Fear and (Self) Loathing in D.C.

 This is a tale of blooming love and emotions that sometimes accompany it---panic and fear---but with a twist.

It had been a while since I had seen the woman who would eventually become my wife, so after reconnecting during the week, we met up in downtown Washington, D.C. that weekend.  

The weather was perfect for a fall day in the Nation’s Capital as we strolled along the mall, taking pictures along the way. Needing a break, we took a seat on a bench just beyond the mall’s colorful carousel.

I’m one to keep a close watch on my possessions in public, so I’m not exactly sure what happened that day. I choose to believe I was so intoxicated getting to spend time with Melanie that my natural instincts (and paranoia) were dulled, not the more reasonable explanation of forgetfulness which has been proven over the years.

Rising from our perch, we continued our jaunt headed toward the Washington Monument, a great spot for getting photographs of just about everything. That’s when I realized my ever-present camera bag was not looped over my shoulder.

Panic!

 In addition to my camera, my phone and key ring were in there as well, so if the bag was lost, it would be an expensive and time-consuming exercise.

We hightailed it back to our bench and as we approached, it couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes since we had left. As we neared, however, we could see that section of the mall had been cordoned off and a policeman standing an alert watch.

Working through the growing crowd, I got to the policeman in the hopes of being able to recover my bag. “Excuse me sir, I left my camera bag under that bench…..,” my voice trailing off in the realization of what was happening. "You're here for me, aren't you?"

You see, this was the Saturday after 9/11. The city was on high alert!

Fear!

As my face reddened and sweat flowed, my mind raced. I wasn’t concerned about embarrassing myself in front of Melanie---at that moment---but more of was I going to be taken into custody.

The stern-faced cop spoke on his radio and directed my attention to a nearby cross street where police cars and fire engines flew by, lights flashing and sirens wailing,

“That was for you,” he said, adding that if it had been five minutes later my bag would have been blown up, costing the city $17,000.

Knees wobbling, I followed the cop to our bench where he began to take my information. At this point it must have apparent I wasn’t going to jail because Melanie had parked herself nearby and was on the phone laughing about it with a friend. I was still far from amused.

Voice quavering, I related the contents of the bag and was instructed to open it as the police, way more than one at this juncture, kept their distance in the event of a detonation. Successfully opening the bag and showing its contents was enough to bring the episode to an end, though I continued to be lectured until I was outside the crime-scene tape.

I’ve been back to the mall in years since, and while not dull, certainly less dramatic. Whew!