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Musings on anything. |
| I always am home on the 4th in time to watch the fireworks on TV. It makes me recall the time I was in DC myself for the 4th with a lot of mixed feelings. I was off from work that particular day. My husband, now deceased, came home from work early and announced we were going to DC. I suspect he had already had a beer or two with co-workers. I didn't want to go, not being a spontaneous person. As usual, we did what my husband was determined to do. We packed a cooler with a six-pack for him and a soda for me. I carried a beach bag with a small flashlight, a ground blanket and snacks. I had already timed the ride from my door to the White House as an hour before the area was roped off from intruders. We drove to Verona, parked and took the rail into town. It went smoothly, all a new process for me. We made it to the mall in plenty of time. People were still filing in. I confess it was a bit of a thrill, sitting on our blanket in that mass of people, throwing Frisbees, cooking on hibachis, and listening to the band of the hour. We did not get on the side that is televised. It was hot but a breeze was blowing. There is always a breeze on the Hill. We watched as the day faded into darkness with thousands of others, the Washington Monument towering over us. As you might have guessed, by the time the fireworks started, the six-pack had disappeared and I was worrying. When the show was done, we sat still waiting for the crowd to disperse. In retrospect, that probably was not wise. of course, I had to carry everything on our exit to the Metro station. What a crowd! Once inside the building, when you took a step down, the person behind you stepped down. We were marching together slowly down the many stairs. I think we loaded onto the correct train and again the crowd! Standing room only. We were packed like sardines, holding onto the rod overhead for dear life, me juggling a bag and a cooler. There is no breeze on the subway car. It was stifling hot, with everyone's sweaty arm overhead. Your face is too close to smelly armpits! I didn't know where to get off and followed my intoxicated husband who had spent more time before marriage in Washington and the area. We got off at the wrong place. We were in the wrong state and on the wrong side to get back on the next train. We weren't anxious to get back on with the crowds, so he decided he needed more beer, since you can buy it later in Maryland than you can in Virginia. That was a few blocks walk each way to find a store and get back before the last train! We managed to make it to Verona on a near empty train and get through the exit rails to my car. I was relieved to be out of the city, back to my vehicle, and that we had survived without any confrontation with police or criminals. I think back on this experience without joy. It was one more chapter of living with an alcoholic. It was embarrassing to tell details, to admit that I could be manipulated like that. It was horrifying at moments, like when I considered the train shutting down for the night with me in Maryland. My heart beat faster whenever I saw park police on the Mall. We got home about 3 in the morning. The smelly crowd, my having to lug everything while the man went free handed, not feeling safe on city streets, these all irked me. Yet, I never would have had this unique experience celebrating on a national level with so many strangers, if I hadn't ben forced into it. It was an odd mixture of thrill and dread, which I can only see in retrospect. It is probably indicative of our short life together, full of ups and downs, more downs than ups which led to the divorce. Now I watch the show in DC, and I know for myself what you don't see on TV. |
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