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On Wednesday, at 5:45pm, I was drinking my mom’s honey boba tea, while screaming at the TV. I live ten minutes away from Capitol Hill and close to my parents, the only people besides my husband and sister who I’ve seen since March of last year.
Just two months before, on November 7, I had driven into D.C. and watched the crowds from afar. Usually I stay in the car, watching the gorgeous monuments through closed windows. But that day was different. The Associated Press had called the election. Biden won. The city was screaming with joy.
We blasted “Party in the U.S.A.” and “Happy” from our car’s loudspeakers and kept the windows open. It was a great day. But it was a day soon dulled by the reality that Donald Trump and millions of his supporters were living in a different world, one in which he had won and the election was a joke.
Last Wednesday, we saw the culmination of months of lies as domestic terrorists broke past police lines and stormed the Capitol building. Congressional offices were looted and vandalized, windows were broken, and representatives were hiding scared in bunker rooms. People died.
