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kfh-fiction · 7 months

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The Fan - Chapter 1

November 8, 2016 - Lea

My wall was decked out with a Hilary for president sign and a “Love Trumps Hate” sign, along with posters from other campaigns I’d been involved with. The newest addition to my wall, though not political, was from last week, when my favorite baseball team, the Brooklyn Chargers, won the World Series. Hopefully, I’d soon have Hilary Rodman victory posters to put on the wall.

Before Barack Obana was elected president eight years ago, the country was in the midst of two wars and the worst economic crisis in a century. Over the past eight years, unemployment had dropped, the Affordable Care Act had passed and marriage equality had become a reality. But there was still more to be done and I was sure Hilary Rodman would continue that progress. The warmer-than-usual-for-November weather felt like a good omen for things to come.

As an individual, my life had been full of ups and downs over the past eight years. The first campaign I’d really been actively involved with was Obana’s, when I was a high school senior, too young to vote by one year. So I spent my weekends at the Obana office making phone calls, stuffing envelopes and entering data. I did this again for his re-election campaign four years ago.

Then college started. It was a disaster. My whole life, I’d struggled with anxiety and depression, and the large college campus with lots of people and lots of noise didn’t mesh well with my anxiety. I’d never done well on exams, and since exams were such a big part of college, my grades were consistently low. At least in high school, even though I hadn’t been close to very many people, there were a lot of people who I liked who I also thought liked me. I struggled to make friends and I’d struggled with exams my whole life. After three and a half years, I decided to take a break and got a retail job. After two and a half years at the retail job, I’d gone back to college. While I was doing better this time around, it was hard balancing school and work and the exams were still giving me trouble. I was doing homework on the bus between school and work so that I had more free time during my limited time at home. I didn’t even get to do as much volunteering for Hilary’s campaign as I would have liked.

There had been one bright spot during my first college stint: I started watching the TV show Glee as a freshman, and as a sophomore, I began writing fanfiction about the Finn/Rachel pairing, or Finchel, as it was known. I’d made friends online through my fanfiction writing and gotten all sorts of positive comments. Finchel had gotten me through my early college struggles, my trouble with finding a job before I got the retail job I had now, through anxiety and depression spells... then the actor who played Finn died, and the writers killed Finn rather than hiring a new actor or giving Finchel an offscreen happy ending. That had been devastating for me, but the Hilary Rodman campaign and the Chargers World Series win helped me feel better about the loss of Finchel. I looked at my wall, where I still had a Finchel poster, right next to the Chargers World Series Champions poster.

The first thing I saw when I turned on the TV was the Republican presidential nominee, Donald Drumpf. Just the sight of the obese man, with the overdone spray tan and the blonde hair that looked fake, made me cringe. Drumpf was a bully, narcissistic, immature, ignorant, racist, homophobic, sexist, anti-Islamic, anti-immigrant and anti-disabled. He constantly threatened and mocked people. He had no experience.

I remembered the day I’d been at the gym and seen Drumpf mock a disabled reporter and asked the person on the bike next to mine how anyone could support someone like that. I remembered watching TV the day after the Democratic National Convention and Drumpf had attacked a Gold Star Family who’d spoken on Hilary’s behalf. I remembered leaving class one day and a classmate told me that a recording had surfaced of Drumpf talking about how he could just “grab (women) by the pussy.”

Yet, the horrible things Drumpf said were garnering more and more attention, and no matter how horrible the thing he said was, it couldn’t lose him supporters.

But Hilary was up in the polls. She did better in the debates. She had more endorsements. Even a few Republicans were backing her, or at least refusing to back their own nominee. And although I was worried, all the prediction markets were predicting that she would win.

I scrolled through my social media feeds. Most of the people I followed were posting pro-Hilary statuses. One thing stood out - a post from my favorite player on the Chargers, Colton Krenshaw, encouraging people to get out and vote. I felt a connection to all the Chargers because they made up the team I loved watching, but he was definitely my favorite. He was one of the best players in the league, a great catcher and a great hitter, yet he was very humble. He did a lot of great work in the community. I’d wanted the World Series title for all of them, but especially for him. I’d met him a few times and he’d always made me feel special and so appreciated.

My thoughts were interrupted when CNN announced their first calls. They were calling Indiana and Kentucky for Drumpf and Vermont for Hilary. Drumpf had 19 electoral votes and Hilary had 3. Oh well, the states Hilary was expected to do well in weren’t closing until later. She would win this election, right? After all, in 2008 and 2012, Obana was behind at first because of the states that closed early and won by a huge margin.

My computer beeped. I had a new email. Another failed exam. I’d never been very good at school. I wasn’t sure what it was, but no matter how hard I tried, I never managed to pass exams. Every time I took an exam, it went the same way. I’d go into the test-taking room in Iowa University’s disability service office with those stupid sight blockers surrounding the desk. My mind would go blank when I was handed the exam, and no matter how hard I studied, all the information would be forgotten when it was handed to me. The time seemed to pass slowly, but in reality, it would go by quickly. I wasn’t even sure how I’d gotten into IU, which was supposed to be the best university in the state, after three and a half years of doing poorly at another state school. Maybe because of my essay about my history with anxiety and depression and how I was able to live with them.

The 8 p.m. polls closed. Hilary won New Jersey, Massachusetts, Delaware and Maryland and had 44 electoral votes now. She was up by 10 points in Ohio, up by 7 in North Carolina, up by 7 in New Hampshire and up by 1 in Florida. This was amazing! Maybe all those panic attacks and sleepless nights had been for nothing. Hilary was winning. Drumpf had picked up West Virginia and Oklahoma, but Hilary wouldn’t have won those states anyway.

The deep south polls were starting to close. Now Drumpf had picked up Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee and South Carolina. He had 66 electoral votes to Hilary’s 48, as she’d only just picked up Rhode Island. But she was still up in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Michigan, North Carolina and New Hampshire... couldn’t the networks just call these states for her? My heart was starting to beat fast.

I remembered when I went to go see Hilary speak about a month ago. I’d barely slept the night before because I was so excited and went pacing around my apartment in hopes of wearing myself out to get some sleep, but that didn’t work. I got to the rally’s location, IU’s football stadium, early so I could get a good place in line. It had been a long wait. There had been lots of people and they’d played loud music. I didn’t like crowds, noise or music at all, so that hadn’t been pleasant. I wanted to go to a quiet place to wait, but I knew if I did, I’d lose my place in line and not get a good glimpse of Hilary.

More than once, I found myself wondering if it would be worth it. What if I couldn’t even see her from where I was standing, and if people were standing too close to me, and the music got too loud?

Once Hilary came out, it was all worth it. I had an amazing seat in the 100,000-seat stadium and didn’t need to look at the projector to see her at the podium. She was even more impressive in person than she was on television and online. I didn’t think it was possible for someone in such a stressful position to have so much energy and be so happy, but there Hilary was, in her signature pantsuits, talking about all her ideas for the country. It made all the difficult times I had gone through worth it.

Wait. What was happening now? Why were Hilary’s leads in the swing states shrinking? Now Drumpf was up in Wisconsin, Michigan, New Hampshire, Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Ohio - and Iowa. Iowa. My home state. The state I’d done so much work in. Yes, Hilary had just won a few states and had 104 electoral votes now. She’d picked up Illinois and Connecticut, and to my surprise, she had won New York, Trump’s home state. But he had 129 thanks to Arkansas, Texas, North and South Dakota, Nebraska and Kansas and was halfway to 270. That didn’t even take into account all the swing states he was up in. This was bad.

I was strongly reminded of Election Night 2004. I’d been a thirteen-year-old at my parents’ house. My family was optimistic that John Carey would become president and my parents had a party snack tray for me and my brother, who was six at the time. My parents had also gotten us each a map to color in as the states were called - blue for the Democratic states, red for the Republican ones. There were times when John Carey had a lead, like Hilary Rodman had less than an hour ago. But the clock ticked on that night, and I’d colored more states in red than in blue.

Eventually, I felt like I could fall asleep on the couch in the living room, but I’d wanted to stay up so I could be there when the news anchors announced my idol had been elected president. At around midnight, my parents sent me to bed. I had school in the morning. That morning, it was revealed that the incumbent president had won the election. I couldn’t remember that morning well, but I did remember breaking down crying at school and losing motivation to do anything. I remembered stabbing myself with my mother’s knitting needles with plans to kill myself because I didn’t want to continue to live in a world with George Walker as president. I remembered the trip to the ER after I’d been caught and being lectured by a psychiatrist about how self-harming and suicide weren’t the answer, that he wouldn’t be president forever and that things would get better.

The night before that election, I had gone to see John Carey speak, and it had been absolutely incredible. Back in 2004, my struggles with school were beginning and I basically had no friends, had just been diagnosed with anxiety and was even having trouble with figure skating. But one thing made me smile - the Carey campaign. I’d gone to his website every day to watch videos of his campaign events and his ads and had been convinced he’d defeat the incumbent president and put a stop to the Iraq war that I thought was pointless.

That hadn’t happened. But certainly the United States had learned something, right? They wouldn’t elect someone even worse than George Walker, would they?

My phone went off. It was a text from my dad. “This is bad.”

My parents had a feeling this wasn’t good either. They’d reassured me a lot when I talked to them about my fears about the election. If they thought it was bad, it must be bad. I replied to the text. “I’m scared.”

My dad texted back. “Germany survived Hitler. Russia survived Stalin.”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that. Millions of Jews died under Hitler. The people who survived were the people who didn’t have to be afraid in the first place. I knew I probably wouldn’t be alive without my antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, which were covered by Obana’s healthcare plan. If Drumpf won, he’d certainly repeal that plan, and my anxiety and depression would probably kill me.

I felt like I was going to throw up. I ran to the bathroom and tried to throw up, but nothing came out. I wanted to cry. It wasn’t over yet. But these leads weren’t going away. Drumpf had picked up Montana, Wyoming and Louisiana and was more than halfway there now at 140, and had added leads in Georgia and Nevada. Hilary had leads in Minnesota, Colorado and New Mexico, but that wouldn’t be enough.

My phone went off with another text from my dad. “We have each other. That’s what matters most.”

I considered calling my parents, but often they got annoyed when I had one of my freakouts. I hated my freakouts, too. I always hated them. But I needed support during them. Still, it wasn’t fair to burden my parents. I was an adult now. I couldn’t force myself on them. I started crying now, not even bothering trying to stop myself.

My roommate had gone to a bar with friends to watch the results, so I was at the apartment alone and didn’t have to worry about my roommate hearing me. I was sure there were green boogers on my face. My stomach hurt and I could barely see clearly. This was one of the extreme ones, ones that regularly happened after the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, ones I didn’t even bother trying to stop because they came anyway. This was a mixture of the physical and emotional extremes, not just the extreme thoughts, fast heartbeats, soreness, chest pain, saying bizarre things, and inability to stay still that usually led to pacing around wherever I was at the time when I had my more mild freakouts. All I could do now was hope that things got better - and cry. I was lucky the people in the apartment upstairs didn’t hear me. It was dark and rainy outside, as if that was an omen for bad things to come. My phone went off with a text from my mom. “Do you want to come home for a few days?”

My parents seemed to think this was over. Whenever I talked to them about my fears about the election, they talked about how they were sure Hilary would win. Did they really believe that? I replied to the text. “I can’t put my life on hold.”

I logged on to her computer again. The people I followed were getting nervous, too. There were lots of “I’m nervous” and “why is this happening” type posts rather than the earlier posts of anticipation and optimism.

These posts made things even more confusing. Practically everyone I knew was voting for Hilary. From the town I’d grown up in, to college, to my various jobs, I’d spent most of my life in liberal settings. But posts didn’t get people elected, signs didn’t get people elected, endorsements didn’t get people elected. All that mattered was who got out to vote. Drumpf’s supporters called themselves the “silent majority.” Maybe that was what they really were. They didn’t talk about it or put up signs or put posts on social media, but they did go to the ballot box and vote. I’d done whatever work I could fit into my busy schedule, as had so many people in other swing states, but that hadn’t been enough, clearly. I wished I could have done more.

Now I got another text, from my brother, Johnny. “Love you!”

Iowa was called for Trump. I collapsed to the floor, feeling like I was having a heart attack now and sure I’d have a carpet burn soon. Iowa, the state I’d worked so hard in for the past three presidential elections. I got out my phone and texted my parents and brother: “I’m just so sad.” What else was there to say? I was more than sad. I was terrified. I was angry. I was hurt. I was sick.

The 11 p.m. polls closed, and Hilary added Washington, Oregon, California and Hawaii to her column. But this all likely wouldn’t be enough. The leads in the swing states weren’t going away, and the red Iowa stood out like a blister. Why? Why was this happening? How had all those polls been so off?

I saw that I had new text messages from my parents and brother. I wasn’t going to burden them right now. If I talked to anyone, I’d likely start hyperventilating and crying. I couldn’t believe I was watching someone I looked up to being beaten by who I thought was the worst person I’d even seen.

In a way, I could believe this was happening. The people and things I was a fan of ALWAYS went up in smoke. The one exception was the Chargers winning the World Series last week. Of course there was what happened with John Carey twelve years ago. Three years ago, Finchel had been destroyed. After both the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, I had been furious and depressed, not wanting to do much of anything and spending much of my time crying in my room. My family and friends hadn’t understood why I was so upset. I was attached to the people and things I was a fan of because I had so much trouble forming close relationships, but people didn’t get that. It only made sense that Hilary Rodman would meet the same fate as other things I loved.

Florida was called for Drumpf. Colorado and Nevada were called for Hilary, but Drumpf was still up in electoral votes. Even worse, the gaps in the swing states were shrinking. Now Georgia and Ohio were called for Trump. Would any of the swing states come through? Hilary was up in New Hampshire, but that was only four electoral votes.

Time passed. The news anchors were supposed to be bipartisan, but I could tell they were confused too, and scared. The country was at risk. My feeds on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter were full of posts of panic, posts about how Hilary didn’t deserve this and how it was unfair that all of Obana’s progress would be undone.

Then Pennsylvania was called for Drumpf. He had 264 electoral votes now. Only six more were needed. This was over. He would definitely win Alaska, which was three, meaning Hilary had to win all the states that hadn’t been called yet, and Drumpf had leads in Arizona, Michigan and Wisconsin.

It was clear to me now. The universe didn’t want me to be happy. Every time I was happy, a huge blow came and destroyed it. Sure, there were periods of my life where I’d managed myself well enough, but I was tired of this. I was tired of anxiety. I was tired of depression. I was tired of Colton being with Helen. I was tired of the things I liked getting ruined. I was tired of failed exam after failed exam. I was tired of being on my feet all day at my retail job and still being criticized there for every little thing. I was tired of Drumpf.

But I wouldn’t be getting rid of Drumpf. Alaska was called for him and so was Arizona. He’d won.

The internet was appalled - well, the people I followed on the internet were appalled. But clearly, there were people out there who weren’t appalled. People thought all the horrible things he said and did were okay. Hilary wasn’t perfect, but who was? This was so disgusting, so sickening, so upsetting. I didn’t want to deal with it. It hadn’t even happened yet and I was tired of it. I was tired of Drumpf.

And maybe it would all be better if it was just all over. I was going to die if Drumpf repealed Obana’s health care act, which he certainly would. Maybe I should just get it over with and not have to suffer through the Drumpf presidency. I scribbled a note to leave on my dresser that I couldn’t live in a world where Drumpf was president. I headed to my car. The night felt endless. I wanted to drive and didn't care where I ended up, only for there to be an end.

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kfhfiction · 7 months

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November 8, 2016 - Lea

I turned on the TV in my bedroom, feeling cautiously optimistic about what was to come. It was Election Night of 2016 and I’d spent the past year working for Hilary Rodman, a candidate who I’d really liked from her time as First Lady, then as a Senator, and finally as Secretary of State. She fought for things I believed in, like abortion rights, better education, affordable health care, strong international relations, marriage equality, gun control, and building more jobs. So I was thrilled when she decided to run for president and got involved in her campaign right away. My wall was decked out with a Hilary for President sign and a “Love Trumps Hate” sign, along with posters from other campaigns I’d been involved with. The newest addition to my wall, though not political, was from last week, when my favorite baseball team, the Cleveland Spiders, won the World Series. Hopefully, I’d soon have Hilary Rodman victory posters to put on the wall.

Before Barack Obana was elected president eight years ago, the country was in the midst of two wars and the worst economic crisis in a century. Over the past eight years, unemployment had dropped, the Affordable Care Act had been passed that gave more Americans health care and marriage equality had become a reality. But there was still more to be done and I was sure Hilary Rodman would continue that progress. The warmer-than-usual-for-November weather felt like a good omen for things to come.

There was one bright spot of my first stint of college: I started watching the TV show Glee as a freshman, and as a sophomore, I began writing fanfiction about the Finn/Rachel pairing, or Finchel, as it was known. I’d made friends online through her fanfiction writing and gotten all sorts of positive comments. Finchel had gotten me through my early college struggles, my trouble with finding a job before I got the retail job I had now, through anxiety and depression spells... then the actor who played Finn died, and instead of recasting and continuing the story, the writers killed Finn rather than hiring a new actor or giving Finchel an offscreen happy ending. That had been devastating for me, but the Hilary Rodman campaign and the Spiders World Series win helped me feel better about the loss of Finchel. I looked at my wall, where I still had a Finchel poster, right next to the Spiders World Series Champions poster.

Yet, the horrible things Drumpf said were garnering more and more attention, and no matter how horrible the thing he said was, it couldn’t lose him supporters.

I scrolled through my social media feeds. Most of the people I followed were posting pro-Hilary statuses. One thing stood out - a post from my favorite player on the Spiders, Cory Hudson, encouraging people to get out and vote. I felt a connection to all the Spiders because they made up the team I loved watching, but he was definitely my favorite. He was one of the best players in the league, a great catcher and a great hitter, yet he was very humble. He did a lot of great work in the community. I’d wanted the World Series title for all of them, but especially for him. I’d met him a few times and he’d always made me feel special and so appreciated.

In the photo with Cory was his wife, Haley. I didn’t like her at all. She reminded me of the mean girls I’d gone to school with and of the girls from the religious cult whose meetings I briefly went to in college to meet new people. Haley always seemed smug and full of herself in interviews and on social media and was constantly spouting religious bullshit. It was clear from the book they’d written together that she’d manipulated him into being with her because his dad had left, his mom had to work late a lot and she let him spend lots of time at his house. He often came off as being uncomfortable with her when they made joint appearances. He’d always been so sweet when I met him and I knew fans who she’d been rude to. He’d had to apologize to those fans for her behavior. I didn’t understand why someone like him was with someone like her.

I remembered when she went to go see Hilary speak about a month ago. I’d barely slept the night before because I was so excited and went pacing around my apartment in hopes of wearing myself out to get some sleep, but that didn’t work. I got to the rally’s location, IU’s football stadium, early so I could get a good place in line. It had been a long wait. There had been lots of people and they’d played loud music. I didn’t like crowds, noise or music at all, so that hadn’t been pleasant. I wanted to go to a quiet place to wait, but I knew if I did, I’d lose my place in line and not get a good glimpse of Hilary. More than once, I found myself wondering if it would be worth it.

Once Hilary came out, it was all worth it. I had an amazing seat in the 100,000 seat stadium and didn’t need to look at the projector to see her at the podium. She was even more impressive in person than she was on television and online. I didn’t think it was possible for someone in such a stressful position to have so much energy and be so happy, but there Hilary was, in her signature pantsuits, talking about all her ideas for the country. It made all the difficult times I had gone through worth it.

The night before that election, I had gone to see John Carey speak, and it had been absolutely incredible. Back in 2004, my struggles with school were beginning and I basically had no friends, had just been diagnosed with anxiety and was even having troubles with ice skating. But one thing made me smile - the Carey campaign. I’d gone to his website every day to watch videos of his campaign events and his ads and had been convinced he’d defeat the incumbent president and put a stop to the Iraq war that I thought was pointless.

That hadn’t happened. But certainly the United States had learned something, right? They wouldn’t elect someone even worse than George Walker, would they?

My phone went off. It was a text from my dad. “This is bad.”

My dad texted back. “Germany survived Hitler. Russia survived Stalin.”

My phone went off with another text from my dad. “We have each other. That’s what matters most.”

These posts made things even more confusing. Practically everyone I knew was voting for Hilary. From the town I’d grown up in, to college, to my various jobs, I’d spent most of my life in liberal settings. But posts didn’t get people elected, signs didn’t get people elected, endorsements didn’t get people elected. All that mattered was who got out to vote. Drumpf’s supporters called themselves the “silent majority.” Maybe that was what they really were. They didn’t talk about it or put up signs or put posts on social media, but they did go to the ballot box and vote. I’d done whatever work I could fit into my schedule, as had so many people in other swing states, but that hadn’t been enough, clearly. I wished I could have done more.

Now I got another text, from my brother, Johnny. “Love you!”

Iowa was called for Drumpf. I collapsed to the floor, feeling like I was having a heart attack now and sure I’d have a carpet burn soon. Iowa, the state I’d worked so hard in for the past three presidential elections. I got out my phone and texted my parents and brother: “I’m just so sad.” What else was there to say? I was more than sad. I was terrified. I was angry. I was hurt. I was sick.

In a way, I could believe this was happening. The people and things I was a fan of ALWAYS went up in smoke. The one exception was the Spiders winning the World Series last week. Of course there was what happened with John Carey twelve years ago. Three years ago, Finchel had been destroyed. After both the 2004 election and the loss of Finchel, I had been furious and depressed, not wanting to do much of anything and spending much of my time crying in my room. My family and friends hadn’t understood why I was so upset. I was attached to the people and things I was a fan of because I had so much trouble forming close relationships, but people didn’t get that. It only made sense that Hilary Rodman would meet the same fate as other things I loved.

The time passed. The news anchors were supposed to be bipartisan, but I could tell they were confused too, and scared. The country was at risk. My feeds on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter were full of posts of panic, posts about how Hilary didn’t deserve this and how it was unfair that all of Obana’s progress would be undone.

It was clear to me now. The universe didn’t want me to be happy. Every time I was happy, a huge blow came and destroyed it. Sure, there were periods of my life where I’d managed myself well enough, but I was tired of this. I was tired of anxiety. I was tired of depression. I was tired of Cory choosing Haley over me. I was tired of the things I liked getting ruined. I was tired of failed exam after failed exam. I was tired of being on my feet all day at my retail job and still being criticized there for every little thing. I was tired of Drumpf.

But I wouldn’t be getting rid of Drumpf. Alaska was called for him and so was Arizona. He’d won.

And maybe it would all be better if it was just all over. I was going to die if Drumpf repealed Obana’s health care act, which he certainly would. Maybe I should get it over with and not suffer through the Drumpf presidency. I scribbled a note to leave on my dresser that I couldn’t live in a world where Drumpf was president and headed to my car. The night felt endless. I wanted to drive and didn't care where I ended up, only for there to be an end.

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