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Presidential Idea

(Listen to this piece on season two episode three)


Alicia pulled into her parking spot in front of Corbin and her apartment on M Street. Light glowed from their second bedroom window on floor seven. Was he working this late? She grabbed the mail on her way up, shifting the weight of her gym bag on an achy shoulder.

“You hungry, Corbin?” she asked as she walked through the front door of the two-bedroom outfitted in her parent’s furniture from the 90s.

“I need another 30 minutes,” Corbin called out from their functional office that served as a parttime bedroom when they had guests. They rarely had guests.

Still sweaty from practice, Alicia grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge. This was when she noticed it from the corner of her eye, causing her to shut the fridge sharply. On the oval oak dining table with its three mix-matched chairs were dozens upon dozens of red and white flyers.

Corbin for President.

Alicia narrowed her eyes as she read the caption.

“Seriously, Corbin!” she cried.

On the couch sat a box of buttons. In front of the TV were personalized pencils. Beside the Ficus were folded T-shirts of various sizes that read “Support Triple D with Me!”

Alicia tossed her gym bag to the floor and her roller skates hit the ground with a loud thud. She stormed in the half-office, half-guest room incredulous.

“I thought you were joking, Corbin.”

Her fiancé didn’t look up from his computer screen.

“About the non-profit? Not a chance,” he replied with a smirk.

“Roller derby teams don’t have support groups for partners,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

“It’s not a support group, it’s an organization.”

Alicia stared blindly at this man of hers. The Darned Damsels of ‘Dale, “Triple D” for short, didn’t need an association for spouses and partners, but here he was working on another project the world didn’t ask for.

“There will be two president’s around here soon,” Corbin said as Alicia turned on him.

She turned back to him, rolling her eyes. She didn’t have the patience to reexplain that she was “captain” and not president of her roller derby team. Instead, Alicia settled on a different approach.

“Don’t you think you’re taking this too seriously?” she asked.

The room fell silent. Even the computer stopped its mechanic humming as if personally offended on behalf of its owner. Corbin hesitated before he pronounced, “You never support my causes.” Alicia could see the determination in his eyes. The same determination he had when advocating for beehives in local nursery schools or funding for geriatric parks or sustainable-sourced pineapples in school lunches.

“You’re really going through with this?” she asked, defeated.

“One day, all roller derby clubs with have a chapter of the spouse and partner association like the one I’m creating,” Corbin said, a far-away look on his face. “Just call me Mr. President.”



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