Imaginary Doors

"If some of the votes do not count this time, how can they all count every future election," my father said to my mother. "The doors they are trying to open cannot be closed."

"Which doors?" I asked, hesitantly. None of what he was saying made sense to me at the time, but I knew important things were being said.

"Imaginary doors, son," he said. He was annoyed but liked to keep that to himself, like a good father. Being a father now, I know exactly what he was doing. Only if I had the patience he did.

"Oooo," I cooed with wonder. "Where do they go?"

"Places you can't come back from." That was ominous and I was frightened.

"I don't want to go."