Last Glimpses of DC

I stayed securely under the speed limit the entire ride. My driver side window remained slightly open, letting the cool pre-Spring air into the car as I cautiously navigated the narrow twists and turns of Rock Creek Parkway. My mind was fixated on making sure I got to the airport without incident. But the glint of the Potomac River still caught my eye as my car passed over the Arlington Memorial bridge and I could not help but admire the white crosses of Arlington Cemetery that line Jefferson Davis Highway. I passed the colossal confines of the Pentagon and its sprawling parking lots as a republican Senator critiqued the recently proposed national stimulus plan and economic rescue package on CSPAN-Radio. I turned the dial from CSPAN and past NPR to a local music station and while listening to Jamie Foxx, Kanye West and T.I. my mind slowly drifted away from DC and politics.

Earlier in the day I finished packing my bags. I checked and rechecked, making sure my phone charger made its way into my luggage and that I hadn’t overlooked any of my laptop or camcorder accessories. I packed gifts for my Brazilian family and friends along with clothing sufficient for a few weeks in the tropics. All of it fit into a medium sized duffle bag. I spent the morning talking to customer service representatives and city treasury employees on the phone, making sure all my bills and taxes were in order. I habitually checked the side pocket of my jeans, reassuring myself that I would under no circumstances forget my passport.

I parked my car in the garage at my office, a building in Arlington less than a mile from Reagan National Airport. I briefly met up with two of my work colleagues for lunch. They were keeping busy and productive with our client’s issues – issues that were slowly starting to fade into a distant place in my memory. One of them gave me a lift to the airport and shortly I had my boarding pass, made my way through security and was comfortably seated, waiting to take my seat on the plane. The TV screen by my departure gate shows Barack Obama urging the passage of the economic plan he supports. According to pundits, his popularity is still high, but it is clear that he has a tough job ahead of him. I am reminded of the general pessimism associated by our current economy, but those worries seem abstract and far away as I watch airplanes take off every few minutes from the runway visible from my terminal’s floor to ceiling window. I have not yet boarded my plane or taken off, but sitting in the airport I feel few miles away from the passed year and a half of my life. I find myself tapping my toes to subtle samba beats and bossa nova refrains as I subconsciously hum songs like the Girl from Ipanema and tunes from past Carnavals under my breath. A voice over the airport intercom calls for passengers on Flight 1219. The journey has begun.