FRAGMENTS OF A HISTORIC INAUGURATION

Union Station
10:30 a.m.

The vendors in the basement-level food court are doing a booming business in both food and memorabilia. I buy Obama stocking caps, calendars, buttons, t-shirts. I look for earrings because I saw someone wearing them, but they no longer exist. People are actually catching trains, while about 500 of us try to watch the ceremony on a television. Security guards yell, “Keep moving, keep moving.” We all just laugh. President Bush appears on the podium. People boo. A tall black man standing next to me shakes his head. I ask him if he’s doing so because he agrees with them or because he disagrees. He says neither one – he’s disgusted by Bush AND the booers.

On the first level, things are being prepared for tonight’s ball in the main lobby. I think half of Chicago is here.

Vendors hawk outside the station next to some of the 5,000 porta-potties. A vendor plays Obama’s Berlin speech on the CD player in his car, in order to sell copies of it. A t-shirt vendor chants over and over, “America, we’ve had a plugged-up toilet for the past 8 years, and now we’re flushing it down.”

I’m now behind the Capitol building. It’s packed.

Someone yells, “Read the Bible. It says to kill those fuckers.” (who, it’s not clear)

A young woman shouts, “Free inauguration buttons." I take one. She says, “It’s to show your support for traditional marriage.” I give it back.

A woman rides on the back of someone’s electric wheelchair. Another woman rests on the seat of her walker. People go by with canes and crutches.

We hear about six gunshots. Because we can’t see, we aren’t sure if it’s an attack. When we realize what it is, we cheer.

Obama is about to speak. Suddenly, dozens of people access the speech on their cell phones. As if on cue, we all huddle around the holders of the phones, as if around campfires or in prayer. I’m with a young Asian-looking woman holding up her phone while her boyfriend holds onto her shoulders. Two middle-aged African-American women in mink coats and hats and new Ugg boots stand next to me, along with a tall elegantly dressed white guy. We stand there, united in an intense, strange fellowship. I find myself crying uncontrollably when I look down and notice that the two women are clutching hands tightly. The boyfriend gently zips up the Asian girl’s coat more snugly so she can still hold out the cell phone for us all to hear.

I head out towards downtown. I go through security to get to Pennsylvania Avenue. I notice a large pile of contraband bananas, apple and oranges next to the woman who pats me down. People are lining up for the parade. I could actually get a spot and see, but I’d have to wait about two hours for it to start. If I would leave the spot to use one of the 5,000 toilets, my spot would be gone. I also have no food, and the few restaurants in the area have lines wrapping around the block.

I start heading toward downtown. People. Vendors. Emergency vehicles. Sirens. Flags. Buttons and more buttons. Smiles and more smiles. People are starting to tire out. They sit on planters, on doorsteps, eating sandwiches. I realize I’m hungry. I see an oasis – the National Portrait Gallery is open. The silence is almost startling. It’s almost like being in church. People sit quietly on benches, decompressing. The café inside the atrium is spacious. The coffee is hot and strong. The restrooms are empty. I consider viewing some exhibits, but I’m too wound up.

We all wander around just feeling good. I hear someone say, “I didn’t see a thing, but I’ll never forget this day.” Amen.