It might have been Pablo's smug attitude, or perhaps Juan was just tired after a long day working in the heat, but the question angered him. For months, he'd been hearing news reports about the upcoming election that were causing him increasingly alarm. “They keep going after him!” Juan’s frustration poured out of him. “They've tried to indict him, throw him in jail, ruin his business, even go after his kids!”
Pablo reacted cooly to Juan’s sudden outburst but said nothing. He just dragged on his cigar, the red tip growing brighter as the length of ash grew longer, threatening to fall onto the sidewalk.
“What they're doing to him is not right!” Juan’s passion was etched in his features. He gripped the jackhammer and physically lifted it to strike the ground. Attacking a man's business and family was just too much. “I’m worried about my country,” he said, unconsciously acknowledging his budding patriotism. “We need to do something to help him out!”
Then Pablo laughed.
Juan wasn’t ready for that reaction. He’d felt instead that Pablo would be angry with him for showing disrespect. His consternation must have shown on his face because his uncle held up a hand to calm him down.
“Oh nephew!” Smoke trailed from his nostrils like some fantastic dragon of old. He wiped a mirthful tear away from his eye, “Do you really think that little sign is going to help Donald Trump become President again?”
“Why are you laughing at me, uncle?” Juan seethed, “We learned in class that voting is the responsibility of every American.”
“So, you think elections are about voting?” Pablo’s eyes narrowed. “Juan, I thought you were smarter than that.”
“Of course they’re about voting,” Juan set his jackhammer down. It helped him relax to move a step or two further away from his uncle. He reached to pick up the yard sign, “What else would they be? Voting is how we elect the President.” He placed the thin aluminum posts into the holes he’d softened in the tough earth. ‘Trump 2024’ was positioned between Juan and his uncle, creating a flimsy barrier.
“Your votes don’t make presidents,” Pablo pulled on his cigar. The long ash at the cigar’s foot finally broke loose and landed. “I do.”
“You do?” Juan turned away to mask his pinched expression.
Juan’s reaction brought another chuckle from Pablo, “You don’t believe me?”
Juan said nothing.
“Haven’t you ever noticed that every election year, the Republicans get way ahead in the vote, and then at the last minute, all the mail-in ballots start coming in? Then the Democrats win.” Pablo pushed a fat finger towards Juan’s face. “Why do you think that is?”
Juan had never followed elections closely, but even he knew his uncle was referring to something easily observed. “I don’t know,” he confessed, “I guess it’s because the Democrats like to vote by mail, and the Republicans tend to vote in person. That's what I heard anyway.”
“Does that make sense?” Pablo insisted. “Wouldn’t the people who voted by mail get their votes in early? The Democrats should be ahead, and then the Republicans who vote in person should catch up with them on voting day, right?”
“I don’t know…” Juan said again, this time more slowly.
“No, Juan, no!” Pablo’s own passions were beginning to show, and he seemed to grow even larger as he spoke with bold authority. “Use your head! Elections aren't about voting. Elections are a business, like any other. Votes are just the product. A vote is like a tortilla, one by itself makes no difference. The money goes to the man who can make thousands and thousands of tortillas and deliver them where they need to be at the right time.”
Juan stared at his uncle, mouth agape. For the first time, he visualized elections as a business, “So… you’re the guy who delivers the tortillas?”
Pablo held his arms out wide, “There you go. Now you’re seeing it!”
“Why?” was all Juan could ask. Why would you sabotage our freedom like that?
“Why?” Pablo repeated sarcastically. “For the money!” He laughed again.
“So, you ‘sell tortillas’ for the Democrats?” Juan could feel the outrage growing in his breast. “Why should I even bother to vote, then? Why even be a citizen?”
“Hey, settle down nephew,” Pablo admonished him, “The Democrats aren't the only dirty ones. I sell tortillas to anyone who wants to buy them. Maybe this year the Republicans have been calling me, wanting to make a deal. Maybe this year when the late votes come in, they will all be for Trump this time.”
Juan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. I can’t believe the whole system is rigged.
Pablo grinned and winked, “Won’t that be a big surprise? The guys I used last time can’t help me this year because they don’t know how to talk like a Republican. I’m putting together a new crew. If you really want to help Trump, I could use a guy like you.”