The Quandaries in the Voter

This story takes place Nov. 5, 2030.

Christine Booth awoke early from a restless night. She couldn't remember being this excited and unsettled since her summer trip to Ireland junior year when it felt like she'd awakened almost hourly in anticipation of her first long airline flight, dreaming she'd missed the plane. Normally one to sleep soundly, the teenager found it unusual to awaken except for bathroom visits.

But her recent slumber had been fitful and fragmented. Candidate names floated through her sub-conscious and bounced around her mind. Uncle Sweets would probably say she'd been reading too many campaign bio's, stressing too much over the choices, and just needed to relax.

She could almost hear him reassuring her, "Trust your instincts, kiddo; you'll make the right selections on your ballot."

From childhood, she'd admired and loved both her parents. Dad, with his famous 'gut' and uncanny ability to read people and situations. Mom, with her logical rational mind; so knowledgeable about the human skeleton that she seemed able to 'read' bones, sensing tiny anomalies which revealed their owners' lives. She knew they'd been friends forever, longer than lovers. She'd heard so many stories; Brennan, endearingly awkward at times, misquoting common idioms which Booth fondly corrected.

But Christine knew what Angela had once laughingly surmised. Her mother continued verbally misinterpreting pop culture now and then very intentionally, so that her chuckling father could point out his wife's comical mistakes. It was just one more variation on the dance floor of their lovingly-shared lives.

Their daughter had inherited his insightful awareness of people, and her brilliantly analytical abilities. Both her parents were highly intelligent, and Christine's own mind blended their skills. As she rolled over in bed, untangled her covers for the thousandth time, and blinked away the mists of more sleep than she felt, the eighteen-year-old took in a deep breath and tried to relax. One of Pops' favorite monikers drifted through her memory.

"A Booth messing up on voting? I don't think so. You'll do fine, cupcake, you've got your Great-Gramma's smarts! Your dad's spot-on instincts, your momma's super-brain! Go enjoy this singular day! I remember the first time I was able to vote; such a memorable experience. Back then we had to listen for election results on the radio, and they took forever to finalize. No computers or television back then, honey. So much faster now! You're making a memory, relish each minute of it!"

Christine slid out of bed, straightened the blankets, and pulled on her robe. Toeing into her slippers, she walked quietly to the window and looked outside. It was cloudy and overcast, the lawns and street below were still quiet and swathed in grey; only an occasional chirp as birds began to stir. No glorious sunrise to enjoy.

Opening her bedroom door, she slipped downstairs to the kitchen and opened the cabinet under the breakfast bar to retrieve the extra 4-cup coffeemaker pot stored there. Her mother loved kopi luwak coffee, her father preferred the Maxwell House Grams had introduced him to, and the pair continued their ceremonial squabble at least once a week over whose preference was right. Sometimes they compromised, purchasing the Gevalia brand Brennan had once supplied to Booth's entire unit in Afghanistan. They both declared that drinking horrid FBI coffee, the instant sometimes used on digs, and stout Army brew prepared them for anything.

Christine's recent birthday list had included this little coffee pot. Her preferences were varied; what her dad called 'bubble gum' coffees; hazelnut, French vanilla, mocha. Her mother had grudgingly approved, since the flavorings added no extra sugar to her daughter's diet. Even since she was a little kid, 'too much sugar' had been Bones' constant admonition.

She loved inhaling the rich coffee scent, measuring the grounds, pouring water without spilling a drop, and the satisfying gurgles of her little machine. Once its cycle finished, she filled a mug, added fat-free half-and-half, and settled into the sofa cushions. Reaching for her scribbled notes from the last few days, Christine glanced through them one more time, stacked them carefully, and returned the folded papers to the coffee table.

After pulling a throw from the back of the couch to cover her legs, she flipped on the television, lowered the volume, selected the news channel she liked and scanned the financial report currently playing. She would've liked to read the morning paper, but one of Booth's family security rules was that only he retrieved it from the front porch until daylight was firmly in place.

It was 5:15 am, likely still a bit more time before her parents and Hank would stir. They were both early risers, and possibly awake, but likely entwined in their own little world. Someday, their daughter mused, she would share that kind of deep abiding love with someone. For now, she'd take each day as it comes, exuberantly enjoying the new experiences that being eighteen presented. Voting today, for the first time….

Her head slipped back against the soft cushions as the television newscast droned and she dozed off.

Upstairs, Booth slid gently away from his wife's side, aligning his pillow against her back to support her continued sleep. He sat on the side of the bed, flexing his feet as he did each morning before bracing for the pain of his first steps. Grabbing a crumpled tshirt from the floor, he tiptoed out of their bedroom, and closed the door silently. Noting his daughter's empty bed, he continued down the hallway, peeked in on Hank, and descended the stairs.

A few quiet steps took him past the living room sofa toward the front door. He smiled down at his sleeping daughter, and her 'cheat sheets'. Just like her mother, he thought. Carefully analyzing each set of candidates, as we both do. And rightfully so, the responsibility of voting is a serious matter. He retrieved the morning paper, poured his coffee, and sat down at the counter to read, remembering the first time he'd voted in Philly, waiting in line with his grandparents who chatted with neighbors and friends. Mr. Thompson had congratulated him on this milestone of adulthood.

The world would be in good hands if every young person was Christine, Booth mused proudly to himself.

A/N: I started this story Monday morning, intending to post it before Election Day. Obviously, that didn't happen. So here it is anyway, a bit late.