DIRECT CURRENT

It’s tour time, DC tour time. My highschool friends and I live 40 miles from DC but none of us have ever visited the sights, the treats that are in our own backyard. Darla, Jim and Ada have visited family in NW now and then, see them and are stuck there while their parents jabber.

Ms. Goldfine, our home room teacher, plus 2 volunteer mothers will be taking us on a 6 hour bus tour, plus close to 3 hours traveling and parking time. It will be a long day. We have notebooks, pens, snacks and plans that may, or may not be written in stone. Our driver warns us about the crowds, the traffic and the difficulty in reaching the bus area. He knows from experience what he tells us. A third world war can’t be much worse.

We each jot down our bus number and location and are off–first stop the famous Smithsonian Institute. Ugh! That’s it? It’s old, ugly. It’s called The Castle and wasn’t finished until 1855. Now it houses Admin offices and information rooms. They are important but not to us. The paths to the many exhibit buildings are solid people. Robert somehow gets swallowed into the group ahead of us. Sherry’s mom notices he’s missing, pushes ahead, grabs Robert’s arm, drags him back where he belongs, all the while wiggling, jiggling her finger right in his face, No. No.’

‘Don’t touch any of the prehistoric animals, stuffed sea monsters.’ Don’t touch the first phone, the first radio. In fact don’t touch anything.’ There is no time to read what is mounted at each exhibit. ‘Step lively. Keep moving!’ the guards say. Celia stops in her tracks and gasps, ‘Slow down a second. That’s the Hope Diamond, isn’t it gorgeous?’ Nobody looks. Nobody cares.

The boys speed up as the next stop is the Air and Space Building. At the front, the Spirit of St. Louis, hangs overhead. ‘Lindbergh flew this little pile of junk all by himself across the Atlantic? How did he go to the toilet?’ Ms. Goldstein ignores the question.’Wow, that rocket is so tiny. How does a person get in there? Where is the toilet?’ Jonas asks. Ms. Goldfine looks the other way. ‘Look Class,’ she points out the Enola Gay. That’s the plane that dropped the first atomic bomb. I remember when that happened. Remember we studied that in History class? Let’s move, Everybody. The exit is straight ahead.’

It is already noon. We are all hot but won’t miss the Vietnam War Memorial wall. It hits us all deep inside. No one speaks. Families tramp back and forth, searching, searching for the names of their sons, daughters. Once found, they do word rubbings with charcoal, roll the papers carefully and carry them as if they were solid gold, back to their cars. Their tears could create a new Tidal Basin.

We are already on Independence Ave. There he is, sitting in his huge white marble chair, the mole on his cheek visible from the bottom of the steps. He looks strong, defiant, wise and sad. And then it happens! Marty yells, ‘Look, look. There he is. He’s alive. Look next to Lincoln’s right hand, where it rests on the arm of his chair. Look! Look! That tall, skinny man has his tall skinny hat on his head and he’s looking up at his statue. One shoe lace is undone. I’m telling you, Lincoln is alive. He’s right there next to his statue. I see him. He isn’t going to hurt us. Now he’s walking around the statue. I can see right thru him. Honest, Honest to Abe!’

Carl gives Marty a light tap on his head. ‘You’re goofy, Man. You’re ruining our visit. I’ve already missed a lot of what the guard was saying.‘OK, Carl, but you’re missing more than that. You are missing seeing the real Lincoln. Look harder.’ ‘Shut up! I told you to shut up!’ Marty almost slinks to the back of the group, talking to himself, trying to make us believe Lincoln’s ghost is with us. We don’t.

The Mall is solid people. Ms. Goldfine, the 2 volunteers and about 6 of our boys, elbow their way in the Mall mob, and manage to get enough cokes and dogs for all of us. They forget the straws so we slurp from the cans. It was the Battle of Bull Run all over.

Revived, our guide leads us to Pennsylvania Ave. where the White House stands. I don’t know about the others, but I look up, see Old Glory flowing in the breeze, and a patriotic lump fills my throat. I salute. As a group we take the long walk around the Capitol, being careful not to trip on the crooked, broken sidewalks. Almost attached is the Senate Building. A congressman is being interviewed by CNN at the entrance. We get lucky. The interview is over and the Senator invites us to follow him inside, shows us the halls, the brass nameplates of each Senator on the wall next to the office doors. Some are open and the secretaries are busy at their desks, oblivious to us looking in. We thank him. A few older boys promise to vote for him in 7 years if he’s still on the ballot.

I see Marty standing alone, still talking to himself. It’s a long walk back to the bus. Marty moves up and is first behind Ms. Goldfine. The driver holds back traffic for us to cross to the parking lot. We are all accounted for.

In fact, we have an extra passenger. He’s sitting in the seat behind the driver. Marty’s voice is picked up on the loudspeaker a few times. Another voice, an unrecognizable voice, comes thru. It is definitely a man’s voice, not the driver’s or guide’s.

Marty tells us who it is but we still don’t believe him. SHOULD WE?