At the level crossing the parade
the crowd the traffic and the
streetcar all
come together with the sun emerging
just as it should to
celebrate the moment –
which is the moment when our expectations
are
highest and the long midsummer day
has not yet grown beyond the keyed-up
pleasure
in waiting – for the kids at least
But why
else did you come here then? You must have known
it was a
level crossing where things jam up
where accidents happen where you can’t
just go
whenever you get the urge to leave you’re so
impatient
Listen in the distance a band
is playing you almost can’t hear it
against
the traffic and the noise the kids are making
the sun is
ricocheting off the hoods
of cars dogs are chasing each other through
the crowds young girls tattooed in sunglasses
and skimpy tops are
strutting down the sidewalk
people are waving flags and pushing strollers
or eating pizza sipping beer
I think
of all the things I could be doing it’s not
as if I’m blessed
with all this leisure time
Just then the veterans come by in jeeps
apparently the start of the parade
some people in the crowd are clapping
but
we can’t see any floats – and down the block
an old guy in the
crowd falls to the ground
some people say he had a heart attack
or
maybe he just fainted they make a kind
of circle there around him and we
see
an ambulance that must have been here all
along move up to where
he fell it takes
a long time like a movie in slow motion
but they
finally get him loaded and
drive off
After that the rest of the
parade is kind of anticlimactic the band
is
out of key and lacks trombones a woman
near us says it was a heart attack
or so she heard she heard he didn’t make it
it wasn’t anyone we knew we
don’t
say anything to the kids they’re eating ice cream
now still full
of energy still eager
to join in anything
But we are tired
and start to round them up it’s been a long
day and
my temper’s wearing thin – so maybe
not everyone would read the scene
this way
I see some old guys standing by the curb
not all but
unmistakably some – waiting
calm amid the celebration waiting
with
patience and no protest simply waiting
to get out
Jan Schreiber