The Voting Machine

No Struggle, No Progress

Annabelle dropped me off at 8:00 a.m., just in time to witness Mr. Reddy reeling in horror at the overnight damage to his gas station. The glass doors of the mini-mart were completely smashed and someone had spray painted a nasty message in bright, red letters across the side of the store.

TERRORIST OWNED!

The vandals had taken the time to sever the plastic tubes connecting the gas dispensers from the pumps, ensuring that no customer would fill their tanks anytime soon.

Mr. Reddy held his head with both hands in shock and agony. When Fatima arrived a few minutes later to open Dollar Delight, she joined us in comforting him.

"We're so sorry, Mr. Reddy," Annabelle said.

"Did you call the police?" I asked him. He still had the stunned expression, but then grabbed a broom from inside the store. He began sweeping broken glass from the sidewalk as if that was the only possible response to what had just happened.

"Let us help you," Annabelle offered.

"No, please. All of you leave me alone. I don't want any more trouble."

"Mr. Reddy, we know who must've done this," Annabelle said. "We're not going to let them get away with it."

"This happened because I let you people put come and set up your table in front of my store. I should have never got involved in your campaign."

"You didn't do anything wrong," I said. "The men who did this are criminals. We've got to tell the police."

"What are the police going to do? They can't prove who did this. I don't keep the security camera on after I close the store."

"We can catch them. It might take some time. But we've got to show them we're not scared," Fatima said.

Mr. Reddy shook his head. "For ten years I never have any problems like this at my gas station. Then I let you come with the voting booth and they destroy my store on the first night. I am sorry, but this ends now. I can't take any more chances."

There was nothing else to say. He paid a heavy price for cooperating with us. Abdul Shahabi was wise to refuse his Dollar Delight storefront. He knew the stakes and he wasn't willing to risk his business for our cause.

We folded up our registration table and took our boxes back to the car. Our opponents had won this round. I told them they couldn't bully us. I was wrong.

Later in the day, Annabelle and I paid a visit to David's house. He hadn't come to the office for several days now and we were getting worried. David was never a husky guy to begin with but when he answered the door, I'd never seen him so gaunt.

"Are you OK?" we asked.

"Just a little under the weather," he muttered.

"What's going on, David?" Annabelle said.

"Nothing," he said in an agitated voice. "Don't worry about me. I've just come down with something. I'll get over it."

"Can we bring you some food?" Annabelle asked. "Or maybe cook something? It looks like you haven't been eating."

"I can feed myself," he shot back. Then he realized how grouchy he must have sounded and softened his tone. "Thanks for thinking of me. Have a seat."

On the mantle next to his ancient sofa, there were dusty pictures of David and his wife when they were younger, marching in Vietnam-era protests with long, shaggy hair, army jackets, and wire-framed glasses.

On the wall above the mantle, there was a portrait of Frederick Douglass in an antique frame. I read his quotation engraved underneath.

If there is no struggle, there is no progress.

"Tell me how the campaign is going?" David said, bringing us each a glass of water from the kitchen. "Did you set up the registration stand in front of the Dollar Delight by the DMV?"

Annabelle and I both nodded. "We signed up two dozen people yesterday." We didn't have the heart to tell David everything that had happened.

"That young girl, Fatima, she is going to be something." David smiled at the image of his wife on the mantle. "She reminds me of a girl I knew when I was her age."

David started coughing until he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Maybe we should take you to see a doctor, David?"

"I am fine. I already went to see my doctor. He said I am too old to be pushing myself, working all these hours with the campaign. I'll slow down once the election is over."

"You need to rest, David," Annabelle said. "We can take care of the campaign. You taught us well. Just stay home for a week. We'll come by every day and give you an update on how things are going."

After we left David's house, Annabelle waited until she was inside the car, then she slammed her fist on the dashboard and starting crying.

"Fuck! Did you see him? He doesn't have a cold. He's like a skeleton! Something's going on with his health and he's not telling us. And on top of it, this campaign is going to shit. We're never going to register enough voters to get the lead we need. You saw what they did to that gas station owner. They're going to scare people away from us."

She continued to sob.

"It's not going to be that bad, Annabelle."

"David would know how to handle this. He could outsmart someone like Zeke Legend. But now he's sick and there's no one left to lead except me. And I am stupid. I am weak. It's the same as it ever was. I'm completely useless except for my father's money."

"Don't start with that."

"You should go back to LA, Temo. I should've never got you mixed up in this. I can work something out with the court to transfer you out of my custody. Or I can tell them you're in custody of the LA clinic. You should focus on taking care of your family. That's the smart thing to do. I am the foolish one, spending my life chasing these big ideas that are just going to fail. And I am doing it because that's all I have. It's the only thing that keeps me from going backwards to what I was before."

"You're not going to fail."

She hugged me and neither one of us let go. She needed someone to hold her and comfort her. Nothing else happened between us.

There was still an attraction between us but it wasn't important to me. I realized now that nothing would cure the emptiness of being away from Suzy and Reina. I still had a dream of being with my wife and creating a bond with my daughter for the future, like the dream of Mohammed and Fatima.

But I still owed Annabelle a great debt. She and David pulled me out of despair. They gave me something to believe in. Frederick Douglass was right. There is no progress without struggle. Power concedes nothing without demand.

And so, Annabelle, David, and all the other volunteers would always have a special place in my heart, for working hard and making sacrifices and expecting no personal benefit. They did it because they loved the struggle for progress. They loved trying to prove history doesn't have to be a nightmare.