The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,69
back the way we came, straight down the Mall, we drift leftward past a kidney-shaped pond until we’re running parallel with the traffic on Constitution Avenue. The tree canopy offers some protection from the rain. Over the sound of the cars passing, the occasional blowing of a horn, I hear raised voices, then a loud wail.
I would stop in my tracks, but there are people behind us now. The mass moves forward under its own strength. I couldn’t break away if I tried.
“This is getting scary,” I say.
“There’s a fight!”
I strain on tiptoes to see what Jed is talking about. No luck.
I can hear it, though: more shouting, some screams, horses’ hooves.
Then, without warning, we are suddenly in the middle of it all. People are running in every direction, pushing others out of the way. A couple of horseback cops are trying to ride into a packed, writhing scrum.
It’s not what I imagined, not the riot police breaking up the mob. Instead, the mob is fighting among itself. As I watch, a lanky kid with a black bandana wrenches a peace sign from an old man’s grasp, dragging the man to the ground. More black bandanas surge through the crowd. Someone is blowing an ear-piercing whistle.
Everyone is running now. I see Vernon off to the side, fending off a bandana-wearing man with his sign. Jed takes my arm and hustles me around them. We stop suddenly as a horse gallops in front of us. Then Marlene takes my hand, pulling me forward, and Jed is ahead of her, using his height advantage to find a safe path through the fight.
“They must be anarchists!” Marlene yells.
I don’t respond. I’m breathing too hard to talk. I can’t remember the last time I ran for my life. Oh, wait, I never have. Until now.
A squat woman in a floppy hat barrels into me, trying to make her own escape. I lose my grip on Marlene’s hand and go wheeling sideways. I glimpse another mounted cop—maybe the same one who nearly trampled me a moment ago—dragging a bandana-wearing man by the shirt collar, using the momentum of the horse to literally lift the man into the air. Chas and Barber appear behind the horse, holding Vernon between them. A stream of blood pours from just above his eyebrow.
“Come on,” Marlene says, seizing my wrist.
The fight is behind us now, but we keep moving. Jed leads the way, crossing Constitution when there’s a gap in the traffic, putting distance between us and the Mall. I motion for Chas to follow us. He waves me forward and mouths words I can’t make out.
We finally stop for breath outside a pristine marble building that looks like a miniature White House with the front of the Lincoln Memorial slapped on front. This turns out to be the Daughters of the American Revolution Museum. I plop down on the steps, wheezing like a three-pack-a-day smoker. Jed doubles back to help carry Vernon.
“Can you believe that?” Vernon says. The marijuana leaf on his shirt is now speckled with blood. Between the Mall and here, he’s managed to tie his wound with one of the black bandanas, which he managed to liberate during his struggle.
“It’s terrible,” I say.
“Terrible, yes. But exhilarating. Did you see me thrashing that kid?”
“You were amazing,” Chas says, helping ease Vernon onto the steps. “He didn’t know what hit him. And you got yourself a souvenir too.”
“I feel alive,” Vernon says.
Above him, Jed laughs. He, too, feels alive. His eyes are shining from the adventure. Marlene regards him with a dazed expression, and he doesn’t even notice.
“Beth, nothing like that has ever happened at one of these things before. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“Don’t worry about me. What about the others?”
Chas glances down the street toward the tree line. “They all know where to find the bus. I guess we’d better start making our way over there.”
The six of us, now a band of survivors, wander northward in search of a cutover, finally turning on E Street for an unexpected glimpse of the White House across the south lawn. We pause at the gates and smile like tourists. Jed takes out his phone and makes me snap a picture of him and Marlene with the White House in the background. The farther we get from the fight, the more Vernon seems to want to relive it. He makes Barber and Chas both recount his exploits as they’d witnessed them, then explains everything to