Janet had a choice to make. Would she wear the T-shirt that said, “What’s so funny about peace, love, and understanding?” or would she put on the one that said, “Trump is a scab.” It wasn’t a hard choice. The election was in a week.
Every morning, Janet took her coffee to the window, where she would watch her small California town residents walk their dogs, drive their kids to school, and get in their morning fitness regime. She kept a sharp eye out for those who didn’t clean up after their dogs. There was always that one person.
This morning was no different. A woman still in her bathrobe shuffled down the street with two dogs. One looked like a collie, and the other was a tiny poodle. The bigger dog waded into a deep thicket of shrubs and did his business.
Janet watched the owner start to shuffle off. “Aren’t you going to clean it up?” yelled Janet from her window across the street. Usually, the person she shouts at will apologize profusely and start digging around for a bag. But this woman didn’t do that. She looked at the window and flipped Janet the bird, shouting, “Mind your own f*cking business. I’m walking AROUND!”
Janet watched the woman shuffle down the sidewalk and walk behind the bushes. That was supposed to make Janet feel shame for assuming the worst, but she didn’t. She assumed the worst because people always make bad decisions when they think no one is watching. But Janet was watching.
The woman waded her way through the bushes, sticks and dried leaves clinging to the cotton fleece of her bathrobe. She pulled at the leash of the smaller dog, who refused to follow her. The dog wouldn’t budge. “Fine,” the woman said, propping the leash on a branch. The bigger dog was sniffing through the bushes as the woman angrily ripped off a green plastic bag and scooped up the pet waste.
Then she looked over at the window where Janet was sitting and held the bag: “SEE!? ARE YOU HAPPY?” Then she flipped her off again, gathered up the two leashes, and shuffled back down the street.
Janet thought she didn’t have to get so upset about it. Was there a better way to handle it? Was she just supposed to have waited to see if the woman would pick it up even though she didn’t look like she would? At least Janet could help keep the street clean.
A Good Town Full of Good People
Vista Butte was a town of responsible citizens who do the right thing. People followed the rules, which is why it was so safe. There was no crime, and it was quiet. They had to work to make it quiet.
Like when they built a pickleball court in the middle of town, which drew so many kids to play after school. The court made so much noise that it disrupted the peaceful harmony of the town center, so the city decided to move it to the outskirts of town.
But it upset the school kids because they liked having a place to go after school and release their pent-up energy instead of staring at their screens all day. Did they really believe that or did their parents tell them to say that? Either way, they went door to door to get signatures to save the Pickle Ball court.
It was a waste of time because there was a perfectly good court on the East End. True, they had to pay to park, and kids would need their parents to drive them there, but they could be as loud as they wanted, and it wouldn’t disrupt the serenity of the townspeople. Janet voted against the measure because everybody in Vista Butte has to work together to keep the town quiet and clean.
As Hillary Clinton said, it takes a village.
Today, Janet was going to do some yard work before Halloween. The Santa Anas were coming, a wind storm. That meant fire season, and she needed to clean up the brush in her front yard. Firebugs get it in their heads to set off a blazing wildfire when the warm wind kicks up. Always men. No woman would do something like that.
Janet could drive down to the corner where all the migrants waited to be picked up for a day's work. It would only cost her about 50 bucks for the whole job. One guy could handle it. It wasn’t that much work. That was much cheaper than the town gardeners, who charge you $50 an hour.
Well, what the hell? She figured she might as well get in some exercise. She wasn't getting any younger, and her body wasn't getting any thinner. Yard work was a good way to get the steps in and grow her fitness circle on her Apple Watch.
Janet had five Harris/Walz signs on her lawn. One of them was just an old Biden/Harris poster, which she ripped off the top where Biden was. It was a perfect metaphor for the election: Rip off the old white guy’s name and elevate the woman of color. It didn't matter that there wasn't a primary. When you have to save the country from rising fascism, you do what you must.
But it made Janet happy, making history, even if it wasn’t exactly the democratic process. Old white men don't like getting out of the way to allow marginalized groups to rise—the history of America. The white male patriarchy is keeping all of us down.
It’s long past time for a woman to lead, Janet thought. We need change. We need to turn the page. Harris cares about the middle class. She cares about immigrants. She cares about poor people. She’s not rude or mean or crude or nasty or abusive. She’s not a racist or a sexist or a misogynist or a bigot.
Janet was ready. In fact, she'd already voted, like most women in America. Vista Butte was, Janet knew, 99% liberal. It had to be, what with all of the Harris/Walz signs everywhere.
Harris/Walz - Obviously.
Harris/Walz - Save Democracy.
Harris/Walz - We’re not going back.
Harris/Walz - Vote for freedom.
Harris/Walz - Democracy or dictator.
For a minute, she thought, why are we even bothering with an election? Maybe they should just do what they did for the primary: just place Kamala Harris. Trump is the one who is not qualified. He's a criminal; he's a felon.
Besides, Project 2025 will become the law of the land. They’ll throw Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski in prison. Abortion will be banned, and we’ll never have an election again, so why not get ahead of it now? Why are we wasting time convincing people to vote? Why are we pretending that democracy even applies in this situation? It doesn't.
We’re seriously going through all this worrying about the swing states, focusing all of our energy on undecided voters? Why is the fate of the Republic, the fate of the world's future, resting on people who are too stupid to know now who they want to vote for? That's what our elections have come down to, those people who sit in a Frank Luntz focus group. Come on.
Those are the kind of people who sit in the Starbucks line for an hour deciding whether they want the Caramel Ribbon Crunch or the Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino blended. Pick something and move on! Pick something!
It was Halloween. Janet wasn't going to allow herself to get upset, not today. Halloween was her favorite holiday. She remembered the old days when kids dressed up in costumes they made themselves. They weren’t brands disguised as costumes. Everything is advertising now.
All the kids got homemade candy, like Rice Krispie squares or apples. Then, the whole razor blade thing happened, and only store-bought candy was allowed. Janet decided to make her treats for the kids anyway, with responsibly sourced caramel and gluten-free apples.
Why do we fill them up with junk anyway, all these people getting rich off poisoning kids. Janet made it known whenever she had the chance, in the local market or at the movie theater, when she saw parents buy junk for their kids. She’d lean in and say, “You shouldn’t buy that. It’s poison.”
She wanted them to know that someone was watching. In Vista Butte, someone is always watching. There are rules here. People put up signs. You can't park in front of mailboxes. You can't drive in the designated wildlife zones. There's a bee habitat. Every day, the residents take to the Next Door app and report on people who break the rules—kids who ride noisy motorcycles or people who play their music too loud.
Everybody mostly keeps to themselves as long everyone follows the rules. It was a town full of love. Their goodness was reflected in their signs that said:
Vista Butte is probably one of the most kind cities in the world. Just be kind. Just walking down the street, people go out of their way to say hello as though they’ve known you all of your life.
Janet likes to wear the “Trump is a scab” t-shirt as a test. How will people react to it? Will they smile even brighter, or will they turn away? It's a really good way to tell who is who in this town.
No one would dare wear a Maga hat in Vista Butte, and they certainly wouldn't put up a Trump/Vance sign. It would be torn down overnight. They'd be lucky if their house was not burned down.
Janet has heard that some Trump supporters are in town, although no one knows who they are. They could be anyone. They could be in your yoga class, buying organic berries next to you at the Farmers Market, or teaching your kids at school.
She heard they were in some private Facebook group, probably plotting to blow up the Town Square. Maybe they would come to Janet's house and rape her in the middle of the night, shove her Harris lawn sign down her throat. She couldn't take that chance, so she was a self-appointed volunteer to find those people in her town who might just be MAGA.
They think they're clever with their little “Let's go Brandon” jokes placed here and there. Janet always sees it, and she always does something about it. She reports it to the other neighbors, and they gather in a group, knock on the door, and ask nicely, “Why is that rock with ‘Let's go Brandon’” written on it in your garden?”
They never have an answer because the answer is obvious. They’re racists and proud of it. Vista Butte is 96% white. That’s why racists are drawn here. You have to learn how to identify the racists, but it’s not as easy as you’d think. They hide who they are.
Trump ruined everything, Janet realized. Everything was better before. Halloween was better. She didn't have to spend every single night worried about her neighbors, what they might think, who they might vote for. Everybody was one big, happy family, and everything was going fine until the monster took power. The monster ruined their lives. He ruined their lives.
Not a day goes by that she doesn't feel terrified that bad things will happen should the monster win again. But he won’t, right? She knew her side had all the money, power, and history-making candidates. A beautiful young woman of color who is the reflection of what America should be. We’re not going back!
People keep saying she has to be fine if Kamala Harris doesn’t win. It’s just four years, and then we get another chance to make history with a different woman of color.
Janet knew in her mind that she wouldn't be fine. She knew her entire world would come apart, and maybe she wouldn't even survive this time. She could move out of Vista Butte even though probably 99% of the town will vote for Harris. But still, how does she just exist every day, knowing that half of her country could vote for a fascist, a racist, an adjudicated rapist, a felon, a criminal, a monster?
Maybe later today, she’d talk to a travel agent about moving out of the country in the event that Trump wins, just like the Jews escaping Germany ahead of Hitler’s rise to power. She could relocate. She could move to somewhere in Europe. Maybe Canada.
Janet had wasted enough time on Halloween worrying. She thought some yard work would distract her, but as she was swinging open the door, she saw her neighbor across the street. It was a guy she went to high school with. His name was Skip Taylor.
Janet always had a crush on him but was too afraid even to talk to him. She thought he would ask her out one time, but he never did. He’s lived across the street from her for about ten years. As far as she can tell, he does nothing except get up, go to work, come home, watch TV, and go to bed. They wave to each other every so often, but she’s never sure if he even remembers her from the old days.
He doesn’t mingle with the rest of the townspeople. He’s never at the Farmer’s Market or the meditation circles in the park. He keeps to himself. Now, as she watched him, she noticed how good he still looked. He still had that football hero frame. Those shoulders. Those thighs. His hair was grey now, but he was still very much the man he was when he made her so weak in the knees.
But what was he doing now? He was messing around on this front lawn with some lawn signs. One of them said, “Save the pickleball court.” Oh no, Janet thought. Not that. Then, she wasn’t prepared for what came next. He stabbed a sign into the lawn that said, “Vote for Sanity. Vote for Trump and Vance.”
No, it couldn’t be. Her high school crush, the man of her endless fantasies, couldn’t be a MAGAt. He couldn’t be a Trumper, no. Not Skip Taylor. She whipped around quickly as he rose to meet her gaze with a sly smile on his still-handsome face. She froze. She couldn’t cover the shock on her face, so she quickly turned away and ran back into the house.
She flopped on the couch, her heart racing, blood spreading to her cheeks. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. Right across the street from her all along. Was Skip Taylor a racist?
Janet was starting to have a panic attack. She had to do something to distract herself. This couldn't be how she spent her Halloween. She needed a way out, maybe another bottle of wine. No, it couldn’t be like 2016. The mental hospital. The psych meds. She would busy herself with melting more sustainably sourced. vegan caramel in case there were more children than expected. She’d made just twelve caramel apples, and they sat neatly on a platter near the front door.
She heated a saucepan and poured in the sugar, waiting for it to start bubbling. Then, she’d get the vegan cream and add it to the sugar, and there would be hot, bubbly caramel.
She hatched a plan as she stared at the cauldron of bubbling goo. She would just snatch the lawn signs, both of them. He couldn’t possibly get another one by Election Day. The man goes to sleep at eight, doesn't have a wife, and would never in a million years suspect Janet did it. It could be anyone in Vista Butte doing the good work of saving democracy.
She thought about Skip Taylor, and how he almost spoke to her during snack time during their junior year. She was not pretty, and she was not popular, but she’d developed early—a “good rack,” as they said back then. Skip noticed. She noticed him noticing. But he was popular. He played on the football team. Guys like that didn’t date girls like Janet.
He bumped into her and said,” Sorry.” She blushed and could still feel where he bumped into her arm days later. Not because it hurt or anything. It was just a sweet memory. Skip Taylor, the man of her dreams now sucked into the MAGA cult.
The rumor in town was that Skip Taylor’s wife left him for another man, or maybe a woman, and took the kids. Skip never remarried or even dated again, as Janet could see.
Janet never talked to him because he had never talked to her. He didn't really talk to anybody. He was as much of a loner as she was. Probably an incel from the looks of it. Maybe he’s sitting across the street right now, planning on blowing up a building.
Could this all be in Janet’s head? Could she have said something to him and been okay with his support of Trump? Maybe they could be friends and maybe something more. No, she had to carry through her plan. Democracy was on the line. She had to remove his sign so there was no evidence that anyone in Vista Butte would vote for anyone other than Kamala Harris.
Janet had dipped the apples into the caramel and let them cool. She decided to have just one glass of wine to calm down and maybe flip on Rachel Maddow. She sat down on the couch, cracking open her laptop and firing up Twitter, which she still refused to call X, especially now that her blue-check had been ripped away from her. Then, she would rage on Twitter for a few hours. She loved following those I’m With Her types, like JoJo for Jerz and Keith Olbermann.
Before long, five hours had passed. Now it was nightfall. She didn't realize how much wine she'd drunk. Was it really 10 o'clock?
She had a vague memory of doors knocking and bells ringing. She glanced at her platter of caramel apples. Not one had been taken. Her head felt heavy. She’d slept too long. Now, it was quiet outside except for the wind.
It was pitch black with a sky sprayed with stars — a milky way, the Big Dipper. It was so beautiful in Vista Butte. She looked at Skip Taylor’s house. Total darkness. He was in bed, asleep. Now, it was time to make a move.
As she opened her door and crept slowly outside, she squinted to see exactly where the Trump sign was. But she didn’t see it. That was his house—right across the street. There was a sign planted in the grass, but it wasn’t a Trump sign. It was a Harris/Walz obviously sign. It was her sign.
Could it be that she imagined the whole thing? Could it be that he was never a Trump supporter at all, and it was just a dream?
Then, she noticed something had changed on her front lawn. All of her Harris/Walz signs had been removed, and in their place was a sign that said, “Vote for Sanity, Vote for Trump/Vance.”
She snatched the sign and shut herself away back in her house lest one of her neighbors see it. What if she’d never woke up? What if she had that sign on her lawn all night? What would her neighbors think? How would she explain it? She never could. She would be marked.
Janet violently tore up the sign, biting at it and growling like an animal. She stomped on it, spit on it, and then took the pieces to the sink and set them on fire. She watched the blaze and put it out quickly before the fire detector noticed.
So, that was Skip Taylor’s funny little joke, was it? All this time, she thought he was a nice guy, but he wasn’t. He was on that side, and she was on this side. They had nothing in common. She hated him. Hated him more than she could ever imagine. Hated him so much. The only thing that would make her feel better is if she moved or he moved, she was not going to live on the same street with him.
So she stumbled across the street to take back her Harris/Walz Obviously sign. She crept onto his lawn, her feet crunching down on the grass, something whooshed behind her that felt like a gust of wind. The Santa Anas, she thought. But then she felt a finger tapping on her shoulder.
She whipped around, thinking Skip Taylor was behind her, but he wasn’t. Something that didn’t even look human was billowing before her. It was a spirit of a kind, how could it not be. She waved her hands in the middle of it, but there was nothing there. She looked around for some stupid kids playing a trick on her, but all she saw was nothingless, an empty town.
The spirit nodded her head back and forth slowly and pointed to Skip Taylor’s window, guiding Janet to look inside. She felt stupid for doing it but she did it. Maybe this was all some crazy dream.
Inside, she saw for the first time a golden glow of light and two people sitting on the couch watching a movie. It looked like John Carpenter’s The Thing, in which a creature from outer space can mimic the exact biology of a human being.
Two people, a man and a woman, were sharing a big bowl of popcorn. She could almost smell it. The woman's head rested gently on the man’s shoulder. Was that Skip Taylor? Who was he with? The spirit encouraged her to move forward, and she did.
The person she saw sitting on the couch with Skip Taylor was herself. She was with him in the way she’d always dreamed of. Her head rested on his big, beautiful, muscular shoulder. Was he her boyfriend? Her husband? They were together. They were a couple. It looked like a beautiful dream to Janet.
But no, she knew it wasn’t. Whatever this was, it was wrong. This was a trick. She hated Skip Taylor. Hated. But there they were, happy. What a life. What a dream.
No, it couldn't be. She moved through the apparition and grabbed the Harris/Walz Obviously lawn sign. “This is who I am,” she yelled back at the spirit. She hurried back home as fast as she could go, stabbed the sign into her own lawn, and threw herself through the front door, slamming it behind her. The wind was whipping through the branches above. She thought she could smell a fire starting somewhere off in the distance.
By morning, Janet woke up in an empty bed, as she always does. She could hear the coffee maker automatically brewing. The smell filled her house and wrapped itself around her like a warm, reassuring hug. What a dream she had.
Her hands still felt sticky from all of that caramel. She glanced across the street at Skip Taylor’s house. And there was the sign she’d destroyed last night, “Vote for Sanity, Vote for Trump/Vance.”
Maybe it was best she just left it alone. Maybe it was best she minded her own business this time. The election was a week away, and soon, that sign would be a distant memory. So, would any possible connection that she had to skip Taylor because that win would crush him. It would crush all of them. People like Janet would never have to think about them ever again.
Janet tried not to think about Skip Taylor anymore — what would have been a night on the couch with him, a guy who might actually love her so much he put out a lawn sign for her.
Instead, she grabbed a cup of coffee, sat by the window, and waited to see who might break the rules this time.
All those people walking by with their dogs, their kids, and their happy lives in a happy town. Just another day in paradise.
Happy Halloween dear readers.
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