Day 20: History

(You have to look at the big version to appreciate the scope, and to see the screen we were all watching.)

I’m having a hard time writing about Tuesday. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop for days now, trying to process my thoughts, to let the cream rise to the top, but there’s just so much to work through.

I want to talk about the things I saw and heard —

the sun rising and the streets filling with people wrapped in fleece and wool, trickling into the fold, growing in number, finally teeming and filling the streets of D.C. sidewalk to sidewalk as they made their way into the Mall

the officials directing people into the Mall, sing-songily welcoming visitors to the city and everyone to the time and place at which history would be made

the Washington Monument towering over everyone with such ridiculous authority, like a territorial spike someone had driven into the ground

a dog (who brings a dog to an inauguration? and before you ask, it was not a service dog)

a bottle of Jack on the ground, foreshadowing the bourbon and brandy my hosts and I would swig a little later to get our hearts pumping as the sun peeked back behind a cloud

people, lord, the people

periodic spontaneous chants of “O-ba-ma! O-ba-ma!” and “Yes we can!”

a pile of hipsters from Detroit cuddling for warmth (probably the most brilliant thing ever, and I’m sad I did not join them)

the tv cameras, lord, the tv cameras (we were in a very media-friendly area what with all the flags flapping around the monument behind us)

amateur documentarians and photographers alike, shoving tiny lenses toward every point of light

a screen in the distance where finally, after our hours upon hours of just standing in the same spot in the cold, dignitaries and former presidents began to appear to take their places on the stage.

a sea of people cheer for Colin Powell, Jimmy Carter, and Bill Clinton

a sea of people boo and jeer mercilessly at Dick Cheney and George W. Bush, even erupting into song (“Naaaa, na na naa naaa, hey hey hey, gooood-byeeee”) and waving them goodbye

an eruption of absolute batshit craziness at any sight of Barack Obama on the jumbotron

Aretha Franklin’s hat, yow!

a dude so pumped that he lifted his bicycle into the air to celebrate

one of the Detroit hipsters (who actually lives in San Francisco; he is in the white hoodie above) yell “Fein-stei-YEEN!” every time Diane Feinstein finished a paragraph

some dude I nicknamed Captain Obvious narrate every fricking thing that appeared on the screen (“Oh, he’s getting out of the car. Think he’s going to the stage now? Is he wearing a red tie? Isn’t Roberts supposed to do the swearing in? Is that John Roberts? Dick Cheney is in a wheelchair. Jimmy Carter looks old.” Etc.)

some couple I am still not sure how to nickname having such completely loud and completely stupid conversations about everything in sight that I wondered if I was on that show where MTV does something awful to you for eight minutes or whatever just to see if you can hold out without getting so pissed that you start punching babies

a couple of dudes behind me making up for the idiots in the crowd by riffing hilariously on everything (I tweeted a couple of their zingers)

Rick Warren getting booed nearly as bad as Bush and Cheney, and some kid in front of me yelling, “Go to Hell!”

a useless phone in my hand that wouldn’t get online, make calls, or send/receive texts

the sight of people embracing and the sound of sniffles and open weeping as the searingly emotional sounds of Yo Yo Ma’s quartet’s performance (pre-recorded or no, it was amazingly beautiful) floated through the air

the sound of my own sniffles and the sting of hot tears on my cheek

a deafening roar and then palpable hush falling over the crowd as the swearing-in got underway

the oath flub, which caused me and my companions to look quizzically at one another, because it was unclear if it was a sound error or an honest-to-god real-time human error

an eruption of cheers and screams following the oath that was so loud it completely masked the sound of cannons

the silence except for cheers after particularly resonant passages of the inaugural address

smiles on all faces

laughter as the camera cut to Bush 43 as Obama talked about no longer compromising our ideals for expedience’s sake

more roars of celebration

the Detroit hipsters, with their arms around each other, keep their heads lowered for the entire address, with the dude in the white hoodie periodically raising his fist in solidarity

the shared relief as everyone realized that it was over, we had done it, it had happened, and it was real

the crush of people pushing toward the one exit as the poet rigidly recited her verse

the crush of people pausing in their journey to the exit as the benediction was delivered to much laughing and many “amen”s

people perched in trees and on top of garbage dumpsters for better vantage points

a Haitian band with drums and pipe instruments break into song, which had hip-hop kids and hippies alike dancing

a row of port-a-johns that spanned the whole horizon

too much trash on the ground

the sight of Bush’s helicopter flying directly over my head and many people turning to give it a fond middle-fingered farewell

merchandise, merchandise, merchandise (including election-themed condoms: “Remember the election with your next erection!”)

— but there’s just so much that I can’t get it all down. So much has already left my skull because there’s just not enough room for it all.

I want to write about the things that I felt —

complete and overwhelming relief and joy

amazement

wonder

pride

anxiety

loneliness

balls-out cold

hope

optimism

— but the emotions I cycled through that morning and afternoon would probably meet the DSM-IV’s definition of bipolar.

And yet.

Pride wins out. I am proud of my new president. I am proud of my country. I am proud that we have a solid chance to build something out of the ruins of the past eight years. I am so fucking proud to have been part of a moment in which so many people gathered to celebrate — to build up, not to tear down. I don’t know that I will ever get a chance like that again in my life and I am so grateful for the good fortune that allowed me to take part.

It was a little bittersweet that even though I was there in the flesh, I still had to experience capital-H History through a giant television screen. Such is the way, I suppose, but it’s still worth noting. It was surreal to see the hands with tiny cameras raised in unison, everyone capturing the moment and copying bragging rights to cards and hard drives. We live so much of our lives through screens these days.

I watch this video and get emotional that the energy there on the Mall that day is reflected so beautifully in the raw media coverage. I listen for the delayed cheers and beam with pride knowing that my voice was among them.

[Project 365]