In The Evening

The mountain finally came to Muhammad. For the past couple of weeks, my wife and I have tried to take part in various marches and gatherings to protest, but somehow we have not been able to sync up our calendars with those of the organizers. We had a near miss last weekend when we hustled down to Lake Merritt where we were certain that we would find a gathering of some sort. We did encounter a great many people there, many of whom were carrying signs, but mostly seemed to be carrying on in a way befitting a warm weekend just before summer. Then, on our hike back to our car, we came across a rolling flotilla of cars, passengers hanging out of the windows, standing up through sunroofs, horns honking and banners waving. It was a mini parade for Black Lives Matter. We stood and hollered our assent and raised our fists in the air. And then they were gone.
Which is why, a few nights later, we heard a rumbling coming from outside. It started in low, and started to grow. There was a march headed our way. We gathered ourselves, my wife taking the time to cut a piece of cardboard large enough to support her slogan: "Defund the Police - Refund People." Hustling just a block over, we found the street filled with a sea of people all headed in the same direction.
Our march was here.
We jumped in the line and made our way, quite consciously, down the middle of the street. It was a big enough group that there were a number of different chants, led by those with the most impressive "outside voices." As we traveled through the heart of what we know as our neighborhood, my wife and I took in the sights and sounds, pleased to be out of the house and on our feet, voices raised.
And then, it was time to drop out. Not because we changed our mind. Not because the problem was miraculously solved, but because we both became aware of our proximity to other humans. Social distancing was not a luxury that could be afforded by this mass. Our county has become a COVID-19 hotspot over the past couple of weeks. Right about the same time that my wife and I have been anxious to head out and join in the marches. So, with some shame in our hearts, we peeled off and headed home.
Somewhere along the way, we saw a guy waving from a passing car. I looked over and couldn't recognize him, but he was asking, "Are you going home?" This only added to our guilt.
"Yes." I was going to staple an excuse on the end of it, but it wasn't there.
"Can I take your sign?" he asked.
"Sure," my wife raced out hand off her carefully lettered message. The march had begun to climb the hill in the distance. These cars were the last of a group that would eventually and up in front of the mayor's house. That's where they lit candles and asked for the mayor to come out and speak with them as darkness fell. That didn't happen. So most of the protesters left their signs on her lawn.
I would imagine that's where my wife's sign landed.
These are strange days indeed.