Seven Hours in Hilary Clinton’s America
By: Kimberly Robinson
Tags: Hillary Clinton, Democratic Debate, Donald Trump, America, Elections

On the eve of the next Democratic debate, a brief look back at the last Presidential election.

Let me be clear: I didn’t like Hilary Clinton.

For one thing, I’m not a Democrat. Secondly, there were lots of Clinton’s policies that I disagreed with. Most importantly, though, I just didn’t like her as a person. That is, I didn’t actually know her as a person, but I was put off by how she came across in interviews. As a feminist myself, I hesitate to call another woman “strident”, but that’s the only word that comes to mind with her.

The reason I got up before dawn on an Election Day that turned out to be much colder than I thought to vote for Hilary Clinton wasn’t due to affinity or affection. The reason I voted for her was desperation. The thought of Donald Trump as President was, to me, both laughable and apocalyptic. Unlike most Americans, as a New Yorker, I had suffered having this man in the public eye for decades. I didn’t follow his antics closely; I was too busy living my life. But, you couldn’t live in this city without hearing his slightly nasal Queens twang blaring from a radio where he was being interviewed by Howard Stern and, every so often, the papers would record him complaining about one thing or another. And, of course, I can never forget the huge spread of Trump and his first wife, back when his nickname was “The Donald” and not “The Orange One”, “The Occupant of the Oval Office” or, most notably, “Individual One”. I still come over queasy when I think back to all the gold in that penthouse. It looked like someone strapped a suicide vest to King Midas and detonated it.

Clinton, I felt, had an entitled attitude. She’d worked so hard, she’d waited so long, she’d suffered so much. She deserved it — she felt. Well, no honey. No one made you stay in the shadow of a cheating husband all these years. There was no gun to your head. You just decided to play it safe. Clinton also wanted it too badly. She slavered like Pavlov’s dog every time the Presidency was mentioned. I don’t trust anyone who longs for power that much.

On the other hand, Clinton also had experience. She was a Senator (a carpetbagger, yes, but still); she was Secretary of State. I thought that was a solid footing from which to climb up to the Oval Office. The thought of giving the most important job in the world to someone with no political or foreign policy experience whatsoever was beyond conceivable to me.

I only had one vote but I wasn’t going to let someone I considered a bloviating buffoon win the election, if I could help it.

I thought I’d gotten out of the house early on Election Day but I quickly found out that everyone else in my neighborhood had the same idea I did. The school they had converted into a polling place had a chain of human bodies wrapped around the building and up the block. Everyone was shivering, grim-faced and silent. Even the small children who had been dragged out in the cold by their parents seem to sense the gravity of the moment.

The less said of the disorganization of that voting location, the better. The bottom line is that I voted. I hopped in a cab as the sun started to show itself in a muted, blush orange behind several buildings. I felt satisfied. No one hates getting up early more than I do, but I knew this election was too important to put off until after work. I’d be too tired then, I’d make excuses and just go home. And, then, I’d never forgive myself.

I tried to listen to the coverage that night on NPR, but the early start that morning caught up with me. I felt myself being dragged down into the inky darkness of sleep. I just couldn’t stay awake to wait for all of the returns.

“I’m sure she won,” I said to myself. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

I turned over on my side and slept.

Around two o’clock in the morning, I woke up because of faint beep. A family friend had texted me. No words, just a single emoji: a smiley face.

My entire body relaxed and I sighed in relief. “She won.” I smiled to myself and I fell back asleep.

Several hours later, I woke up fully and realized that my cell phone was upside down. It was a smiley face. It wasn’t a smiley face, at all.

I opened my phone to the news. Donald Trump had won. I went to sleep in one America and woke up in an America that was completely different, a country I never thought I’d live in.

Beyond my control, I covered my mouth and started keening, rocking back in forth. “No, no. Please God, oh no. This can’t be happening.”

My bed is next to the wall that I share with the next apartment. I knew they could hear me. Any minute now, I thought, they’re going to call the police. I sounded like I’m being raped and murdered.

There are a very few times in my life that I have been absolutely out of control. It’s one of the benefits of being a Type A personality. But, I had no control that morning. I wailed. I wailed like a mother seeing her innocent son die on a cross.

I wouldn’t have been happy under a Clinton Administration. That would be going too far. But she, was, I felt, a known quantity. With Trump, I felt that the keys to Gotham City had just been handed over to the Joker.

I think about that day and that night and that next morning a lot, now. I think about it more than I have over the past three years because we are already knee deep into the next election. A little over a year from now, I don’t know what kind of America I will wake up to, then. It makes me afraid to sleep and even more afraid to dream.