"Hello. We're so very glad to meet you."
Chance and Mia were carrying small items from the trunk of the car to their new home when the neighbors stepped over, beaming.
"We're so very, very glad to meet you," said the man pumping Chance's hand.
Mia judged them to be well meaning if not particularly well mannered. It's not as if the couple brought with them, for example, a casserole.
The lack of manners and the couple themselves were quickly forgotten as Mia and Chance unpacked what boxes they could before collapsing on the mattress. Too wired to sleep, too tired to make out, they entertained one another with fantasies of what the new house would bring. Fantasies were good for them, they were of the 'creative class.'
The next morning, they both overslept, neither remembering to set the alarm on the clock and both insisting the other had promised to do it. Chance had the day off but Mia had to head to the office.
"Meaning I get to drag everything out to the trash can," Chance observed.
And he did. A little after eight o'clock. Bumping into another neighbor as he did, carrying a large pan covered in foil.
"Don't ask," she said indicating the pan, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. "Brisket. Or attempted brisket. You might say it was slaughtered twice."
She dumped the pan and all into the trash can, took a drag off her cigarette, sizing him up.
"Sylvia," she said extending her hand.
"Chance," he replied shaking it. "We just moved in yesterday. It seems like a . . ."
"Hon, forget coffee. I haven't had my morning shower yet. Let me take care of that, come over in 15 and you can tell me all about yourself."
Waving, she headed back to her house.
Fifteen minutes later, he strolled over and was about to knock when he heard her yell, "Come on in, it's open."
Walking through the entry way, he was taken aback by the large poster of US Senator Barack Obama.
"My husband was a blogger. Now he works for a news weekly. He's obsessed with Obama."
Chance took the coffee mug Sylvia was holding out.
"I really haven't thought much about the election. It's like a year away."
"I know," she agreed. "But anyone's got to be better than Bush, right?"
Nodding, he followed her to the kitchen where he outlined his wife and his life thus far and she caught him up on the neighborhood.
"My husband, Mark, thinks the world's problems can be boiled down to 'too many hypocrites'," Sylvia explained lighting a cigarette.
Chance shrugged and nodded.
"Meanwhile, the little prince doesn't wash a dish, doesn't do a load of laundry and is a little too fond of Quentin Tarantino films if you get my meaning."
"He's gay?"
"No. No. Progressive. Not gay. At least, I don't think so. But, no, I was referring to the constant use of the n-word. He thinks it's okay for him to use it if he's 'quoting' the movie. So what about you and -- Mia? -- Mia. Okay. What about you and Mia?"
"Well, we're Democrats."
"Good. Everyone on the block except for Jim and Susan are Democrats or progressives. Those two are the block's token Republicans. And, let me warn you, Jim will justify the Iraq War, he will excuse it, he will lie about it. Too many beers in the backyard and a simple get-together can get quite heated. He's very committed to the Bushes and their dynasty. And Susan's the same. Then there's Kimberly, her husband left her for a tanning salon 'technician.' Anyway, Kimberly voted for Ralph Nader in 2000 and 2004. My husband forgives her for 2004 but he has been known to rip her apart for 2000."
"Well Ralph's got some good qualities," Chance offered. "I could see voting for him because he believes in what I believe. Or I could see going for Hillary Clinton because she's got the experience."
"I'm for Hillary myself," Sylvia said stubbing out her cigarette. "And Mark and I are in the midst of a fight about whose sign is going to go up in the front yard when the primary rolls around."
"She seemed like good people," Chance explained to Mia over dinner. "She was nothing like the bland couple from last night. Haven't met the husband, Mark, yet. But Sylvia gave me a breakdown on the neighborhood."
Sylvia was good people. Mia decided that quickly as 2007 wound down. When the pipes burst in the bathroom, Sylvia came right over, turned off the water and called the plumber she and Mark used. When their perfect home turned out to have a leak in the bedroom ceiling, Sylvia and her Rolodex yet again came to the rescue.
Sylvia was fun and she was funny. So funny that she almost made up for Mark who was a humorless man who bleated away on one topic over and over: Barack Obama.
"Honestly," Sylvia said laughing one Saturday as they were strolling through the neighborhood, "I keep expecting him to go door to door and ask people, 'Have you accepted the politician Barack Obama as your personal savior?'"
"He is a bit fanatical, isn't he? Have you decided who you're supporting?"
"I'm still with Hillary. I'm sticking with Hillary."
"Wouldn't that be something? A woman president."
"Agreed, but I don't think they'd let her get the nomination."
"What do you mean?" Mia asked. "Assassination?"
"By a hundred slams. Look, Mark was a blogger. I know their mind set. They hate women. They link to Perky Breasts Posing As Feminist and they make that their token woman link. Have you never noticed? Can you imagine what they're going to do to Hillary? And who's going to stick up for her? Never trust a Mudflap Gal to do the work of a woman."
"But there are women bloggers."
"Yeah, but think back to high school. The cheerleader gets dumped by the quarterback, who does everyone kiss up to? The quarterback. A guy and a girl fool around, the girl's pregnant and drops out or goes to a 'special' school. And the guy skates away free. You see women calling that out? I see most of them going along with it. Mainly out of fear that if they stand up for another woman, they'll be attacked next."
It was at the last BBQ for the summer that Mia and Chance met Kimberly, the Nader supporter.
"I'm telling you," she said picking over the grilled chicken, "next year is Ralph's year. Trust me. The country is too screwed up. We need someone who believes in something."
"Change! Change!" Mark shouted over her.
"Change what?" she shot back. "His diaper? Tell you little fellow to stay in the Senate and get some seasoning. He's got no leadership experience as of yet and we need a real leader."
"And Ralph does!"
"He took on Big Auto! Ralph knows what needs to be done."
While others walked away, Mark and Kimberly spent the next hour debating the merits of their prospective candidates.
Fall turned winter and the holiday seasons and the family get-togethers and the travel and before you knew it, there was 2008. And the snow covered lawns caught the eye for many reasons but, to Mia, chiefly because of the signs.
"Is everyone on our block voting for Barack Obama?" she asked Chance as they stared out the bay windows.
He counted up the signs and pointed out that Kimberly had no sign up in her yard, nor did Jim and Susan or, for that matter, Sylvia and Mark.
"I'm going to go online later today," Chance said, "and order a Hillary yard sign."
It was a day later when she was race walking that Mia saw Kimberly putting out her yard sign. For Barack Obama.
Still catching her breath, she walked up.
"Kimberly, what happened? You're supporting Ralph."
Kimberly turned to her with a warm smile and declared, "Barack is the way. Look around, the children love him. And children are wise and smart. And we must follow the children. We must encourage the children and we must obey them. Even Grace Lee Boggs says so. And she's like a million and three-years-old. So we must listen to the children."
Mia backed away quickly and hurried off.
"So they got to her too?"
Mia turned around and saw Jim. He jerked his head over to Kimberly's yard where she stood admiring the sign she'd just put up.
"It's like the whole neighborhood's gone Barack Obama," Jim snorted. "I wonder if something got slipped into the water?"
"I have no idea," Mia replied, "but my husband and I are supporting Hillary."
"Won't matter, Rudy Giuliani's going to kick every one's butt in November."
In bed later that night, Mia and Chance wondered what could be going on?
"Did you order the Hillary sign?"
"They were out," Chance replied. "We're on back order. I'm tempted to make a home made sign just to get something up in the yard."
A week later, they headed to Mark and Sylvia's for a party.
"Well I guess Mark got his way," Mia said pointing to the sign on the lawn.
The door flew open and there was Sylvia . . . wearing an Obama pin.
Mia looked shocked as Sylvia swept her inside.
"We're all for Barack Obama," Sylvia declared hugging Mia. "Look, even Jim and Susan."
And, sure enough, there the two stood wearing Obama pins.
"B-b-but, you're Republicans!" Mia exclaimed.
"Barack is the way. Barack is the light. Barack will heal. In this country and around the world. Barack is our path to salvation," Jim and Susan chanted in unison.
"I'm getting the hell out of here," Mia said heading for the front door; however, Chance blocked her.
"Mia, we're all for Barack. He is the way. Come to Barack, Mia, come to Barack."
"You're all crazy!" she screamed running up the stairs.
She entered the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
Sweat was dripping from her forehead.
The whole thing had to be a joke, right? The whole neighborhood couldn't go nutty, right?
Forget who the candidate was, there was no way that Republicans and Naderites would give up their own values to chase a fad, right?
"Those people are nuts," Mia whispered.
"Not nuts, infected."
Mia's head spun around to discover Mark standing behind her.
"Mia, I'll swap spit with you as I did your husband, as I did with the entire neighborhood, and then you'll be supporting Obama as well."
"Obama! Obama! Obama!" the neighborhood chanted in the hallway, just behind the closed door.
Mia looked around frantically and backed away from Mark.
"Look, you're crazy. You're all crazy. And, honestly, Mark, if you wanted to make a pass at me, you should have the balls to do so and not hide behind this 'I'm going to infect you' bulls**t."
Mia's calves hit something. Turning, she saw the bed was directly behind her and Mark was lurching at her. She moved quickly but Mark followed.
"Get away from me, you sick f**k!" she screamed. "I'll never support him, I'll never support that homophobe!"
Mark snarled, screamed and ran into her, sending her flying backwards, through the glass window, hurtling down to the front lawn where she ended with a loud THUD and then remained, not moving.
The bedroom door opened and everyone poured in.
"I had to do it," Mark told Chance, "she wasn't going to vote for Barack."
Chance nodded and put a consoling arm around him, "It's okay, Mark. I'd already sent off for an absentee ballot for her. In death, we'll get her to do what she wouldn't do while alive: Vote for Obama."
Obama! Obama! Obama!
