« »


Trapped. Suspended in time. Waiting and waiting.

Trying to not check updates. More waiting and waiting. 

And then…

Trump is in the lead.

Sadness. Disbelief. Another 4 years of promoting hate. Another 4 years of feeling like I’m not part of the country I was born in. Another four years of making America great again for a select few. 

There is still hope. 

Trying not to mourn. But trying not to be too hopeful.

Waiting and waiting. 

Days go by. Trapped. 

Biden is close but not close. I can’t bear to check anymore.

I go for a run with my daughter. It feels good to run and laugh with my little girl in the stroller. I don’t check my phone. I just run and enjoy the moment.

We come back inside. 

Biden has won. 

I celebrate. I can’t believe it!

No, really. I can’t believe it. I’m too afraid of being disappointed to believe it. I check other news sources to be sure. Some aren’t calling it. Some are. 

I stop celebrating. 

Trapped again. Waiting again.

On Instagram, cities are rejoicing in the streets. Maybe it’s just those cities that are hopeful. I’m in the South. I know there will be no street celebrations here. I wait. I play with my daughter. I read. 

Again, more people on Instagram are celebrating.

Can I celebrate?

When Biden and Harris give their speeches, I finally rejoice with my entire heart. 

I tell my daughter that we have a new vice president, a woman. A woman of color. 

“Hi! I love you.” She hugs the phone. “Why is she not talking to me?” 

I say, “She is. She is talking to everyone.” 

Finally, my hope and heart soar.

3 responses to “Suspension”

  1. Avatar McKnight says:

    Your daughter hugging the picture of Kamala Harris, telling her “I love you” and thinking it was a video call is so poignant, thank you so much for sharing your memories.

  2. Avatar llxtm says:

    I love that you broke this down into a moment-by-moment reflection. I still remember the exact moment I heard Trump had beat Hillary–how devastated I was, how unbelieving and also, somehow, not even that surprised. I went to my (then 10YO) son and hugged him, crying. The moment is brandished in my mind, and probably in his too. Hopefully, it’s balanced by much more joyous moments in the years to come!

  3. fent11111 fent11111 says:

    You had me on edge 😀

    You nailed it with the title too. Perfect.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

« »
RSS | Contact | Contribute | Login
imee12 About imee12

Imee Cuison is a freelance writer, critical care nurse, script reader, and occasional professional (not glorified) furniture mover whose viewpoints encompass post-colonial musings, deconstruction of the commonplace, and making nonsense out of mole hills. She currently resides in Charleston, SC, otherwise known as the Holy City. Her work has appeared in Maganda Magazine, Psychic Meatloaf, and phati'tude Literary Magazine.

Read more by this author on 30POV .


January 2021
What We've Learned