It was after this rally of sorts in a hall in my brain’s dream time version of the East Village. Barack was shaking peoples’ hands andonce the crowd started to dissipate, I decided to go up to him with my Mother. My Mother who was at the rally, but incidentally a republican spoke to him first saying “Aren’t you that homophobic, clueless racist?” I looked at her horrified and pushed her out of the way, nervously laughing, hoping that would be enough of an indicator that I didn’t agree. “She’s crazy that one,” I added. He seemed to understand though.  I then made eye contact and asked if he had a minute. He put his arm under mine and then we went for a walk where I pointedly said “You are the one I’ve been waiting for”  then started welling up and couldn’t speak anymore. This also moved Obama to tears, which made me feel important because I figured he heard this all the time. He said “Thank you. Thank you,” while wiping tears from his eyes.  I hugged him, then was late to a dinner at a restaurant I couldn’t find.

From a 28-year-old graduate student in New York, in September 2008.