It started on Thursday. Actually, it started a few weeks ago, when I decided I would make myself a pink(ish) hat to wear to the march. As I sat there, surrounded by yarn and crocheting away, Mister asked if I planned to make a hat for him. I didn’t even know he was thinking of going with me to the march, let alone wearing a pussy hat – a symbol of the march. I got more yarn.
But I digress. It’s been raining here in Los Angeles. A lot. I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m just saying. On Thursday, there was a beautiful break in the clouds. I knew that if Mister and I were going to indeed take the train downtown for Saturday’s march, I needed to make sure our rider cards were loaded and ready to go. You see, we’ve had the ugly experience of arriving at the train station during a crazy-busy time (Rams home game), only to realize our rider cards held no credit. That day, as I recall, we waited in line for almost an hour to re-load the danged cards. It wasn’t pretty and I did not want a command performance. So when I looked outside and saw that beautiful blue sky peeking through those heavy clouds, I decided to get in a little exercise and walk to the train station to take care of business.
I was in a shitty mood. I knew that the next day would see a lying, unqualified, bully of a sexual predator sworn in as president and I was heartbroken. My sunglasses hid my tears from passersby, but I knew I was crying. And I didn’t know how to stop. That’s when she popped into my head – my great grandmother. She’s been gone nearly two decades, but she planted herself in my mind and I decided to let her visit for a while. I started telling her all about our outgoing President, and how I bet she would have loved him. I told her how intelligent and decent he is. How quick-witted and kind he is. I told her about his beautiful family and how they’ve all been incredible role-models for what a loving family can be. She kept asking questions (she was always curious) and I kept answering. Before I knew it, I had arrived at the train station, re-loaded our rider cards and walked all the way home. Granny Vera kept me company the whole time. Focusing on President Obama had dried my tears and lifted my spirits. I spent the rest of the day thinking of my Granny and the greatest President I will likely ever know. I slept well that night.
On Friday, the rain returned. I woke to find a couple of emails from a British buddy. He let me know that it was Tom Baker’s birthday (the 4th “Doctor Who”) and that the Brits were thinking of us on our day of gloom. (Actually – I think he used the word “doom-ly”. It was completely apt.) He also sent a link to a UK piece tying the US inauguration of a cheeto to “Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Galaxy” and it was hilarious. Those thoughts got me through the day and I was grateful. That night, Mister and I decided to watch Hitchhiker’s Guide. I laughed my ass off (thank you, Sam Rockwell) and the movie reminded me of the beauty of this planet. I needed that. Then Mister and I turned in, hoping to get an early start for the next morning’s march. You know – just in case it turned out to be crowded.
The L.A. March was scheduled to begin at 9am. Mister and I got to the train station at 8, beneath a sunny sky. The first thing we saw was a huge crowd, waiting in line to get their rider cards. (Crisis averted on that front!) We then went downstairs to the station platform. We immediately realized our timing wasn’t early enough. I thought we’d have to wait for at least another train or two, but Mister said he thought we could squeeze into a crowded car. By the grace of other riders, we wedged ourselves against the train’s door and stayed there until we reached the designated stop downtown.
I’m not claustrophobic. Tight quarters don’t rattle me. Crowds, on the other hand, are not my jam. Being around scads of people has become challenging for me. This discomfort began last summer, during the ugly rallies in support of Drumpf. The hatred, the bile and the vitriol shown in videos of those gatherings was disgusting and pathetic. Those pitiful, duped attendees were sad and ugly. After seeing far too much of that, I became hesitant to attend large gatherings. I can’t explain it. But it came to pass that I began staying away from big crowds when I could. Which brings me back to Saturday morning on that downtown-bound train. The photo of me kissing the train doors is a bit of a joke, but not by much. I spent my entire train ride with my face against those doors, thinking about where I was going. And why. Thinking about Mister being beside me, wearing his pussy hat. Thinking about the joyful camaraderie of the standing-room-only crowd in the train car. I was doing a pretty good job of staying calm, though my lip was sweating and my hands were shaking. Then I heard the prerecorded train announcement: “The next stop is Pershing Square.” The train roared with glee. We were almost there.
When the doors opened, I said goodbye to the friendly doors I’d been pressed against and joined the throng as we made our way upstairs. That’s when Mister spotted the “Impeach” button on a rider’s backpack. It made me think about Georgia, and I wondered how many people would show up to march in Atlanta. Still a little shaky from the ride, I moved slowly up the stairs, with Mister by my side. We were talking about how crowded the train had been, then we emerged into daylight and holy shit! We were blown away.
I won’t lie. I was still feeling a little crowd anxiety. But it was abating. Oddly enough, the more people I saw – people joining the march, people smiling at strangers, people introducing their children to Democracy – the calmer I became. And there was this vibe. It caught me by surprise. It also overwhelmed me. And that vibe’s name was Zen.
Seriously. The energy of the crowd was just beautiful. Because we were all packed into a street, there wasn’t a lot of room to accommodate a whole lot of bodies. People occasionally bumped into one another, or accidentally stepped on someone’s feet. But it was all acknowledged and forgiven. People of every gender, color, age,religion, nationality – all were welcome. It was calm and lovely. It was kind and inclusive. I was amazed and comforted. More than once, I cried happy tears. I’m sure I wasn’t alone.
The signs were a treat, too. Some were expected, some not. The tone of the signs was varied, and I appreciated that. (One of my favorites from the day read, “Honestly – I Would Have Preferred An Actual Swamp.”) A lot of feelings are floating around out there, which is completely understandable, given president cheeto’s hateful rhetoric. People are afraid. And they should be. This administration is hell-bent on creating hell-on-earth. We all knew it, too. But we didn’t wallow. Instead, we roared. Mightily.
Some of the signs were hand-made. Some were printed. Others were unique and ran the gamut from simple to not-at-all simple.
This one may have permanently affected my rods and cones. I’m not sure my eyes will ever be the same…
Being me, I wasn’t tall enough to see everything going on around us. Mister had to be my designated tall person, so he was able to tell me how far the crowds reached down streets in all directions. Here in L.A., our numbers exceeded all expectations and the march’s route had to be amended on the fly. We were slated to march down only one street. We took over three, if not four. (I know about 3, for sure.) As the march moved peacefully and slowly toward city hall, the assembled chanted and chatted. We took photos as we took it all in. I think we knew we’d be taking it in for some time.
I still don’t know just how many of us showed up. March organizers were putting the numbers north of 700,000. Personally, Mister and I knew loads of people who attended, but we didn’t cross paths with even one of them. I guess that’s what happens when you’re hanging out with 700,000 of your tribe members. And make no mistake. We were definitely with our tribe.
In the afternoon, Mister and I looked at each other, smiled and knew it was time to go. We walked to Union Station and made our way to the train platform. This time, it was even more crowded than when we’d started out in the morning. But we knew we could handle it. We’d fared just fine getting to the march. Getting home wouldn’t be a problem.
I wondered if the crowded train would hold the same positive energy we’d experienced in the morning. At first, I didn’t think so. Then the crowd of riders began to talk about the day. I watched the smiles return. I heard people offering to squeeze one more person onto a seat. Children, tired from the day, fell asleep in their seats or in their parents’ arms. And as we approached the end of the line, the train’s operator spoke to us all over the intercom. He said that, though he wasn’t supposed to comment on anything political, he was willing to take the risk. He said how much he admired what we’d done that day. He said that in all his thirteen years of working for Metro, he’d never seen such numbers. He thanked us for our patience in dealing with the filled-to-capacity trains and wished us well. We, the riders, thundered with applause. It was a beautiful way to end the day. I hope I never forget it.
