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I chose to vote absentee for this horribly momentous election. My ballot ceremoniously arrived in the mail last Wednesday. Within moments of retrieving it from my mailbox, I was back in my room and the contents of the envelope were scattered all over my bed. There were two return envelopes, one had to be stuffed inside the other, a ballot, and voter certification slip with a scary federal warning printed on it. It read something like “If you are not the person who this ballot is intended for and you fill it out anyway then you will be in big trouble!” I filled out the certificate and I signed it, all the while thinking “And if I’m not the intended voter, how would they ever know? “ Next, I unfolded the ballot in epic slow motion. This was it! I was going to vote. In a few moments I would no longer be a whiny kid, a worthless teenager, or any other unpleasant stereotype. By fulfilling my civic duty I would be joining the ranks of the adult world, the world in which my tiny little voice would actually be worth something. Soon enough the ballot was fully unfolded, and I was literally left speechless. There sat on the crisp, white paper the names of the candidates with corresponding bubbles; it looked exactly like a standardized test. What happened to my entrance into adulthood? This was entirely like taking the SATs all over again. The ballot with its excess of envelopes and its official warning went back into the envelope and onto my desk.

The offensive envelope sat on my desk for two days haunting me like the old man’s eye haunted the narrator of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart.” I was finally compelled to complete the ballot on Friday afternoon out of fear that it would not reach the county clerk’s office in time to be counted. Pen went to paper and five minutes later I was on my way to the mailbox in the campus center. As I dropped the envelope into the outgoing mailbox timed slowed down again as my mind tracked my envelope’s decisive descent to the bottom of the box. The sound of paper hitting plastic confirmed that the deed had been done. I took a slow, leisurely walk back to my dorm. I felt good. Never has filling in bubbles felt so empowering and vindicating as it did now. I achieved the impossible; I passed a standardized test with flying colors.