DC By the Book

Excerpt: Chiswick Academy wasn’t a very far drive. I lived in Arlington, Virginia and Chiswick was in Washington D.C. , which basically meant it was across the Potomac River. But when the school came into view, I thought I entered the nineteenth century. It looked like a southern plantation out of Gone with the Wind. I followed the other cars up Cathedral Avenue and pulled up into a cement roundabout, my Toyota sticking out among the dozens of long black sedans.

Excerpt: Remember the Story. “What happened?” I said. “Just last weekend as it turns out. We were in Georgetown, perhaps exceeding the speed limit, when we saw the flashing lights behind us.” “And you led them on a chase?””Goran Kovic was driving. He cannot afford to get another speeding ticket. He would be deported back to Croatia.” “So what did you do?” “We found the nearest embassy – the Russian embassy. And we pulled in. The guard at the gate knows me, and he saw the diplomatic plates and opened up. At that point there’s nothing that the police can do.”

Excerpt: The next time is saw Raf, it was Monday morning and we were on the same bus for a field trip to the National World War ll Memorial. He didn’t sit next to me, and I worried maybe my unrestrained opinions might have turned him away for good. I looked for an empathy seat and spotted one in front of a guy named Franco. I’d seen him with the DI’s, and he was also in my economics class. We hadn’t been formally introduced, but maybe he could be another source. He was sitting next to a guy named Dembe´ who was from somewhere in Africa.

Excerpt: As the doors shut and the driver pulled out the professor stood up and started telling us the history of the World War ll Memorial, and I began to wish I had asthma too. The memorial consists of fifty-six granite pillars, arranged in a circle around a plaza and a fountain, with two arches, one each on the north and south ends. Each pillar is engraved with the name of a US state or territory. When the bus parked, Professor Berg gave us a quiz and fifteen minutes to wander around and find the answers.

Excerpt: When I got to Professor Wing’s class, Raf saw me and smiled, and I swear somehow he’d gotten cuter since Saturday. He didn’t annoy me as much as he used to, and that realization annoyed me. I sat down next to him. “Scale any monuments lately?” “Nope, he said. But as soon as this heals – he pointed to his brace – “I have plans for the Washington Monument.” “Because it’s there?” I said. “Naturally, “ he said.

Excerpt: He wove through the streets of DC and then to Georgetown and started toward the Key Bridge. “Not the bridge,” I shouted in his ear. “It’s really narrow.” “My bike is narrow too,” he shouted back. Before I could freak out, the bike was zooming across the bridge and all I could do was hang on.

Excerpt: The other text was from Raf. The other text was from Raf. Raf: You haven’t really seen the world until you’ve seen the best view of the Mall you’ll ever find. Monday at 7 p.m., yes? I switched my phone off and put my arm over my eyes. My choice should have been easy. One was steady. The other looked for new ways to fall. One was disciplined. The other let fists fly. One was safe. The other had a track record of danger.

Excerpt: “What do you think, Pip?” Raf said. “I think I’ve never seen anything like this.” He pointed toward the west. “If you squint hard, you can see to Iwo Jima." I squinted in the distance and could barely make out the statue of the six marines who raised the American Flag during the Second World War. “Somebody once told me that if you look closely, there’s an extra leg in the statue,” I said taking a sip of sangria.

Excerpt: Thursday night, I had off work, so we went to the Alliance Française de Washington for a five-dollar showing of the French film Amélie. The frenetic pace and its themes of anonymous love reminded me of the confessions of Post-Anon. I loved it.

Excerpt: Late April brought the Annual Cherry Blossom Festival. The tradition commemorates the gift of three thousand cherry trees from japan to Washington DC. When they bloom they blanket the perimeter of the tidal basin next to the Jefferson Memorial in a layer of pink. It was late this year, due to an unseasonably cold winter that seemed interminable.

Excerpt: I took the metro to the Smithsonian Station, the closest to the Jefferson Memorial but still a fifteen-minute walk. It was actually a gorgeous day to walk and contemplate the meaning of life and how I’d already screwed up something so bad. Did other people my age have this much regret? Maybe. But right now, I felt alone in the weight of it.