While The People Decide

Every two years, on the first Tuesday after the first Monday of November, the legislative branch of the United States Government stops. No bills are passed, no amendments are debated, and no bipartisan agreements are made inside closed rooms around Capitol Hill. Instead, members of Congress return home to their districts and states to see if their contract will be renewed or if they will be let go, while the men and women running for a seat in Congress hold their breath as they end the biggest job interview they will ever have. 

            For incumbents, Election Day can be either stressful or quite relaxing, depending on the status of the race you’re in. Today can be described as the former for Senator Anderson Claxton. Anderson didn’t sleep a wink Monday night and was still wide awake as he arrived to vote in a small schoolhouse in rural Trenton, Maine. Standing at the doorway of the schoolhouse, the slim, six foot four inch, grey hair, blue eyed Republican shook hands with supporters who came out early in the morning to greet their senior senator. Anderson, however, wasn’t feeling relieved, despite the loving response from the small coastal town he lived in. When he arrived at the schoolhouse with his wife, Barbara, and his campaign manager Paul, he made a note to count the campaign signs in the grass outside the voting place. There were five more signs out there for his Democratic rival, Mark Bennett.

            As he walked inside the schoolhouse, and smiled for the flashing cameras for the local Maine press, he thought of the recent polls; especially the most recent one released yesterday that showed him four points behind Bennett. It’s not that Anderson is unpopular in the Pine Tree State. He has a long history of service in the state. His father was Governor and Senator a quarter century ago. Anderson was elected to the state legislature on his own dad’s coattails at the age of 26, then to Congress four years later.  After spending sixteen years in the House of Representatives representing Downeast Maine, Anderson defeated Maine’s popular Democratic governor, William Parker to win his Senate seat six years ago. In those six years, however, a lot has changed. Parker won a landslide four years ago against Maine’s other Senator, Anderson’s mentor, 80 year-old Martin Hosteller. Democrats have won both houses of the state legislature, and both Congressional seats. Anderson now stands alone as the only major Republican elected in Maine. His opponent, Mark Bennett, is a bright-eyed, good looking 35 year-old Congressman who sits in Claxton’s old seat; a fact that can’t escape Anderson. He doesn’t have home field advantage and Bennett has the advantage of national sentiment riding with him. Republicans aren’t too popular right now and Anderson is getting hit hard for supporting an unpopular war in the Middle East; even Maine Republicans have criticized him on his vote for an unpopular immigration reform bill.

“Four Points Behind.” Anderson thought as he threw open the curtains and exited the voting booth.

“Senator Claxton!” bellowed someone inside the circle of reporters who surrounded him. He looked over and saw a young blue-eyed woman with shoulder length blonde hair smiling at him, holding a microphone in his direction, “Senator, Abigail Olson, WDEM Bangor, how do you feel today?”

“I feel good.” Anderson said with a smile, hiding any bit of evidence that he was worried about whether or not he’d still have a job tomorrow, “I feel confident. I believe the people of Maine will send me back to Washington to fight for them in the Senate as I have for the past six years.”

“Senator!” yelled another reporter, a middle-aged man yielding a pen and notepad, “Senator, James Rugney, Portland Daily Press, Does it worry you at all that recent polls are showing Congressman Bennett with a small lead?”

Great, Anderson thought, bring THAT up.

“Nope.” Anderson said smiling, “I don’t pay attention to polls, if I did, I never would’ve voted to, as you guys at the Daily Press say, allow illegal immigrants to rob Mainers blind.”

A small bit of laughter erupted from among the press circle. Anderson felt good about his quip. He’s not a big fan of the editorial page of the Daily Press. They had endorsed him six years ago, but has since only ever endorsed Democrats and despite his moderate to liberal voting record, for which he caught heat from the party’s leadership, which the Daily Press has described as “so far to the right of Maine voters, he can’t even be seen over the horizon anymore.” Anderson walked out of the schoolhouse, greeting voters, shaking hands and talking candidly, before he hopped back into his limo with his wife and his campaign manager.

“Why did you bring up the immigration thing?” Paul asked, sitting across from him in the limo.

“It wasn’t funny?” Anderson asked, his smile fading

“That’s going to appear on the morning news all over the state. Undecided voters are going to see it and be reminded of your greatest weakness.” Paul told him frantically, “That joke may cost you enough votes to lose this election.”

Barbara rolled her eyes toward her husband, but he was already visibly worried. Anderson looked out the window, in an attempt to hide his obviously panicking face. He couldn’t help but ask himself, did I just blow it?

            Michelle Marone smiled brightly as she greeted reporters in the lobby of the high school in Deer Park, a Long Island suburb of New York City. She felt secure today, almost relaxed, even though today would be one of the most important and exciting day in her short 38 year-old life. She looked every bit her age, standing at an average height, dressed in a royal blue business suit, her long black hair shaping her smooth face and flowing past her shoulders. Michelle kissed her husband Robert, picked up her six year old son, Jake and looked at him, ignoring the flashes of the cameras around her. She had never thought about getting in politics until last year when she was merely president and CEO of a local organization that helps children with Down syndrome. She could always count on Congressman Larry D’Amico, the last Republican representing Long Island, but when he began ignoring her request for federal grants, something he never did before, Michelle walked into his Long Island office and demanded to hear his excuse. She didn’t get a second of his time and decided them to run against him as a Democrat. At first her campaign didn’t garner much traction, but after unflattering photos of D’Amico with sorority sisters from a local college appeared, the race suddenly became competitive. Democrats pounced on the chance of ousting D’Amico and snatching his slightly Democratic-leaning district that cuts a swath through Western Suffolk County from Huntington to Bay Shore.

            Marone exuded a sense of confidence wherever she went this morning. She wasn’t worried about the race. She knew either way she had run a great race and forced a ten-term incumbent to fight for his political life. That alone, she was proud of. Sure, it would be great to win, but for her, the worst case scenario brought her back to head the organization as a major respected player locally. Either way, she kept reminding herself, she wins.

“Mrs. Marone!” a voice yelled out. A young man, neatly groomed, dressed in a suit stepped forward. He looked up at Michelle and smiled, his ivory white teeth gleaming, “Mrs. Marone, Tom Marino, Suffolk Times, Do you have anything to say to Congressman D’Amico as the campaign goes into its final stretch?”

“I want to thank Congressman D’Amico for a hard fought, issued-based campaign and whatever happens today, he deserves credit and praise for his long service to the people of Long Island.” Michelle remarked with a smile.

            Since the beginning of the campaign, Michelle has put every ounce of energy she had into it. Even if it meant she wouldn’t win, she wanted to make sure Congressman D’Amico took a stand on issues, all the issues; abortion, gay rights, the administration’s foreign policy, all issues where D’Amico held the opposite view than most in his district. Her life has been quite extraordinary and abnormal for the last eleven months. Today though, she wanted to pretend like it was any other Tuesday, but she knew that wasn’t possible. She exited the high school and saw a few dozen people applauding as they waiting to go inside and vote. She made a point to look at each one of them as she walked by, as she knew her future was in their hands. She wanted to remember those faces, like the middle-aged man in the Mets cap, and the older woman with grey hair, big glasses and a cane, in case she makes it to Congress. She wanted those faces burned in her brain, so she knew what she was fighting for in Washington.

            She hopped into a waiting SUV with her family and waved to supporters as the car drove away. Jake jumped up on the seat next to his mother and looked out the window where she was looking.

“Jake, honey, sit down and put your seatbelt on.” His mother insisted.

“But mommy.” Jake pleaded

“Jake, listen to your mother.” Robert remarked from the front seat next to their driver.

Jake sat down and put on his seatbelt. Michelle smiled and patted him on his head.

“Mommy, where are we going now?” Jake asked, looking up at her.

“We’re going home for a little while.” Michelle said, “Then we have to go prepare for Mommy’s party.”

“I want cereal, can I have cereal when we get home?” Jake asked.

“Sure honey, Mommy will make you a bowl of cereal.” She said, looking down at Jake, who was dangling his legs now happily.

            The sun was shining bright in the blue sky mid afternoon when Senator Anderson Claxton was greeted with applause and cheers from well wishers along Main Street in Ellsworth, Maine, where his campaign headquarters were located.

“Senator, we love you!” yelled one supporter

“Good luck Senator” yelled another.

Anderson smiled as looked around at his supporters.

“That should make you feel good about your chances.” Paul told Anderson, gesturing toward the crowd of people who gathered on Main Street to greet the Senators.

“I won this town with sixty-eight percent of the vote six years ago.” Anderson quietly reminded Paul

Anderson greeted some of his supporters, shaking hands and signing autographs for a few minutes before he, his wife and Paul walked into his campaign headquarters. Inside, the phones were ringing and campaign staffers were rushing around. A half dozen people sat at a folding table on the far end of the offices making phone calls to voters to remind them to go out and vote for Senator Claxton. Above the table was a huge five foot by five foot sign, red background with a blue shape of the state of Maine in the center of the sign. In white lettering inside the state’s shape said: MAINE’S OWN ANDERSON CLAXTON FOR SENATE.

            In the back of the office was a small conference room where high level campaign staff members were already gathered when Anderson arrived. A younger woman handed Anderson a cup of coffee and he walked into the conference room and looked around. On the wall was a large white board where a blank map of the state of Maine was drawn with the state’s counties outlined.

“So what’s the word?” Anderson asked his campaign staff. He couldn’t get a good feel on what they were thinking.

“We’re still in a tight race.” Paul said walking over to the map, “The latest poll we have has the race tied forty-six to forty-six.”

He grabbed a red marker and pointed at the map.

“Claire will give you an update at what we’re looking at.” He said pointing to a middle aged woman, Claire, standing on the other side of the map. Claire is Anderson’s top campaign pollster. She has been with him since his first campaign for the House of Representatives when she was just an intern working at his campaign office in Ellsworth. She came to work for Anderson when he was a freshman congressman and she had just graduated from Bowdoin College. After getting her masters in political science at George Washington University, she worked in his Washington office for ten years before coming back to Maine and becoming a top aide on his first campaign for Senate six years ago. Now, she is one of the most knowledgeable people in the state on the voting patterns of Maine localities.

“We expect Congressman Bennett to carry his home area around Augusta, so he will probably take Kennebec County. We think it’s also likely he will carry Androscoggin, Cumberland, and York counties too.” Claire explained as she picked up the blue marker and placed small blue letter B’s in the counties she mentioned on the map, “Although York may be close, we are seeing strong turnout in Republican precincts in Kennebunk and Wells.”

“And he’ll probably take Aroostook too, so what does that leave me?” Anderson asked, a worried look on his face.

“We think you’ll win Washington, Hancock, Waldo, Piscataquis, Franklin, Oxford, and Sagadahoc.” Paul said, marking the counties with a red “C” on the map.

“None of those counties have large populations; that means I’m still behind.” Anderson said, “What about Penobscot?”

“Somerset, Knox and Lincoln counties are too close. Exit polls are showing you are doing pretty well in those counties as of now.” Claire explained.

“What about Penobscot?” Anderson asked louder as he sat down in a chair and sighed heavily.

“Congressman Bennett is slightly ahead in exit polls in Bangor.” Paul said, “But it looks good for you in Orono, Brewster and Millinocket.”

“I can’t win Penobscot County without Bangor, can I?” Anderson asked.

“Well.” Claire said, looking at Paul, “We are seeing great turnout in Republican precincts in Brewster and Orono.”

“Can I win Penobscot County without Bangor?” Anderson asked again, visibly annoyed.

“If we can get enough voters out to the polls in Brewster…” Paul started.

“Just answer me.” Anderson cut him off.

“No Senator.” Claire said, “Chances are you cannot win Penobscot County without Bangor.”

Anderson sighed, stood up and walked over to Claire. He looked her straight in the eye, snatched the blue market out of her hand and went up to the white board. Everyone in the room watched and held their breath as Anderson marked Penobscot County on the map with a blue “B.” He turned around, took a deep breath and smiled.

“Alright, make me wrong.” He said

            Back on Long Island, Michelle Marone stood in front of her kitchen sink washing her son’s cereal bowl, while watching him play in the yard through the small window over the sink. She was trying her best to give him a sense of normalcy, even for just one second. She knew there was a good chance his entire life was about to change tonight. As the day went on, she became more and more confident that she would win this race and be a Congresswoman. She tried to block out those ideas in her mind though, as to not get her hopes up, but she couldn’t help thinking about standing before Congress talking about better healthcare, better education; all issues she wished she heard politicians talk about more often. As she tried to block out the fantasies running through her mind, a little help came in the form of her phone ringing. She jumped for a second, startled by the ringing, put down the dishtowel and the bowl, and walked over to pick up the phone.

“Hello.” She said into the receiver.

“Michelle, it’s Becky.” The voice on the phone said. It was her campaign manager, Rebecca McDaniel. Michelle thought of Becky as a sister ever since Becky came to Long Island to talk her into running for Congress. She had spent over ten years working at Emily’s list, where she was partially responsible for the election of 20 plus women to Congress and countless numbers of women in state and local races. Now Becky took charge of her first actual Congressional campaign, working seven days a week, eighteen hour days for Michelle.

“What’s wrong?” Michelle asked Becky

“I think you should come down to campaign headquarters.” Becky informed her, “We have some exit poll numbers I want to go over with you and the speechwriters need your input on the speeches.”

“Now?” Michelle asked, “Can’t this wait until later in the hotel?”

She really did not want to deal with the reality that there was an election going on until she actually had to, at the hotel where her election night party was being held at 8pm. Until then, she wanted to be Michelle, not the Democratic candidate for the United States House of Representatives from the third district of New York.

“Actually, we wanted to go over this with you before tonight, so you know what to expect.” Becky said, “It’s rather important.”

“Ok.” Michelle agreed, “I’ll come to the office.”

            Like most, the office of Michelle Moran for Congress was no more than a storefront on a major commercial strip. Hers sat in between a deli and a barber shop along Route 110 in Huntington, not far from the border between Nassau and Suffolk Counties. Michelle arrived at the office faster than usual from her home in Deer Park. She made a beeline from the front door to Becky’s office without muttering a word to the busy campaign staffers around her. She found Becky sitting at her desk on the phone when she walked through the door of her office.

“I got to go, I’ll call you back in an hour.” Becky said to whoever she was on the phone with, looking directly at Michelle. She hung up the phone and stood up.

“What do you want to see me for?” Michelle asked.

Becky ran her fingers of her left hand through her short cropped red hair and sighed.

“Exit polls are showing Congressman D’Amico running stronger than expected among some groups we’re hoping to win.” She said.

“Like whom?” Michelle asked

“Women” Becky said bluntly, “We’re only winning the women vote by four. He’s winning men by twelve. We need to pick up more of the women vote to win.”

“What’s the problem?” Michelle asked, “Are women just not voting?”

“No, they’re voting.” Becky explained, staring motionlessly toward the wall, “They’re just voting for him.”

Michelle sighed.

“We’re going to lose then, aren’t we?” Michelle asked

“No.” Becky said, suddenly regaining any confidence she might have lost, or presumed to have lost, “No, there is still great turnout in Wyandanch and Brentwood, those are typically Democratic areas. Once our working moms get out voting in the next few hours, we will catch up. We will win.”

“And if we don’t,” Michelle continued, seemingly unfazed by the unfortunate news, “We should be proud we ran a good race. I mean yesterday I was ahead of a ten-term incumbent forty seven to forty six. That’s pretty good for a man who was elected when I was still in high school, right?”

Becky smiled. “At EMILYs list, we were taught never to talk about losing until the all the votes are counted.” She told Michelle, “there’s still three hours until they start counting.”

Michelle left and to prepare to meet her supporters tonight at the Radisson in Huntington. For the first time, she was too nervous to think normally. Suddenly she realized exactly how much she really wanted to go to Congress. It really did matter to her. Losing this race was not an option anymore.

            The polls close in Maine one hour earlier than in New York, at 8 P.M. Anderson Claxton was kind of wishing he was in New York when he saw the clock strike eight. He knew time was up and there were no more undecided voters to win over, no more supporters to get to the polls, no more Democrats to convince to give you another term as their Senator. It was now in God’s hands and in the hands of the thousands of poll workers around the state.  Anderson could see the television on in the corner of the room tuned to a local news station doing wall-to-wall coverage of the election, focusing mainly on whether or not Anderson was going to survive tonight. Even though he didn’t want to see, he couldn’t help but glance over at the television to see if the first results came in yet. He can feel his entire body growing tenser and more nervous as every second went by. He looked to his left just in time to see Paul fly past him out into the hallway.

“Paul!” he yelled chasing after his campaign manager.

Paul spun around, “Senator?’

“What news do we have?” Anderson asked, walking out into the hallway with him.

“Well,” Paul said, continuing down the hallway, Anderson alongside him, “The first vote totals are going to have slightly behind. The first precincts to report will be out of Portland and Lewiston.”

“What about Bangor?” Anderson asked, still haunted by the possibility of losing the city and the election with it.

“It’s neck and neck.” Paul said, “We had 30 volunteers phone banking in the Bangor area all day. If our get out the vote operation worked, then we’ll come out on top.”

“So this election comes down to whether or not a few thousand people decided to take a few minutes out of their lives to pull a lever?” Anderson wondered out loud.

“Yes Senator, all elections come down to that.” Paul said

Anderson rolled his eyes. They walked into a room full of campaign staffers busy talking on the phones and watching televisions. Claire came over to talk to Anderson and Paul.

“What have we got?” Paul asked

“A few hundred precincts are reporting out of Cumberland County, mostly in and around Portland. These are going to report first. It’s going to show a substantial Bennett lead. We’ll be able to judge from there what we’ll need elsewhere to win.” Claire explained.

“How big is Bennett going to win Portland?” Anderson asked

“Sixty five, Seventy percent.” Claire said, “Sixty percent if we’re lucky.”

“What about the House races?” Paul asked

“Congressman Harmon will win reelection pretty comfortably, somewhere around seventy percent.” Claire said, “Democrats will keep Bennett’s seat.”

Anderson wasn’t too happy to hear about Harmon. Lenny Harmon was perhaps the most liberal Democrat Maine has ever sent to Congress. He was a nemesis of Anderson from back in their days in the state legislature. Harmon represented a Portland district and consistently battled with Republicans from Downeast Maine, including Anderson. Nevertheless, Harmon’s congressional district included Portland and most of Southwestern Maine. There was almost no chance of him losing. Anderson looked over at Paul, who was to his right. Claire was standing to his left looking through exit poll information on sheets of paper

“Senator, you should eat something.” Paul said

“I’ll eat when this is all over.” Anderson remarked.

Claire looked up at Anderson, “They have really great lobster rolls downstairs, and I can get you one. I know how good lobster rolls always make you feel better.”

“Not now Claire.” Anderson said, “Just keep watching the numbers. That’s all I need you to do for me right now.”

Behind them, news anchors at a local Bangor news desk talked about Congressman Harmon’s impending victory and what it means for the Maine Democratic Party. One of the anchors, an older man, was in the middle of discussing Harmon’s vote for an emergency supplemental bill that may have hurt his standing among liberals in his district when he was suddenly cut off by the other anchorman, a younger man who looked like he was just out of college.

“Hold it John, we have some news.” The younger anchorman said, “The first results are coming to the desk now in the closely watched Senate race between Republican Anderson Claxton and Democratic Congressman Mark Bennett.”

Anderson, Paul and Claire spun around in unison and looked up at the flat screen television perched upon the wall.

“With seven percent of precincts reporting in the state,” the younger anchorman said, “Senator Claxton is trailing Congressman Mark Bennett seventy one percent to twenty eight percent. John this is a pretty large margin, even though it’s still early in the night, is this a bad sign for Senator Claxton?”

Anderson’s heart dropped. Seventy-one is bigger than seventy, he thought.

“That’s coming from Portland, right?” Paul asked.

“God, I hope so.” Claire responded.

“What do we do now?” Anderson asked

“We win Bangor.” Claire said, “We win Bangor big.

She looked up at the obviously concerned Senator. She knew he needed to relax a bit.

“I’m going to get you one of those lobster rolls.” Claire said.

            When the polls closed in New York at 9 P.M., Michelle Marone sat in a chair front of a television near the ballroom of the Radisson in Huntington where hundreds of supporters had gathered. Her husband Robert walked around the room, looking at his watch. She was hoping for an early night, either with a victory or a loss, for no other reason than she wanted her son up on stage with her and she had to put him to bed early for school tomorrow. She knew that was probably not going to happen and that there was a chance there would be no winner when she takes her son to school in the morning.

“Polls are closed.” Robert said to his wife.

She smiled at him.

“I’m honestly glad it’s over.” She told him, “One way or another, it’s over.”

“Well, if you win, you got to do it again in two years.” Robert said

“Yeah, but that’s two years. I can have a little time without being a candidate for anything.” Michelle said, “I’d do it again, just not tomorrow.”

Robert knelt down next to his wife.

“I’m proud of you, either way.” Robert said, “You did something amazing. I never thought it would get this far.”

Michelle laughed, “I can’t believe I did all these either.”

“Mommy!” Jake yelled as he ran into the room, “Mommy, can we go to the party yet?”

“Not yet sweetheart.” Michelle said, picking up her son and putting her on her lap, “We get to go when mommy wins or loses.”

“I hope you win Mommy.” Jake said giving his mother a hug.

Becky walked through the door into the room and greeted the Marone family. She was reading exit poll information she had gathered from the last few hours.

“What’s the call?” Michelle asked her, Jake still sitting on her lap.

“It’s hard to tell.” Becky said, her eyes still on the papers, “The congressman is still polling well in groups we’d like to win, but we’re doing well in places I didn’t think we would. The exit polls seem like they’re contradicting themselves. I don’t know what to take from them.”

“Great.” Michelle said sarcastically.

“The first results will be coming out shortly.” Becky said, “We’re not sure exactly which precincts will be reporting first, but don’t be surprised if Republican precincts report first.”

Michelle was getting very anxious by now. She looked over at the television where she can see results from other races around the country crawling across the bottom of the screen. None of them were in New York. As she held her son on her lap, she though; Maybe this was all a mistake, maybe I should never have jumped into the race. Part of her wanted to lose tonight, because of how different live would be for her and her family if she had to go to Washington, but part of her wanted to win and head to Washington to serve the people she’s met over the course of the last year. If anything, she wanted this night to end. She wanted an answer one way or another.

            The Senate race in Maine tightened considerably by the time Anderson finished eating his lobster roll, but he hadn’t been paying attention. Anderson didn’t know it yet, but he was only down by five percent. He kept trying to convince himself that losing was ok and he should be proud of all his years of service. Some of the best Americans lost reelection campaigns, he thought. He took a sip of his Dr. Pepper as he stared aimlessly in front of him, his eyes seldom blinking.

“Honey.” He heard his wife Barbara behind him, “are you ok?”

Anderson turned around and smiled, “Sure,” he told her.

“Maybe you should go inside with everyone else.” She told him, “They’re getting a little bit worried about you.”

“Barb, I don’t want to watch myself lose.” Anderson said

“You’re not going to lose.” Barbara said, “I just don’t believe for a second you will lose.”

Anderson sighed. He knew his wife had to tell him that, so it didn’t help ease his tensions. He was trying to think what the results were right now. It’s been about an hour since the results started coming in, so somewhere between sixty and seventy percent of precincts must be reporting to now and he was scared to even think about how much he might be trailing by. He shook his head, he just couldn’t imagine it. His deep thought was broken by the sounds of cheers coming from the ballroom and inside a nearby room where his staffers were.

“SENATOR!” he heard Claire yelling. She ran out of the small conference room she was in, “Senator, you’d better get in here.”

Anderson, with Barbara in tow, walked into the room full of televisions he was in earlier in the night. He stood next to Claire and Paul, who were both wearing smiles ear to ear. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“We are seeing a huge rally for Senator Claxton right now,” said the older news anchor named John, “In the last half hour he has managed to erase a twelve point Bennett lead and take a small few hundred vote lead. With seventy-one percent of precincts reporting, Senator Claxton has 334,567 votes to Congressman Bennett’s 333,761 votes.”

“What happened?” Anderson said, shocked at what he was witnessing, trying to convince himself, it wasn’t a dream. It looked up at the screen, with showed his face and Congressman Bennett’s face below him. Both had 50% of the vote.

“The exit polls from Penobscot County look like they were wrong.” Claire said, “You’re up by twenty percent in Brewster, fifteen in Orono, twenty three in Old Town.”

“You’re winning Washington County with sixty-one percent of the vote.” Paul continued, “You’re a few hundred votes up in York County with ninety seven percent of precincts in. You’re even winning Biddeford.”

Anderson smiled and let out a laugh. He turned around and hugged Barbara.

“What’s left to report?” he asked

“Aroostook County and the Coastal areas. I don’t think we’ve seen any precincts from Waldo or Lincoln County yet.” Claire said, “If we pull this out, it’s going to be by a thousand or two thousand, but it looks a lot better than did when I fetched you that lobster roll.”

Anderson put his arm around his wife and looked back up the television. He had been up 806 votes, but by the time his eyes looked back at the TV, he was now up 949 votes with 73% of the precincts reporting. A sudden rush of confidence came over him. He knew it wasn’t over, but he was more sure that he had been all day that he would be the Senior Senator from Maine for another six years.

            Back on Long Island, Michelle sat on the floor of a hallway outside the main ballroom, ignoring the sounds coming out of the room full of supporters. She was playing Go Fish with her young son, trying to keep him occupied and her calm. She looked at her watch. It was slightly before ten o’clock.

“Do you have any fives?” Michelle asked her son smiling.

“Go fish Mommy!” Jake said with a sinister child smile.

“Oh no.” Michelle said. She picked up a card, then another, until she finally found a five. Just as she picked up the five, Becky came into the hallway looking for her frantically.

“MICHELLE!” she yelled, “What are you doing out here?”

“Playing ‘Go Fish’ with Jake.” She said, pointing to the cards.

“Michelle, you’d better come inside, sixty-two percent are reporting.” Becky said,

“Oh?” Michelle asked, as if she didn’t care, “Who’s winning?”

“Michelle, come inside.” Becky said.

Michelle looked at Jake. “Mommy will be right back.” She told him as she got up and walked with Becky. As they walked into the conference room full of campaign staffers, she got a round of applause. Standing over by the wall was her husband Robert, applauding and smiling. Michelle looked at the closest television and noticed the results up on the screen.

“You’re running away with it in Huntington and Babylon. You’re ahead by more than twenty percent in Wyandanch, Brentwood, and Lindenhurst. You’re even winning Dix Hills and Deer Park. D’Amico always wins Dix Hills and Deer Park.”

Michelle didn’t respond. She looked up at the screen. She was leading 55%-45%, by over 12,000 votes. All of the precincts weren’t in yet, but she knew this was really good for her.

“They’re going to call it any minute.” Becky said, “You’re going to win. You’re going to be Congresswoman-elect.”

Becky smiled bashfully as her husband Robert put her arm around her. She leaned on his shoulder as they watched the television news reporters.

            It’s was just about 10:15 when the news crossed the desk of every major news organization in the country. The Associated Press called them first, then CBS, then NBC and within minutes CNN reported it.

            In Maine, the younger reporter on the Bangor local news station cut into another reporter’s newscast of the other notable races around the country to announce it.

“We have a call to make.” He said, reading off a newly printed sheet of paper, “We are now prepared to call the Maine Senate Race for Republican incumbent Anderson Claxton. With just over eighty percent of precincts reporting, Claxton has a fifty-one to forty-nine lead over Congressman Mark Bennett. We feel confident that when all the precincts report tonight, Senator Claxton will be the victor in Maine tonight.”

Euphoria erupted at Claxton’s Bangor headquarters. Anderson hugged and kissed his wife and looked happily in her eyes.

“I told you I knew you’d win.” She told you.

Anderson laughed and shook his head. Just then, there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Claire holding a cell phone.

“Senator, it’s Congressman Bennett.” She said with a smile, “He’s conceding.”

Anderson took the cell phone and put it to his ear.

“Congressman.” He greeted, “Thank you for such a great race.”

            Michelle had noticed that Anderson Claxton had won the Maine Senate race as the results crawled on the lower part of the TV screen. Before she can make a note of it, she saw the news she had been waiting for.

“We are prepared to make a very big call here,” said the young female reporter sitting at the news desk, “We are now prepared to call the race for the Third Congressional Seat in Suffolk County for Democrat Michelle Marone. With seventy nine percent of the precincts reporting, Marone leads incumbent Republican Larry D’Amico fifty four percent to forty five percent with about one percent going to other candidates.  This is a huge win for the Democrats here on Long Island.”

Becky and Robert both roared with happiness. Michelle gave a huge sigh of relief as her husband hugged her. Staff members all come to her, one at a time, to congratulate her. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, her son Jake walk into the room.

“Mommy!” he said running over to her, “Did you win?”

“Yes baby.” She said smiling, picking her son up, “Mommy’s going to Congress.”

“YAY!” Jake roared, clapping his hands. Michelle and Robert both laughed.

            Senator Claxton gave an impassioned fifteen minute victory speech in Bangor. He praised the people of Maine and his opponent and took a few minutes to celebrate democracy and talk about his love for America and Maine. Congresswoman-elect Marone gave a similar speech, albeit interrupted by the sounds of ecstatic supporters happily celebrating the defeat of their ten-term Republican incumbent. For them, it hadn’t really set it that they had won, right now, they were more excited about the fact the waiting was over. The decision had been made. Now, they can move on. For Senator Claxton, that meant putting together a legislative agenda for the next Congress. For Michelle Marone, it meant setting up an office and preparing her husband and son for a move to Washington, they would spend half of the next two years. Both of them were thrilled that, for now, the campaigning were over. For their campaign managers and fundraisers, however, when the sun rises tomorrow morning, they campaign kick starts again. While the Senator and the Congresswoman go to Washington to do the job the people elected them to do, they prepare for the next first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, the next time they will be painfully waiting while the people decide.