Dedicate Your Vote

Donald Trump is my high school boyfriend with his mouth pressed against my ear saying in his sexy, growly voice, “Am I going to have to put you on a carrot and celery diet?” as he slips his hand between my thighs.

Donald Trump is my father’s contempt when he assures me that nothing could be less interesting to him than whatever I am reading.

Donald Trump is my father choosing all the clothes I must wear the weekend of his third wedding because I am “a reflection of him.”

Donald Trump is my father paying my Manhattan rent for me so that I will “pay less in taxes” and he can use it as a business expense on his taxes, stealing from all of you and from my social security.

Donald Trump is my grandfather saying, “I can’t understand a word you kids are saying. Enunciate! You sound like a pack of blacks,” shortly before the handsome African American man with the James Earl Jones voice introduced himself as our waiter that evening.

Donald Trump is my father reaching across the table and pulling my friend’s blouse down and to the side to show his clients what they could take back to their hotel room with them if they wanted.

Donald Trump is my grandmother in her Ferragamo shoes and Chanel dress saying to my 5 year old daughter, “I call that nigger pink,” her nostrils flared as if she smells a fart.

Donald Trump is my high school boyfriend telling me to stop thinking so much, no one wants to hang with the smart girls.

Donald Trump is my first husband kicking me under the dining table and telling me in front of friends that no one is interested in hearing my opinion.

Donald Trump is my father backed into a corner by the powers of logic and reason saying, “You will do as I say,” in his most dangerous voice.

Donald Trump is my grandmother reprimanding me at the Country Club for thanking the waitress for simply doing her job.

Donald Trump is a good friend of the family taking me out on the town in a limo his company is paying for then, at the end of the evening sliding his hand around the back of my neck, looking into my 25 year old face, and telling me I am a “good girl” right before he sticks his tongue in my mouth.

I dedicate my vote to all the women who have these same kinds of stories to tell.

Previously published in the collection Dedicate Your No-Trump Vote by Julianna Baggott