NOV. 8, CARSON CITY — When Donald Trump emerged as the GOP’s likely presidential nominee last month, Nevada Gov. Brian Sandoval said, in an oddly strained statement, that he would ultimately vote for the Republican party’s “presumptive nominee” — despite past remarks in which Sandoval criticized Trump for his racially charged rhetoric about Hispanics, questioned his political experience and raised doubts about his suitability to be the nation’s next commander-in-chief. It’s almost as though Sandoval, a moderate Republican, views Trump as many do: as a volatile, untrustworthy demagogue. When it comes down to party loyalty or simple sanity, what will Sandoval choose?
Now comes the reckoning. It is Election Day, and Gov. Sandoval stands alone in the curtained voting booth in the Carson City Community Center, his finger hovering over the box marked “DONALD J. TRUMP.” A drop of nervous sweat from his brow splashes on the touchscreen, and Sandoval, roused from contemplation, begins a troubled soliloquy ...
It is easy. You are here. You are here to vote. You are Brian Sandoval, and you are standing here and you will vote. You will vote for Donald Trump for president, as you said you would. As is expected of you. It is a good and right thing to do what you say you are going to do. If you have learned nothing else from politics, it is that one thing: If you do what you say you’re going to do, everything will be alright. You are Brian Sandoval, and you said you will vote for Donald Trump, and now you will ... vote ... for Donald Trump.
Sandoval moves to touch the DONALD J. TRUMP box, but his hand involuntarily curls into a tight fist.
You acknowledge that you are in a dark place. It is self-delusion not to acknowledge that.
But you are here, Brian, and you will vote for Donald Trump. You will press the button for Trump, and you will walk out of here, untroubled, uncompromised, unperturbed, no less a person, confident in the knowledge that you have made the best choice for the American people. You are going to press that button with this finger, this very finger, the finger of Brian Sandoval, governor of Nevada. A public servant and a man of principle. A family man. A clean man with nice hair and good teeth. A decent man. You are a decent man, Brian.
Again, he moves to touch the DONALD J. TRUMP box, but his finger reflexively retracts back into his now-trembling hand.
You are a good and decent man, Brian. You are a man of your word. You do not cry when a duty is asked of you. You accept your duty, and you perform it. You do not ... cry. You are ... not ... crying ...
(Aide: Governor, are you okay in there?)
I’m fine. I’ll be just a minute.
A teardrop falls on the touchscreen panel, and Sandoval rubs it away meditatively.
You ... you do not succumb to self-pity when a duty is asked of you. You do not shirk your duty. You stop your crying, and you carry out the duty, Brian. You face the duty. You look into the black maw of duty, you embrace its filth, you accept the unbearable stench of the duty. You do it — you press that Trump button — regardless of whether it turns the root of your stomach with nauseating existential dread, regardless of whether it makes you want to rip off this suit — now revealed as nothing but the mask of a charlatan — and run through the parking lot and fall into the arms of your wife, naked and afraid, screaming hopelessly for an absolution that you know will never come.
Breathe through it, Brian. Breathe with me. Breathe.
A third time, he reaches out a trembling hand to touch the DONALD J. TRUMP box. This time, he succeeds, officially casting his vote for Donald Trump for president.
You are still standing, Brian. You are still alive, Brian. You are a good and decent man, and you are whole. You are worthy and capable. You are deserving of love. And you will love again.
Gov. Sandoval emerges through the curtains, clearly drained, but smiling weakly. However, there’s a collective gasp from the other voters in line, as they look upon an utterly changed Brian Sandoval — his perfect politician’s coif replaced by a translucent ginger swirl of Trump’s grotesque, spun-sugar hair.