Writ & Whimsy

I almost cried when I went to vote today. I know we’ve all felt this way at times when attempting to do our civic duty, but no, it didn’t have anything to do with the political state of our country. There were no long lines, or malfunctioning machines — although there was a moment of mild embarrassment when I initially failed to realize there was both a municipal place seven and a school board place seven on the ballot. No, all of that was smooth sailing.

The poll worker was probably Catholic. She had on a tiny, silver Bible shaped locket with a little cross on the front and a short gray grandmotherly haircut. She took my ID and had me sign the sticker with my full name on it. She signed the necessary spaces and checked the necessary boxes. When everything was in order she said “All right Rachel Gayle you’re good to go.” and handed my my ballot.

Nobody has referred to me by my first and middle name together like that in a long time. My mother does occasionally, but my Grandma and Grandpa, and my Aunt Laura, relatives who have years since passed away, all used to called me that often. The startling poignancy of my name expressed like that took my breath away. Tears threatened to well up as I looked around for an available booth. I’d forgotten what it felt like, to hear those words, so strongly associated with people who loved and adored me. It was almost like hearing their voices again, like touching an old memory.

To be sure, there are people in my life like that still, but we speak a different dialect of love than that that one. I pulled myself back to the present, and finished voting, but I will continue to meditate on that taste of something lost for a good while now. So thank you to the poll worker who checked me in today. For helping me do my civic duty, and for stirring the sweet memory that reminds me what it’s all about.