Voting
The senator paused; her hands sweaty. There were those lawmakers who enjoyed giving speeches and making the decisions. Egoists, the lot of them.
She didn’t.
Backrooms. That’s what she loved. She liked the wheeling and dealing in backrooms. Her therapist said that she had crippling analysis paralysis. Watching how the bills got passed, seeing where the money went, and collecting favors and I.O.U.s from everyone who came across her.
She probably could have gotten any law she wanted passed based solely on the number o senators who owed her something.
It wasn’t a glamorous stint in public office, but who needed that anyway?
“We need a decision,” said Vermont.
All eyes were on her again. She had tried smiling and playing it off, but they just kept coming back to her.
“Your vote,” said South Dakota.
Her stomach began to churn. Her hands were clammy. She had to say something before the room started spinning. The words sputtered in her mouth.
“Come on, we’re split here.”
The words weren’t coming.
“Debbie,” she finally managed. New Mexico looked at her. “You owe me one.”
New Mexico nodded. “Sure.”
“You pick.”
Everyone groaned. She winced.
New Mexico looked puzzled, but shrugged. “Fine. Chimichangas it is.”
Michael Frutig 