full time, my days seem to have gotten longer and my evenings shorter. As I’ve grown older, big gatherings have lost much of their former appeal? while letting loose among small groups of friends is something I now very much enjoy. I’m having a birthday today, and our booth holds my best friend Kayla, her boyfriend Sam, myself, and Alan, a sort of a friend/suitor and the one who insisted I celebrate at least for a little while tonight.
“You’re twenty-two today, baby,” Kayla says as she raises her cocktail glass in my direction. “I hope now you will finally drag your ass out to vote in next year’s presidential election.”
I groan, the options so far nothing to get excited about. The current struggling and unlikeable president who is up for a second term? Or the opposite party candidates, some who are just too hard to take seriously considering the radical ideology they’re embracing. Sometimes it feels like they’re just saying the craziest thing that comes to mind to snatch themselves some airtime.
“It’d be exciting if Matt Hamilton stepped up,” Sam adds.
My drink sloshes over my sweater at the mention of him.
“He has my vote on automatic,” Sam continues.
“Really?” Kayla quirks a saucy eyebrow and keeps on hitting the tequila. “Charlotte knows Hammy.”
I scoff and quickly wipe away the damp spot on my sweater. “I do not, I really do not,” I assure the guys, then shoot a scowl Kayla’s way. “I don’t know where you get that.”
“I got that from you.”