You leave Ruby with your mother and you go inside to vote.
You usually vote by mail and it seems quaint and oddly intimate to be filling out your ballot in public. Even after you draw the curtain closed, you still feel exposed. The curtain makes you feel more exposed. You’re a Catholic at confession. You’re a teenage girl trying on prom dresses at the mall. You’re a pregnant mother in an open-backed hospital gown, waiting to give birth. You’re the Nurse in a high school production of Romeo and Juliet, standing in the wings. You’re an intern who slept with her boss and everyone found out.
Speaking of which, you dreamt of Aviva Grossman last night. In your dream, she was running for mayor of Miami. You went to her for advice. “Can I ask you something?” you said. “How did you ever survive that scandal?”
She said, “I refused to be shamed.”
“How did you do that?” you asked.
“When they came at me, I kept coming,” she said.
You pull back your shoulders. You button your suit jacket. You smooth your hair.
You find your name on the ballot and you choose.