Arlington

It feels unnatural to smile here, but I’m laughing aloud, mouth open to the sky.

Our first visit, and we arrive at a crossroad, one to the Kennedy Gravesite and one to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. He tells me how he viewed the ceremonial switch of Guards when he was in Scouts, and starts explaining the ceremony’s meaning to me, so I start walking up the hill to the left.

As we approach the Tomb of the Unknown, I hear camera clicks and clucking tongues, which seems more unnatural than smiling. It’s the ceremonial switch of the Tomb Guards. We stop about fifty feet back from the ceremony as others raise their phones over their heads to take a video they’ll never watch. This habit is most unnatural of all. Instead of being a place of reflection, the Tomb has become a place of recordation.

I watch people squirm impatiently, whisper to their partners to move over for a better view. In the distance, between twitchy legs, I see a pair of parallel navy-blue legs, stepping precisely in time with where their footsteps need to fall. These legs keep me centered when all the others make me itch. I have a feeling to turn around and leave, but it doesn’t seem right in this moment, during this ceremony.

After the Switch, I turn to him and whisper my thoughts about the uneasy feeling I have. The uneasy feeling of recording this ceremony, recording at all on hallowed grounds. In answer, thunder rolls in the distance, and we look at each other with amused concern. It had been such a nice day to walk across the bridge.

Halfway down the hill, and we’re hugging a tree next to endless rows of chalky white headstones. Its warm, cleansing, and another fellow is hugging a tree to the North of us. The wind is determined, but thoughtful in its one-direction approach instead of reaching all which ways. The tree offers condolence from the fat drops.

We watch the squirmers waddle down the hill, heads down, clutching their phones under saturated shirts to protect them from being drenched by the downpour. All those recordings, the possibility that they may now be wiped away. I smirk.

After exchanging glances with our fellow tree hugger to the North, we decide it’s not going to let up and step out into the cleanse. Within seconds, my clothes weigh me down. My linen pants are translucent, but it seemed like such a nice day to walk across the bridge. We lightly sigh at our luck, lips light and slightly upturned.

Heads forward to face the wind and rain, hands swiping water away from our eyes, we walk toward an overhang. We look at each other and smile as our shoes make a sucking sound with each step.

We take a breath under the overhang, with another family and two employees sharing the space. The family looks miserable, the employees look content under their ponchos. We decide to wait another few minutes for the sky to open up, but the rain washes down in full sheets.

Before we accept our fate of having to walk another two miles in the pour, I look out into the opaque sheets of water, and I see them.

I see their faces in the drops as they hit the pavement. Serious faces, serene faces, faces of what was, and faces of what could have been. And it isn’t the faces of the well-known I see, not the Kennedys, but the unknown, and the overlooked. I see the men, the women, the nurses, the artists, the warriors, the explorers, and the dreamers in those drops. I see those who made the difference before I was alive, and it makes me think of those who are making the difference now in a time and world of chaos and worry.

The tightness in my chest eases and I feel grateful for the first time in months. I step out into the showers, arms open, and laugh with joy for the life I still own. In this moment, nothing else matters. I feel nothing but the drops enveloping me in the sheet they’ve created.

I look back at him, and we start our trek through the rain, still laughing. We haven’t laughed like this in years, but maybe we can repair what’s been bent and cracked and uncared for.

Striding through the faces, I feel whole, and the sense of calmness fills my heart. We descend further and further away from those who were and move toward a new beginning of what is left of our lives. It’s a sobering thought, but we all will be a raindrop one day. Like every drop I’ve seen today, each life had differed in time, and we never know when that time will be.

We’re trying to navigate our way through a traffic circle where we and the drivers cannot see a thing but the faces of the past slamming down. Screeching tires, a yell above the commotion, and a friendly stern face peering through his passenger side window. It’s a Guard of the Unknown, and I can tell he has seen the faces raining down too. He doesn’t mind that we’re saturated, doesn’t even give a second thought to make sure we find our car safely in this unfamiliar place.

As we cross the bridge this time, I think that conversation has never been my strong suit, but I hope to change that after today. We learn a little about this Guard and where he’s been and where he hopes to be. One day his face will become a drop, and I hope it’s a serene one that gives someone hope. I hope it makes someone realize that there are a lot of selfless people in this world. I hope it makes someone realize that we only get this one life to make selfless decisions, for others and for ourselves. I hope it makes someone realize that this is not the end, not yet - it’s just the day your life finally begins.