Down by the Rideau River, the pathway seemed to glow in a deep aquamarine. It all reminded me, a little uncomfortably, of an evening eight years ago, which also happened to coincide with the American election.
I slipped off to the Bytowne Cinema for a movie, but returned too soon, so tuned into one of the few television channels not covering the events south of the border, before scooting off to bed early.The next morning, I awoke at 5:26 and thought: I don't know who won. Let's keep it that way for another hour.
So I guess my heart knew.
In the coffee shop, a young fella told us that his American girlfriend had voted Libertarian in the advance polls, being a Bernie Sanders fan. They're planning to immigrate.
"The Canadian Immigration web site has crashed!" he said, the air of someone delivering astonishing news. I knew; I'd been standing in horror by the radio speakers in my bedroom.
A man fixing his coffee at the creamer and sweetener station by the door, looked up.
"Trump got in?"
He must have been the last person in Ottawa to know.
A couple of days later, the young fella was seated with his girlfriend in the coffee shop. He recognized me but thought he'd seen me the day before. I reminded him it had been the morning after the election. His girlfriend was a bit taken aback that he'd been discussing her vote with strangers.
"I didn't vote for Trump," she muttered.
I decided it would be unkind to point out that, if she hadn't voted for Hillary Clinton, she had essentially voted for Trump.
Every morning, for the past week, I've woken up with a feeling similar to that when I first learned that younger daughter was special needs. I feel depressed, trapped, and rather terrified about the future.
At the very least, I don't know how I will be able to face seeing and hearing the likes of Newt Gingrich and Ann Coulter in the media again.
I don't care to discuss the very worst.
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