Call Obama

It has begun to pour, I mean a deluge of water so heavy the Pacific Ocean could be falling from the sky.

I cannot see. My windshield wipers are flaps of rubber peeling off and streaking the glass like long little black worms.

I stop at the next truck stop 3miles down the road. The rain has ended as quickly as it began. The skies are mottled blues and blacks and whites, promising more rain maybe or most likely more sun but DEFINITELY much humidity.

The young womon at the desk sells me windshield wipers as she asks me what my t-shirt means. "Troops Home Now" my shirt says. I look at her and she motions thru the plate glass window at my truck and adds "and that".

She has a veiled, guarded look under her extremely professional veneer, a look I almost missed. I begin explaining CodePINK, although I think she looks so young, she might have been 10 when Bush took over.

I tell her I'm working to end war and bring our troops home.

She calmly tells me with such faith and patience that Obama is bringing the troops home by 2010.

I begin to challenge her beliefs, pointing out his breaking our agreement with Iraq to remove troops by June 2009.

Another young alert womon worker silently joins us. As I'm speaking about Obama she in solidarity with her co-worker, begins to talk over me, asking her to perform some work-related task.

I get the message. I have been gently but firmly disallowed to continue speaking poorly of Obama. The white man I left at the gas station flashes before my eyes. I wonder if these two young womyn see him in my face. I hope not.

I switch gears quickly wanting to clarify and clearly set myself apart from him, and tell them both Obama needs to hear from us. Call him. I ask them to imagine the pressure he's getting from war profiteers to keep us at war. Electing him wasn't enough. We need to call.

They politely if not pityingly look at me as they bid me farewell. And off I go, mollified with my new windshield wipers.