FROM: The Journal of Radical Wonder
I was alone in the courtyard
of a retirement community
in Riverside.
Bald, gray, silver haired geriatrics,
skin pock marked with age spots
and skin tags,
reminded me of my great uncles.
Of Sun City, Arizona.
My friend Amanda
in the concert band
was about to serenade
these people I’d one day look like,
whose lives I couldn’t fathom.
I didn’t see Amanda
before the crowd stood
and the national anthem encouraged
a murmur of off key singing. I
stood too,
having been taught
that’s what you do.
To unknowingly,
unquestioningly,
respect the country,
to give thanks.
An obligation I was
beginning to see
the fallacy of.
In the moments between,
an old lady, an air of certainty
to her movements,
stopped in front of me.
“Excuse me young man. I
noticed you did not put your hand
over your heart just now.”
I didn’t speak.
I didn’t look her in the eyes.
I wanted to find Amanda
on stage.
“You might have seen
that everyone else had their hands
over their hearts. That’s because
they respect the national anthem.
Young man,
are you listening to me?”
I remained quiet.
Didn’t want to erupt in anger —
the concert to start any second —
to feed into her agenda.
“Do you understand me?
Do you speak English?
Maybe you’re not from here.
But when you’re in America,
you show it the respect it deserves.
You’re lucky you get to be protected
by its freedoms while you’re here.”
My stomach clinched.
Thoughts were stuck,
raced into an unnerving nothingness,
like the eye of a hurricane.
Were people looking at me?
Amanda was the only person I knew.
My birth place, Los Ángeles,
an hour away.
“I don’t know how they do it in your country,
but here we respect the flag.”
The old woman left.
I felt exposed.
I tugged at my collar
attempting to straighten my t-shirt,
then put my hands in my pockets.
I picked at my cuticles.
Were people looking at me?
My body drew in.
I wanted to get lost in the concert,
but my stuck thoughts lingered:
Maybe you’re not from here.
I’m not from here?
As the first notes filled the courtyard
my thoughts and feelings remained at an unnerving impasse.
Yet,
what I knew
was one day,
I’d look like them.
Brian Dunlap 