Final Lap

"I don't want to take money from lobbyists."

Melissa was eating the salad that she always ate during late lunch meetings on the bus, the one with the strawberrys and walnuts. The colors were stark against the tired pallor of her face. She chewed with her mouth closed, her jaw firm and eyes staring out at her top advisor.

"I know," Brian said. "I know, and we realize that's important to you. But if we want to take this state, we're not going to do it with the money we're taking in now. We have to expand, ma'am."

Chew, chew. Strawberries and walnuts sent to their death wrapped in lettuce. Melissa's expression didn't change. She merely crossed her legs so her worn pumps poked out from under the small table.

"I don't want to compromise," she said.

Brian swallowed, looking back down at his notes. "We don't really have much of a choice. You're going to have to hit up some big donors. This isn't like Seattle. You can't just play the same strategies. This is how it is."

Melissa stared him down for a few seconds before putting down her plastic fork. She read in a magazine the other day that cutting down on plastic utensils could have a significant environmental impact. Her mind wandered, thinking on whether or not her voters would be put off by fancy salads in plastic containers with plastic utensils. It was a nice, brief distraction from the decision staring her down.

"Who says," she said, "that we can't be the first to do it without playing dirty? Just because it hasn't been done doesn't mean it's impossible."

Brian gave her a look, one that made her insides sour. He'd only finished his internship a few months ago, and his disappointment still made her wither somehow. It had been so easy when she had won the first few primaries, racking up votes. But a gaffe during a debate -- fueled by a lack of sleep and misreading her notes -- had caused her support to tilt, and the quest back upward had been taking a toll. Ironically, for the way restlessness had cost her, she hadn't slept over three hours in weeks.

And now she had to consider the unthinkable.

"Look, ma'am, everyone does it. Think of it this way: putting it off might make you look, uh ... " Brian tapped his chin with the tip of his pen, avoiding his boss's eyes. "It might make people think you're elitist, you know? And that would only make things worse. Think of it like a win-win."

Melissa turned to look at the countryside that rolled by in her bus. Elitist. She got that one sometimes lately. The coastal elite, with her ideas that were too big for the moment and attitude that needed to be stifled. It was like her first Congressional race amped up a hundred or so times.

"I just want to do things right," she said finally, not taking her eyes off the dirt beside the highway. She could hear herself. She sounded defeated, the words barely slipping out of her mouth. "I don't want to give up on my values."

Brian sighed and rubbed his eyes. She got that same feeling in her gut, the strange shame that she had when her male colleagues acted like a beleagured husband. Would that ever stop? If she won, would she be sworn in worrying about whether the man holding the book would think she wasn't acting right? Was it built just into her bones?

"Look," he said, and his exasperated tone stung her, "I know that your values are important to you. I know that better than anyone, ma'am. I've been on this campaign since you entered the race. But how in the world are you gonna win if you don't play the game at least a little?"

She turned to look at him, her mouth slightly agape. "By having the best ideas. The ones that can help people live better lives."

He frowned, fingers white as he clutched his notepad. "It's a nice idea," he said, "but it's not very realistic."

This was her campaign. She'd started it, her name was on the buttons. She had given speeches in arenas filled with thousands of people who professed faith in her goals. And yet, right then, she felt incredibly small under a former intern's rejection.

"Think of it," he said, "as an ends justify the means type of deal. You do a little shady stuff now, and you'll win in the end and make things better for everyone. Doesn't that sound good?"

She hated the sound of his voice, like he wanted to bend down and speak to her like a toddler at the daycare center. She grit her teeth and uncrossed her legs.

She had been doing this for years. That was how she had gotten here, no? The whole reason she'd been able to get anyone to vote for her was because she was capable.

But the sleepless nights and pitying stares were weighing heavy on her soul, the thing that had once felt invincible with the power of that same capability. She had been naive. It was never, ever that easy.

"Okay," she said. "Alright."

Brian smiled finally. It didn't make her feel any better. She just felt like she'd already lost the race.