The Parade

The parade went longer than we expected. We’d been sitting, whooping and having fun.  My kids were scuttling to capture the candy on the asphalt. Some of those kids are so aggressive. Do they not have a little extra candy at home? Thrown candy is so much more appealing. It was already 11:30, the sun was getting hotter and waving at every random group or club began to wear on me. “Homies for Jesus,” was the highlight of the parade. My son’s eyes light up at their bouncy hydraulic cars, he thought cars were only meant to go forward and back not up and down. Then, the princess of the Salinas Valley parade rides by deflated from the heat, ready for this to be over, too. I know that she must be near the end.

My eye is drawn down the line of the crowd. We all begin to gather our chairs and children. As I see the men, I change gears. I look over to see the disapproval in my sweetie’s eyes. She knows as well as I do who they are. Men in black suits, shocking for their bleakness in a crowd of summer revelers, begin to make their way toward us. All eyes in the crowd follow, like the flock that we are, the three tall men. Flashbacks to all the FBI, interrogation, and conspiracy theory movies I’ve ever watched. It’s 98 in the shade and I’ve just watched the plump princess ride on her palomino down Main Street. The oddity of these men sweeps me out of real time. The men move slowly through the crowd.

On the shoulders of a balding 20ish dad, sits a three year old, clutching viciously at his dad’s throat. His nose begins to drip, he is preoccupied in a way that only a child can be. Everyone in the crowd begins to be child-like with their uninhibited staring. In a moment everyone will stop, check their natural response and begin to look from the corner of their eyes instead of the front.

These men are completely appropriate, just not for this time and this place. They are dressed for somewhere other. The men’s sunglasses, identical in every way, glint and sparkle. Their suits differ, the last man’s suit is also a little sparkly with wear. The elbows and knees gleam like he only has one suit and it is repurposed with a new shirt and tie every day. They make their way parallel to the street through the crowd rather than making a shot behind the crowd. Instead, man number two begins to look straight at me as he walks. His suit, non-descript, not blue not black. The first man, though, draws the eye. His suit is expensive, a double breasted number with three buttons. It was tailored to fit his shoulders and waist. His hair cut is equally expensive, which means beautiful in an understated way. He stops first and looks at me, all business “Excuse me ma’am. We were sent to get you.” The voice does not match the suit, high and nasally with a whine. Shoulders wide and voice diminished.

They lead us behind the quickly dissipating mass of people. I know who they are, of course. I don’t want them here in the middle of my vacation. It must be serious to travel so far. My partner takes hold of the kids, she knows too. “Ma’am there has been a problem at the station. There is a helicopter waiting. Please come quickly and we will explain en route.” My self-importance begins to emerge and any thought about my ruined vacation vanishes on the way.

I am going back to Antarctica, my passion and my work. August in southern Colorado never seemed so inviting with the future knowledge of bitter cold. My partner’s disappointment registers on her face, she knows that this is not a quick trip. She knows that we will drop her home and she will not see me for weeks. A single parent again. I make my decision, quickly, we’ve known what it will be since we saw them making their way unceremoniously toward me in the crowd.

In the air, the well dressed man briefs me over the headphones. The briefing is short but anything but sweet. This problem needs my immediate attention.

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