That was it. It was done. Donald Trump was inaugurated. He is now the President of America.
I couldn’t believe that it was happening as he placed his hand on the Holy Bible, swearing to uphold the office of the President. It seemed like an episode of the Twilight Zone, but there was no theme song and no closing credits.
He waved goodbye, and that was it. The deed was done. The next four years were decided and would go unchanged.
As I stood in the crowd, the tension shifted back and forth. Some were ecstatic, others were frustrated. I wasn’t sure what to feel. At best, I felt blah. Not indifferent. I was the most politically active person in my family. I had the shirts, the pins, the homemade signs. But now, I didn’t know what to feel. A wave of grey crashed over me as I turned to walk away.
The horizon once held promise, now it held possibility. And that was more frightening for me. Promise meant that I knew what was coming and it was good. Possibility meant that anything could happen; good, bad, or horrifying.
I didn’t know if I could handle this new world of President Trump.