It was sunny and 75° in La Cañada Flintridge the day of the presidential election. There was a bittersweet calamity in the air, the kind of silent buzz that electrifies a small town, unaffected by the choices of a larger world. Yet this quiet city is full of voters, polite residents opining in the late afternoon slump of a coffee shop.

Everyone was in a rush. Even the customers that stayed to talk seemed anxious, dying for an answer. No one ordered decaf. At one point, a voter ordered an espresso and a pen, bending over the counter to sign his mail-in ballot he was on the way to drop off. 

Jeff Barnett, 25, a Brit working in America, had a certain apathy about the election. He can’t vote. “It seems pretty fair to me.” He said. “You can choose who you want to vote for.” When asked if he had faith in the next four years of America, he replied positively. “There’s something to have faith for regardless of who wins. It’s on the people as much as the government. Chaos equals division. Division equals governmental power.”

An unexpected guest showed up at about 4:00 pm. Mr. Salzman, resident writing teacher, cello extraordinaire, and coffee drinker seemed nervous, like everyone. In a later email, he described his faith in the country. “The fact that I was out buying coffee and pastry with my daughter today, rather than stocking up my basement with canned food and ammunition, says it all.” For most of us, the election felt like doomsday. Among theories of a race war, our cities boarding up, and the looming threat of Donald Trump’s refusal to conceit, his email was a breath of fresh air for my anxious conscience to read. He continued, “Thanks in large part to our Constitution, but also to our unique history and national character, our society has a lot of ‘give’ to it, which makes it able to withstand conflict and pressure, both external and internal.” 

An hour before close, two young women came in. As they sipped their rose vanilla lattes from a distance and bore their “I Voted!” stickers, they told me they wished for the “best candidate” to win. No matter who I talked to about their voting experience and sentiments, there was not a single name dropped. As the sun set, a woman came in and explained that she told her family only to wake her up if the “right candidate” won. This anonymous “right candidate” was the man of the hour. Jordan Wray, 29, a Michigan-born Angelino, described the voting process as “seamless,” and noted that perhaps La Cañada is an exception to the chaos. When asked the same question about faith, she replied “if the right person wins.”

November 3rd, 2020 was a day caught in unwilling suspension. The citizens of the United States waited for an announcement that never came. If anything, the United States was connected by these moments of suspense, tangled within the unexpected friendliness of a community greeting spot, the slow drip of strong coffee, and the endless waiting for one’s ‘right candidate’ to be declared president-elect the next November day.