YOUR VOTE, YOUR LIFE
by OPOVV, ©2015
(Aug. 20, 2015) — It was cold. He thought he’d make the drive and it would be a piece of cake, but, boy-oh-boy, he missed something, or else the weather station was way, way off. It wasn’t a full-fledged blizzard; it lasted only a couple of hours, and, truth be told, it wasn’t too windy, a few good gusts now and then, with some snow, a patch here and there frozen to the road.
That should have warned him, but he was making good time, so he didn’t think twice about it. The sky was as blue as he’d ever seen it; not a cloud in sight, and then it happened. It wasn’t much, and as he approached the turn he slowed to way less than the posted safe-speed-sign, which read 45 mph. He couldn’t have been going more than 20, for Pete’s sake, but the snow patch he hit was as slick as ice, which is what it was: the sun melted the first 1/64th inch of snow which froze. He was wrong: one cloud.
It all happened in slow motion: the slide straight into the ditch ahead. He gently pumped the brakes and still he was sliding off the road. He locked the brakes as he slammed the gearshift lever in reverse, let off the brakes and floored it and still he continued to slide, in slow motion, off the road into the ditch. It wasn’t much of a ditch, but it was enough to trap the car and stop any chance of continuing his journey without some sort of towing mechanism, such as a truck or tractor equipped with hardy cable or strong chain, to pull him out.
So there he was, stuck. Sitting there, he contemplated ditches. His first thought went to the Panama Canal, the Granddaddy of Big Ditches. No, that’s not quite right; that honor goes to the Grand Canyon. Large, noble holes in the ground, worthy of mention in encyclopedias and the subject of documentaries. Here he was, in a ditch, but a ditch that wasn’t even a footnote in any publication. More like an indentation. That’s it! The world’s most insignificant indentation.
So he let the word “indentation” ease his mind, as in “I found myself stuck in the world’s most renowned indentation.” He imagined himself having to explain the subtle differences between the normal everyday small ditch and a real-good-for-life indentation: “You see, it’s is in the degree of being caught unaware, as in sneak attack.” Maybe he experienced an earthquake which tilted the car on its terminal slide off the road into the inescapable indentation: a Venus Flytrap that disguised the slick ice as nectar.
He didn’t notice the sun setting, but he did notice getting cold, really cold and realized that if he stayed in the car all night he’d freeze to death. If it was cold enough to freeze the snow to the road it must be somewhere around zero, and he could easily foresee temperatures getting down to 10 below or even colder. No, he must take the plunge and find some shelter if he were to survive the night, so he left the confines of the car and started walking down the road.
As he walked he regretted not having some sort of winter survival kit with him: at the least, some sand, a shovel and a blanket. He recalled he didn’t even have a flashlight on hand, although the one he had at home was weak and required fresh batteries to work with any sort of benefit. So it gave him some comfort to know that if he had a designated vehicle flashlight, the batteries would be as dead as a doornail, no doubt welded to the case due to leaking that would have turned the positive terminal a shade of green and therefore, worthless. It was no use ruminating over something that wouldn’t have done him any good anyway.
After five miles or so he realized he was slowly freezing to death as he came upon two driveways, one to the right, the other to the left. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with a choice to make and making the wrong one would, as he well knew, cost him dearly. He looked for names on the mailboxes: no names, but he did notice a few slivers of silver Christmas garland on one mailbox post, and on the other a “Yes We Can” sticker.
To make matters worse, both mailboxes were on the same side of the road, which, he knew from observing on the way up, was how it was done on long, out-of-the-way rural routes. He wracked his brain and thought the evens were on the South, and the “Christian mailbox,” as he now referred to the one with the Christmas garland, was an even number. But then it could have been there for years; maybe the previous owner of the mailbox was Christian and the current occupant was of another persuasion.
Both driveways extended to little hills beyond where he couldn’t tell which house was closer than the other. He had to decide, and soon. It was definitely getting colder.
He walked across the road, looking for any sign of which driveway was which, Christian or Obot. He looked down as the last rays of the setting sun shone over the mountain peaks and he saw a glitter of something. He walked over, bent down and picked up a cheap little silver cross with a rusted chain.
He decided. How would you have decided? Which driveway: the one with the cross or the other one? Remember, your life may very well depend on your decision. And also remember this: your vote in 2016 carries the same weight.