Rebel Gracefully: January 2009

1/23/09

Inauguration Night

I left for work shortly after Obama's speech ended. Walking down New York Ave. I could feel the city pulsing with the cries of street vendors peddling every type of Obama memorabilia imaginable, National Guardsmen huddling in groups of two on every street corner, the occasional wail of a siren bullying through traffic, the low rumbling of parked tour buses, and the frigid January air assaulting pedestrians.

The excitement was infectious and by the time I climbed three sets of stairs to the hub I was practically shaking with excess energy. My body saying, "Put me to work, give me a list of tasks, or I might start running laps." Every television was tuned in, every wire cranking, as managing editors coordinated stories and field reporters stumbled in half frozen, cheeks a blustery red, fingers thawing, and eyes glazed.

We watched and waited, everyone on edge as the Obama's stepped out of their car for the first time on the parade route, stopping work all together to huddle around a foot by foot screen, sitting back down only once he was safely back inside the presidential Cadillac.

As the hours passed the early comers headed home braving closed bridges, crush capacity metros, and all other travel hazards that accompany a city filled to capacity. And some of us stayed, waiting patiently for the balls, for the romance of the occasion to begin. As the hour neared the quiet building blared with the honks and horns of gridlock traffic. The President was, after all, only a block away. So I stood and stared out the office window at the women in furs holding the arms of their escorts in black shiny shoes making their way up Massachusetts.

The vendors were still out, the prices still the same, it had been a good day for them when I staggered out the door close to 11. The city was quieter, the party was ending, and as I waited on the corner for the light to change I watched as a stretch limo drove by, a pedicab tinked its bell, and the traffic cop waved off a bus and blew her whistle. The president was gone, off to another corner of the city, another party, another crowd and I smiled as I crossed the street, incredibly grateful I shared the First Dance.