Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Light.
The Subway near Nate's apartment in DC had a sign on the door. It would be open 24 hours during the Inauguration. This was our first stop on the morning of the 20th. Prior to last week, I'd never experienced breakfast at Subway before. I can't say that it was amazing, but I will say that it was a necessity.
It took three hours to travel the mile from the apartment to the Mall. At first, we walked the streets with wonder, watching the street vendors take advantage of the momentous day, moving with the flow of the crowd, holding closely to our belongings while wondering whether it would be a good idea to buy the morning's edition of the Washington Post, for memory's sake. The walk had many detours. The police officer at 10th Street told us to go back to 3rd, that that was the only way across to the Mall, that the opening may be closed soon. And so we moved along, with the huddled masses.
Perhaps, I thought, this is how people felt at Ellis Island. Full of hope. Surrounded by hundreds of others with the same goal in mind: to experience the greatness that is the United States of America.
Strangers - people who had no authority, yet seemed to know something more than we did - directed us to the tunnel near 3rd Street. As we entered, the light disappeared and we felt warmth. We were no longer in the elements. I saw a woman with an American flag wrapped around her. I saw couples holding hands and friends taking photographs. People sang and chanted. Yes we can. Yes we did. The tunnel was for cars, yet we'd taken over as a pedestrian freight train. We were in darkness, yet we were jubilant. We would soon reach our destination, we would soon witness the transfer of power from George W. Bush to Barack H. Obama.
When I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, I could not help but make the obvious metaphor. For eight years, we were in darkness. But at the end, there was hope. Hope that we'd find our place, hope that what was to come was better than the place we were currently occupying.
There were obstacles. Long lines. Confusing directions. A massive crowd of no fewer than 4000, pushed together for an hour, all with the same destination.
But we made it. To the Mall. To the blessed open land, the view of the Capitol, the large screens unveiling the details we could not see with our own eyes. And together, our smiles returned. The journey - the long, long, long journey - was over. We were one, the representatives of the United States of America - on a cold January morning on acres of dead grass as we witnessed change. Beautiful change.
The Subway near Nate's apartment in DC had a sign on the door. It would be open 24 hours during the Inauguration. This was our first stop on the morning of the 20th. Prior to last week, I'd never experienced breakfast at Subway before. I can't say that it was amazing, but I will say that it was a necessity.
It took three hours to travel the mile from the apartment to the Mall. At first, we walked the streets with wonder, watching the street vendors take advantage of the momentous day, moving with the flow of the crowd, holding closely to our belongings while wondering whether it would be a good idea to buy the morning's edition of the Washington Post, for memory's sake. The walk had many detours. The police officer at 10th Street told us to go back to 3rd, that that was the only way across to the Mall, that the opening may be closed soon. And so we moved along, with the huddled masses.
Perhaps, I thought, this is how people felt at Ellis Island. Full of hope. Surrounded by hundreds of others with the same goal in mind: to experience the greatness that is the United States of America.
Strangers - people who had no authority, yet seemed to know something more than we did - directed us to the tunnel near 3rd Street. As we entered, the light disappeared and we felt warmth. We were no longer in the elements. I saw a woman with an American flag wrapped around her. I saw couples holding hands and friends taking photographs. People sang and chanted. Yes we can. Yes we did. The tunnel was for cars, yet we'd taken over as a pedestrian freight train. We were in darkness, yet we were jubilant. We would soon reach our destination, we would soon witness the transfer of power from George W. Bush to Barack H. Obama.
When I saw the light at the end of the tunnel, I could not help but make the obvious metaphor. For eight years, we were in darkness. But at the end, there was hope. Hope that we'd find our place, hope that what was to come was better than the place we were currently occupying.
There were obstacles. Long lines. Confusing directions. A massive crowd of no fewer than 4000, pushed together for an hour, all with the same destination.
But we made it. To the Mall. To the blessed open land, the view of the Capitol, the large screens unveiling the details we could not see with our own eyes. And together, our smiles returned. The journey - the long, long, long journey - was over. We were one, the representatives of the United States of America - on a cold January morning on acres of dead grass as we witnessed change. Beautiful change.
