Homecoming Queen

 Homecoming Queen 

The phone rings. I make the mistake of answering it.
     “Ted!”
     “Yeah,” meaning “yes, it is.”
     “It’s Nils!”
     “Yeah,” meaning “yes i know.”
     “Long time!”
     “Yeah,” meaning “yes, it has been.”

“Listen,” he says: “Are you going to vote?”
     “For what?” I know, but I ask.
     “Governor. All that stuff. But especially governor,” he says, but he is already losing patience with me.
     “Roz is. And Uncle Albert registered back in the summer.
     “But you ... ?”
     “So, I was going to say: ‘I don’t need to.’”
     “You do! It’s going to be tight!”
     “It’s not something ... ,” I start, not knowing how I’m going to finish. But then: “I don’t vote. I’m not competent.”
     “Are you registered?”
     “It’s not going to be tight anyway.” And I pause, “Uh,” as if I’m going on though I’m not.

“Are you ... ?” Nils starts again.
     “Yeah,” meaning “yes i am” “registered.”
     “Then?”
     “When I was competent I did,” I say.

“But who would you vote for?” Nils says.
     “Who’s running?” I know that, too, but I ask.
     “Come on!”
     “I don’t know,” I say as if I didn’t. Then, “There’s the money guy and the money guy, right? – the one that has the money and the one that raises money, right?” I say “right?” again.
     “Okay. So, yeah. Let’s say ‘Yeah.’ Which?”
     “I don’t know. That’s where I’m incompetent. I can’t see the difference.”

“What?” he’s not screaming because he’s stopping himself because I’m not competent – he knows that – and he doesn’t want to rile me. (Not that I get riled; I’m famous for not getting riled.)* “Between Trump and non-Trump you don’t see any difference?”
     “Wait,” I say, but he doesn’t.
     “Or, ‘What has Trump got to do with this?’ – are you saying that?”
     “I wasn’t,” I say, “but go ahead.”
     “Because Trump has to do with everything.”
     “Is he God now?”

I think he is going to say, “There is no God and there is Trump.” Or, he’s going to say, “God is dead; that fucker is still with us.” Or something like one of those. But he doesn’t. He says,
     “No, not exactly. But maybe he is the opposite!”
     “So the money guy is the devil?” I say.

                                                          10.25.21
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* Until I do, but then I don’t really. I don’t yell or scream or anything like that. I just go into another room. Then from there I go to bed.