WASHINGTON — The morning of Inauguration Day started with an adrenaline rush. History would happen that day, and we had a ticket to see it. The balloon of excitement filled to capacity inside me, swelling my chest, putting a spring in my step as both Brendan (Best) and I got ready to see Barack Obama become our president. Advertisement
Months of planning happened before that day — lodging had to be set, travel plans made, money raised and the list goes on. The amount of effort put into this cross-country trip was something I could never have imagined. But we made it, despite all the difficulties. Car troubles, money issues, long lines, we prevailed. We had traveled 900 miles, paid a ridiculous amount for tolls, waited in lines for hours to get tickets and braved an unknown city, but now it would all be worth it. Or so we thought.
The alarm went off at 6 a.m. Inauguration Day. We stumbled with sleepiness in the dark for warm clothes, double checked our pockets for photo identification and the coveted purple tickets.
When all was ready, we set out toward the nearest metro station, hoping that by waking up early we would find a spot on the train into the U.S. Capitol. The crowds at the metro station should have been a harbinger for the events to come. We watched multiple trains go by, all packed beyond the limit; we ended up taking an empty train all the way to Vienna, Va., which was a good 10 miles in the opposite direction. There the trains turn around and head back toward our goal. After two and a half hours of standing in a sardine can with too many sardines, we made it into D.C. There we realized that the sardine can didn't look so bad after all.
We swam through the crowds that had swelled to record capacity, fighting our way to Constitution Avenue and First Street where the purple ticket holders could enter. The excitement that bubbled inside me as time ticked toward the ceremony overtook me. I frequently checked to make sure the purple ticket was still in my pocket, the promise from my government that I could witness history. We hurried onward.
Three blocks from our goal we hit a wall of people that was impassable, unbreakable and disheartening. There was nothing we could do but wait for the building-to-building crowd to move forward. The rumors started to hit us that the gate was blocked and there was no room for us. An hour passed. Perhaps another section overtook ours. Another hour. Maybe a security breach? The final hour before the ceremony started counted down. Would they ever open the gate? Every minute that passed was another lost and people started giving up. The mass of people lessened as we barged our way through to the gate, determined for answers. The effort to get here was too much to give up now. We made it up to the front where 1,000 or more people held their purple tickets in the air, chanting "Let us in, let us in, let us in." The gate stayed shut. The guards stayed silent. As one voice, as one entity, we all shared the same feelings of desperation and sorrow. There were only a few minutes till the ceremony started. Our chants grew louder, angrier, sadder as the minute hand crept toward 11:30 a.m. Nothing. A few people around us had tears in their eyes, their promises broken, and their tickets useless. All of us had done everything right, and we had nothing to show for it.
The cheers floated across from the Capitol as the ceremony started. Elation and joy had given way to defeat and agony. We joined the throng of people that started to trudge home empty-handed.
