Disclaimer: Please, if it's not too much trouble, keep in mind that this is a creative platform. I deal in humans and words. Not politics.

Act III: Let It Be

I ran toward the back porch, tears lapping my cheeks and grass lapping my toes. Grandpa was rocking pensively.

"Grandpa, I don't know what to do!"

Grandpa roused himself, standing at the call to action.

"Just tell me who to lick, and I'll lick 'em!"

"What? No-- it's nothing like that, it's— it's the election!" I wailed.

"Election? What election? The election that's not for year?"

"Yes! I've tried listening to debates and I just can't bear it! All these angry hearts, just yelling. Nothing's impartial— I guess that's impossible. It's all the screaming of desperate fears and desires— I mean deep, not directly, of course, but there. And what can I possibly do to help? I want to save the world. But I'm a mere molecule of dust— I don't even make a dent! I am so helpless— and if I can't fix it all, I lose the energy to even try to fix some of it. But they— Jack and Thomas— they swear I must. I must vote. And so— I shall. But I know nothing, Grandpa! How am I to know what's the right thing to do? How am I to pick the next leader of the free world— the next great mover of global history? Help me, Grandpa! What do I do?"

I looked up at him miserably, panting.

Grandpa stared at me for exactly two seconds before bursting out in laughter.

"Jane, Jane, Jane my darling, how long has it been your job to keep whole world spinning?"

I laughed helplessly. He opened his arms, grinning, and beckoned me to him. I scampered up the steps and obliged.

"My dear, you take yourself much too seriously," he whispered, smoothing down my hair.

"Are you saying I'm not to vote?"

"No, of course, vote. By all means, vote."

"But then how do I know which is the right one to pick?"

"You won't know. You just pick. That's all any of us can do. That's all we need to do. The Great Director's got this show covered."

I inhaled, biting my lip, and gazed out over the field. I saw the leaves shivering and shimmering on the great oak. I saw tufts of cloud balancing listlessly on the breeze. I saw a monarch dancing across the field. I didn't help with any of that.

But that squash over there— those great juicy orange things that soon Grandma will cook with her special recipe for us to savor and sigh over— that I did vote on. I helped plant it. Look how well that had turned out.

I exhaled, and allowed my lips the liberty of a small upward curve. I gave Grandpa one more squeeze.

"Okay."