Everyone ready?” My roommate, Shae, asks before we make the twenty-minute trek from our apartment to Haymakers for an early dinner. It’s the event I’ve been looking forward to all week, I finally get to try the Haymakers one-and-a-half-pound soft pretzel. It was only a week ago that I learned it existed, but given that we’re in a pandemic, it doesn’t take much for me to get excited.
My roommates, Shae and Katherine, and I opted for an early dinner because the Haymakers website is plastered with its happy hour deal: “25% off starters and 50% off drinks M-F 3:00-6:00.” Unfortunately, the deal that made this place a must-try was too good to be true. The restaurant stopped offering the deal when they closed for the pandemic, but Shae, Katherine, and I decide to make the most of the night and take the pretzel to Bill’s Beer Garden instead. Since it is early, it will still be warm, and we will beat the crowd. I’m determined to make the best of my COVID-safe ‘night out.’
We arrive at the Beer Garden after picking up our pretzel. The table is in a cool spot up against the glass of the Garden store. Behind my head is a hanging plant that would look great in my apartment if I could keep it alive. I don’t have much light, so I would probably kill it, but I like to think that someday I’ll have a room with big windows and plenty of plants.
The waitress arrives as I am still admiring the plants and I order my current go-to beer, a Short’s Soft Parade. Katherine opens the pizza box to reveal a golden-brown pretzel, freckled with white pieces of salt, surrounded by cups of liquid gold that the menu labeled as “beer cheese”. We take a few pictures and begin to devour the fluffy pretzel. Sure, I prefer to be getting ready for a night at Rick’s, but things could be worse. I’m healthy, and as of this moment, there is a chance we could have a new occupant in the White House come January. This is one of my few remaining hopes for the state of the country.
As we enjoy the pretzel, Shae tells us about her cousin who she recently learned will be transferring to Michigan: “Yeah, he jokes that if something happens to Ruth Bader Ginsberg, she’ll just be Weekend at Bernie-ing until January,” she says. It doesn’t mean much in this moment; It is a joke. For months I have been rambling about how Biden has to win so RBG can retire. I have attempted to block all other scenarios from my head.
After a few drinks the sun has set and despite the heater above our table, it’s getting chilly. The line for Bill’s goes around the corner, so Shae, Katherine and I decide to give up our table and find a way to spend the rest of the evening back in our apartment.
We finally arrive home and all rush to warm up. It’s only 7:30, so there is plenty of night left to enjoy. I slip on more comfortable clothes and grab my phone before I collapse onto the couch. I put a bottle of our finest wine in the fridge so we can enjoy it later, excited for whatever is in store.
I look down at my phone and see a text from my sister, Natalie, in our family group chat.
“Did you see the news” she wrote.
“What news?” My mom immediately responds. I initially don’t think much about it, as it’s probably something she saw on social media about a family member or another crazy thing the current occupant of the White House did.
“RBG” Natalie responds, followed by four sobbing emojis.
I gasp. No. This cannot be happening. Maybe she just had another scare in the hospital, I know she has been in and out because of her pancreatic cancer. Katherine is staring at me wondering what catastrophe I am experiencing as I turn to social media to confirm the news. It takes no time before the worst is confirmed. I scroll through the tweets and Instagram stories. Some are more hopeful than others but reading that Ruth Bader Ginsberg would have chosen hope over despair does not prompt me to do the same. Maybe that is what she would choose, but unfortunately my emotions don’t work that way. My mind spins in circles, thinking of what the current administration will do, in what I can only pray will be its final months, to overturn RBG’s life’s work.
As I try to absorb the news, I think back to an incident last semester, the day of the Michigan primary and the day before classes were switched to online. I was sitting in the living room of my apartment with my current roommate, Shae, and one of our former roommates, discussing how this crazy virus could affect the election. We didn’t think it would last very long at this time, but Biden and Bernie would lose a few weeks on the campaign trail and people might be afraid to vote in their respective primaries.
“Honestly, elections don’t really matter.” My former roommate chimed in. I had not had many political conversations with her, but she always referred to herself as socially liberal and had heard me complain about Trump plenty of times. “It doesn’t make much of a difference who the president is in the United States. There are so many checks and balances, the president is basically just a figurehead,” She continued. “And honestly, I don’t think Trump is nearly as bad as people say he is. I think Bernie would do way more damage.” After she said this, I glanced back down at my homework as Shae began a discussion on why she felt that was not the case. As I often do when I’m frustrated, I texted my mom a transcript of the conversation. She called me later.
“Does she not know anything about how our system works?” My mom asked. “What about the Supreme Court Justices?” In that moment, I thought about the notorious RBG. I knew that whatever bubble I filled in for the November election would not just be for them and the cabinet they choose to surround themselves with, but for Ruth’s successor.
I snap back into reality.
“What happened,” Shae asks running into the room.
“Ruth,” I respond. I imagine her mind is suddenly as muddled as mine.
“Oh my gosh,” Shae says. “I can’t believe I joked about Ruth Weekend at Bernie-ing.” As awful as everything is, the thought of a scheme to pretend that Justice Ginsberg is alive briefly lightens the mood.
“I guess we should open the wine,” Katherine chimes in. “Pour one out for Ruth.” We pull the slightly chilled three buck chuck out of the fridge and realize it’s not a twist top and we don’t have a proper corkscrew. As minor as this issue is, it seems fitting as the night just continues to get worse. I begin to call everyone I know who lives nearby in an urgent search for a corkscrew. I realize this is not that important, but at least I have a task that keeps me from sitting on the couch and continuing to scroll through posts that only heighten my fear of the future.
Eventually we acquire a corkscrew and fill our glasses. We trudge the five steps from the kitchen to the living room and all, once again, find ourselves slumped on the couch. I think about the last nine months of the Obama administration, when prominent Republicans insisted that the next president fill the spot on the Supreme Court. I know these same primarily old white men will do everything in their power to fill the seat this time, despite the fact that today was the first day of early voting in some states. They cannot just throw in a new Supreme Court Justice when the election has already started! But of course, led by McConnell and egged on by Trump, they will. And maybe it won’t matter, because maybe we won’t have a new president anytime soon. The negligence of the administration has killed over 215,000 people but somehow, it just keeps going. Trump keeps lying and declaring imagined victories, and too many Americans seem to buy it. I think of my former roommate, who believes the president is just a figurehead and cannot create change or do any damage. I take a sip of the barely chilled wine. It is pretty bad. But how else would this night go? A few hours ago, I was drinking a good beer, I had a sliver of hope, I thought maybe things would get better. Now, as I sip my wine, knowing a young, arch conservative nominee will take RBG’s place, that sliver of hope is virtually nonexistent. But how else would this year go?
Following my initial reaction to Justice Ginsberg’s death, I begin to reflect on why this actually matters to me and to so many others. I know that RBG stands for something. I have associated her with women’s rights and hope for the future. She fought for women’s rights, the rights of the LGBTQ+ community, medical insurance, undocumented people, disabled people, and more. While not everything she fought for directly impacts me, I am still left with much to fear. I fear that a women’s right to choose will be taken away and that many will not be able to afford healthcare. I also think of minorities who are already considered by many to be less than and will likely lose rights as a result of future Supreme Court rulings. I fear that environmental laws will continue to be struck down, imperiling the future of our planet. The court will be 6-3 conservative, despite that, based on elections, 66% of the country does not have these beliefs. The party that the minority of the country believes in has found a way, lawfully and constitutionally, to dominate the Supreme Court which makes the ultimate decisions regarding the rules and laws in this country.
The morning after we learn about Justice Ginsberg’s death, Shae and I head to Eastern Market in Detroit. We are surrounded by colorful “Healthier, Wealthier, Happier Detroit” signs and squinty eyes, signaling that the other shoppers are smiling beneath their masks. We discuss what we can do to help. Drinking cheap wine will not bring Ruth back. It will not bring back everyone who lost their lives to COVID. It will not magically allow me to have a “normal” senior year. While traversing the aisles filled with fruit, vegetables, meat, plants, and more, I ponder how I can make a difference.
“What about being a poll worker?” Shae asks. This is something I’ve considered before.
“It takes fifteen hours on a Tuesday, and they only need Republicans around Ann Arbor,” I respond. “A phone banker?” I suggest.
“We can look into it,” She says, saving the idea for later. We continue to wonder and when our eyes catch a succulent stand and we are both pulled in by all the little green plants, ending our conversation. Frankly, most of the ideas we have seem like they would make little difference anyway.
There is one thing that I can do that is crucial for the election, and that is to vote. It won’t be so Ruth can retire, but it is for the chance to have serious officials in the White House. It is for the chance to have lawmakers who believe in science and to help choose my local officials. Would it change the outcome if I did not vote? Probably not. But the one hundred million eligible people who did not vote in the last presidential election could have changed the outcome. Even though my vote makes only a small fraction of a difference it seems to be the most impactful difference I can make. Through my vote, I can help give more power to the party with which my beliefs align closest. Maybe the Democrats will win the presidency, hold the House, and take the Senate. Maybe it will be my worst nightmare, another Trump victory, and all hope I have will be lost. Either way, in this moment, I am excited to make my voice heard and vote.
Zoe Baxter | September 18 – 19, 2020 | Ann Arbor, MI