Only Tonight

The irony that I’ve been asked to meet McKe

The late call has left me feeling unprepared for the interview, although, I’m not sure of my interest in the opportunity anyway. The thought of following the progress of the campaign and a boring candidate for months is rather depressing, but desperation outweighs all of these concerns. I'm here because my freelance work dried up and I'm living off of my savings.

The University of Notre Dame campus is awe-inspiring; unfortunately I don’t have time to appreciate the history or the architecture, given the late hour. Sliding from the Blazer at just past two in the afternoon, I hurry through the parking lot with only a few minutes left to freshen up after the long ride. The sun peaks through the darkening clouds on this mid-winter day and I burrow down into my scarf. The wind is bitter and inescapable, an instant chill creeping to the bone. Quickening my pace, I run into the building to flee from the blast of cold air, gripping my impractical black velvet pea coat around my neck.

Once inside, I deposit my things at the coat check, searching the lobby for a restroom. An assessment in the mirror confirms my wild auburn waves survived the long ride in the loose bun piled on top of my head, with a few escaped tendrils floating around my face. Ru

It’s not hard to figure out which direction the conference center is located within the confines of the Morris I

It’s my turn at the front. An attendant with beautiful light brown skin grins and flashes his eyes along my shirt before asking, “Name?”

“Charlise Carter,” I say, ignoring his wink and handing him my I.D.

After a quick look at my card and cross-checking the list, I’m motioned into the large room. At the far end is an elevated stage, an unusual U-shaped configuration of tables for members of the media just in front of it. Behind this area are rows of seats for the general public which are filling quickly to capacity. With two levels, the conference center must hold almost four hundred people.

Reaching the media section, I stand aside for others to take a seat, choosing a chair in the third row on the very edge of the assembly, relatively hidden by the excited reporters vying for the best position. A pretty brunette woman sits next to me, preparing a portable mini recorder on the table in front of her, along with a binder for written notes. I watch, fascinated, as she meticulously reapplies her make-up and ensures every strand of hair is perfectly in place.

I’ve set up my iPad to record the press conference, angling it toward the stage. It can’t hurt to tape the event, just in case I’m offered the position and agree to chronicle the campaign.

The crowd calms when a short, balding man appears, walking to stand behind a podium. Holding up his right hand to bring the last bit of conversation to a close, he begins to speak when the room falls to silence.

“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming today. It's with great pleasure I introduce you to a gentleman I had the good fortune to teach not long ago at this very university. His goals and ambitions were clear even then; his drive to succeed unwavering. It's with that same passion he pursues his next endeavor. He is a man of great moral and ethical principles. Embodying honesty and sincere candor, he will lead this country into the next decade with a direct co

The applause is thunderous, anticipation rolling off of the crowd in waves. Who is so awe-inspiring he creates this type of electricity in the room?

Clapping politely I watch a man walk onto the platform, shrouded at first by the shadows at the edge of the stage. The rest of the crowd erupts into louder, riotous applause at his appearance. Hoots and whistles follow him as he makes his way to the forefront. This is the reception of a popular musician, not a politician.

My hands still midair, breathing forgotten. I’m struck by the visage appearing before me. Colin McKe

My heart skips a beat, suspended in time, and then it begins to thrum faster than normal. He is in a three-piece expensive suit; however, he doesn’t look like any politician I’ve ever seen before. He's young, really young for a presidential candidate. Aren’t they supposed to be at least sixty? Isn’t that a pre-requisite for the job? His face is sculpted with a squared chin, holding the slightest indent to soften the center. When he smiles, dimples appear next to his glorious stretch of perfect, white teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly when he grins, bringing together rows of dark lashes that coat and highlight his bright blue eyes. Thick dark-brown hair with hints of caramel ru

It’s only a moment before my gaze is drawn back. Unable to remain impassive, I’m captivated, bewitched by him.

The noise of the crowd has yet to die down; he gives a slight bow of his head, as if embarrassed by the attention. Lifting his hands in the air, he gently gestures for the applause to quiet and a hush falls across the room.

His voice has a low, soothing timbre, “Today I stand before you with our future and the health of our nation lying ahead of us. I have heard the cry for change in Washington, heard the hope that this election will be different than all that came before it. Together, and with my leadership, your desire for a brighter future is within our grasp.”

 I find myself waiting, holding my breath as he speaks. Surely this man, albeit a very attractive man, shouldn’t have this effect on me.