As the raft floated softly down the river, made up of a motley collection of recycled trash, Huck leaned back against a tangle of plastic bottles, feeling the gentle bob of the current beneath him. The sun swayed low in the sky, and the whirring of cicadas filled the air like an outdated ringtone from his cell phone. He pulled the device from his pocket, the screen lighting up in vivid color, showing a notification of the latest news clip—a live-stream of Kamala Harris starring on Saturday Night Live, just two days before the election.
“Y’know, Jim,” Huck said, a grin creeping across his face, “I reckon this whole thing bein’ about Miss Harris is bigger than I even thought. Seems like she’s fixin’ to be our next president. Ain’t that somethin’?”
Jim, his face alight with a mixture of pride and concern, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Dat's right, Huck! I saw her skit last night, all clever and funny-like. But I got to wonder, what do it mean for folks like us? A Black and Asian woman sittin’ in the big chair. You reckon things gonna change?”
Huck pondered for a moment, twirling the phone over his fingers as if it were a prop in one of Harris's skits. “Well, I seen a lot of talk on the Twitter about how she might bring some real change. Folks don’t just want the same ol’ same ol’. Maybe she’ll tighten up the laws, make sure no one gets treated unjustly no more.” He squinted at the water, as if looking for answers in its depths. “Ya know, like how they talk about reformin’ the laws ‘bout slavery and such.”
Jim nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing as he took it all in. “That’d be right good if it worked out like that. Ain’t no reason for us to be livin’ in fear of the law when we’re just tryin’ to make it each day. But I wonder if they’ll really do anythin’ about it. Are they just blowin’ smoke like a ‘gram TikTok?"
The gentle rippling of the river murmured its agreement, as the fleeting current seemed to carry Huck's thoughts away. “Maybe ol’ Miss Harris understands what it means to be on both ends of the stick. Might just have the know-how to make a difference. I mean, she’s up there talkin’ about equality, and she’s got the whole ‘don’t treat no one lesser’ vibe goin’ on. That can’t be bad for folks like us.”
“True, Huck, true,” Jim said. “But it ain't just talkin’ we need. We need actions, too. Just like in those memes people be postin’ about the elections—what’s the use if folks don’t show up to vote? Just like how we learned in school, every vote's a chance to change the game.”
Huck nodded fervently, his chest swelling with a mix of hope and determination. “You right, Jim. We gotta do our part. Can’t just scroll through life, checkin’ the likes and the retweets, hopin’ for change like it’s a new phone update. We gotta be the ones makin’ the noise.”
With a thoughtful sigh, Jim straightened up, letting the river's breeze catch his thoughts. “Well, Huck, if we’re gonna be part of this change, we best keep an eye on what’s happenin’. Could be they really gonna tackle the big stuff. Ya never know, ‘cause just like SNL, it all might be one big show till the curtain drops.”
“Right, Jim. But I reckon if anyone can pull it off, it’s a woman like Kamala. She’s got the guts to rattle the cage—ain’t that what they say about strong women?”
Jim chuckled deep and hearty, the sound carried on the wind as they drifted along, their spirits buoyed by hope and the faintest glimmer of change on the horizon. And as they plotted their path down the river, the world beyond the banks moved forward, uncertain yet promising with unseen possibilities, much like the shifting waters beneath their makeshift raft of discovery.