Election Night

The Obama family sat watching an old Seinfeld re-run on the TV.  A hotel room had become synonymous with home for the incumbent President.  He spent the last 7 months in the air, on the road, talking a fire halls and Veteran’s Hospitals and all manner of diners.  It was good to just sit.  He tussled Sasha’s hair as she texted her friends.  “What’cha hearing out there baby?  Any good news?”  The polls were looking good.  Very good so far.  CBS, NBC, CNN and HuffPo all had the Chicago native projected to win.

“Daddy none of my friends really care if you win.  They’re just mad The Voice isn’t on tonight.”

“Hey, I’ll be glad when it’s over too,” Barack said, patting his daughter’s back.

“You mean, when you win,” Michelle chimed in.

“Oh yes,” he said.  “I definitely want to win and am going to win.”

He looked at Malia.  She was 14 years old.  Going to be driving soon.  She’ll need a Secret Service Agent to take her to the DMV.

David Axlerod, chief campaign advisor rushed in from the other room.  “Mr. President,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.  “I have Mitt Romney on the phone.”

The President picked up the Blackberry.  He sighed.   If he never exchanged another word with Mitt Romney, it’d be too soon.

“Hi there Governor.”

“Good evening Mr. President,” said a crackled voice over the phone.  Romney was in Dallas or Salt Lake City or God Knows Where. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your campaign.  I’m conceding New Mexico and the election.”


“Really?”  Obama said.  There was a brief silence.   “Well, thanks Mitt, I guess.”

“Goodbye, Mr. President.  And congratulations.”  The phone went silent.

Obama took a deep breath. He exhaled through his nostrils and shook his head slightly.  He looked at his family and then back at a stack of papers.  He had to sign an executive order, look over some recent fatality statistics from Afghanistan, and review a recent Supreme Court briefing on why police can’t use dogs to search a private residence without a warrant or some bullcrap.  He’ll probably need to release a statement about it sometime next week.

“Well?”  Malia asked her dad.  “What happened?”

The President looked at his family.  “I won.”  His face curdled in disgust.  “Goddamn it!”