Picturesque XII
I carefully make my way to the top of the bleachers, silently lamenting how heavy my backpack is. I sigh happily as I slip it off my shoulders and let it rest between my knees as I sit. The sun beats down on my navy-blue back, and I shift uncomfortably; but I am a Californian, and quickly learn to accept the heat.
My school’s “Welcome Back Parade” begins. I smile slightly, remembering the fiasco of last year. I sit back, or would if I could, happy that I am not a part of the parade this year.
The NJROTC beings the parade. The school rises as the Flag of the United States of America passes by. It is a quiet moment.
The rest of the event flows without problems. I watch as my peers “strut their stuff.” Just as I did one year ago. I admire the people down there on the track, but not easily impressed. The needless commentator on my right does not help things. But this will be over soon.
Then, my outlook is changed. A student of the NJROTC, one I happen to know and think of as a friend, walks in front of the small stage, where the student body president and school administration staff sits. My friend begins to sing “O Say Can You See,” and a flood of painful memories enter my subconscious, memories of what happened September 11, 2001. But her voice affected me most, with its deep and high tones. Her beautiful voice almost brought me to tears, so mournful and yet hinting at an eternal hope I thought I had lost. Her voice will stay with me in my darkest hours.
