What Happened That Day?
I sit in the driver’s seat as it started to drizzle. Just under one minute, the windshield is soaked, but that’s no longer a novelty since I’ve self-educated how January weather in Maryland works. It’s officially the third day since my arrival in Gaithersburg. Everything here feels like light-flavored SoCal with a sprinkle of refreshing humidness and those palm trees substituted by white oaks. As a self-proclaimed connoisseur of boba tea, one of the first things I jotted down on the itinerary was to “try every single spot”. Today’s selection comes from One Tea House; since the ones from the last two days gave me neither taste aversion nor were they too impressive, I look forward to the potential comfort drink more than ever. My lips have dried up quite a bit in the past five minutes, it’s 5:55 pm. The icy cup of brown sugar combo is looking overly tempting and potentially healing.
“May I drive?” As I utter these words, Heidy clumsily opens up the passenger door while holding a raft of items. A stack of grant papers, a half-empty bento box, and a multitude of metallic objects hung loose down the ginger kitten keychain as well as her purse that yells “I’m a cat lady”. The clinking sound coming from the hefty keys and the crescendo of rain droplets made my question perfectly inaudible. “Yeah?” She sat down. “Can I drive us home?” By home I really meant a hotel at the Rio plaza, a generically nice area dominated by corporate folks and the temporary residence of this short trip of ours that took place before New Year. The most notable thing about Gaithersburg is its proximity to the District of Columbia. A 30-min drive, boom, then you are inside the capital, and Heidy is one of the many working commuters of this route. “Aww their ginger milk is my fav!! Yeah. You meant later? The Van Gogh thing is today at 7 correct?” “Oh yeah you’re right”.
I am not an enthusiast when it comes to driving, not especially when I am maneuvering my girlfriend’s decade-old Sequoia 53 on the other side of the country after my insurance has recently expired. It’s also getting close to our usual dinner time, the battle against drowsiness and starvation is already tough on top of Google map’s glitchy guidance. My mind wanders off to Saiya. Is he also hitting the road like me at the moment? This guy once advised me about how to stay awake during these agonizing freeway pilgrimages, “Chewing gums works big time. The mintier the better. Count the prime numbers using ascending order”. Sometimes I presume he spends more time on those wheels to and fro from Torrance to Westwood every day than in bed. Red light. The sky has dimmed quite a bit as we approach northern Virginia, although the drizzle has stopped.
Heidy’s been sipping on the half-empty ginger milk. Aside from her occasional coughing, she appears taciturn. A hectic shift she had, I thought. We both tested negative for Covid despite our soring throats, living proof that stress plagues everyone more than the trending virus. Breaks are necessities, I often told her in a typical parental tone out of the fear that she’s liking her first-ever job to an unhealthy extent. Those are usually followed by her childlike dismissal, well, I tell her so out of concern for myself also: am I going to end up like that once I will no longer be a parasite to my parents? Since she landed the position at CAC, I have almost always had the honor to hear different voices of hers thanks to Discord, the exception being the Jan. 6th of last year. Heidi’s voice was absent from our voice channel for a total of six hours. I poke fun of her professional voice, yet can’t help but fascinate by her Spanish and Cantonese tones rendered to the service line. I sleep better listening to the songs she sang me. I smile whenever there’s glee in that voice. I was so afraid that the voice would’ve gone forever.
To my remorse, my less-ice milk tea already appeared diluted due to the car’s lukewarm interior. After I-ain’t-sure how many minutes, we took the exit that leads to the George Washington Memorial Parkway. I’ve always wanted to pay this visit, simply because the state seems historical and temperate and I am always drawn to those traits. We are just passing by, however, and can hardly see anything out of the pitch darkness. Back home, driving across states seemed a bizarre, taxing idea, the same task merely takes minutes. Or perhaps, the only difference being the duration, the time, and going from one state to another is not so daunting an idea and barely a monument. It’s been a year and a half since the whole long-distancing thing started. When I decided to visit her in Maryland for the first time in June, our lodging was a lot thriftier, partly due to Covid, partly budget issues, as well as the banter “let’s meet in public first so neither of us will kidnap or murder the other”. Here we are, for a second time, only wishing time elapses slower for the vacation lasts just eleven days before everything goes back onto Discord.
“Jeff” “Yes.” I quickly check if I turned on those headlights. “How does Korean fried chicken sound for tomorrow” “I’m so down, but for our anniversary though?” “It’s cheap plus we both like it.” “Objection!”
“Watch out.” Another red light ahead. “Thanks, I would’ve missed it.” “No worries, D.C. is weird, like you almost have to relearn driving and everything.” We are already inside the capital city, five years apart for me and five days for her. As Heidy finished fiercely cleansing the cup of ginger milk, I almost put the vehicle to a stop as we were driving by the imposing edifice. It’s 6:30 pm. “So this is the Capitol?” A stupid question that I am obliged to ask since the last time I called the Washington Monument by the same name. “Yup. You sure you can do parallel parking??” Defeatedly, I hop out of the car with my still-full cup. The surrounding has lit up quite a bit, accompanied by a wist of wind.
I was scared for her life. I made numerous calls as her voice disappeared from Discord. No response. CAC is a mile away from Capitol Hill, the Trump supporters, the fleeing congresspeople, the proud boys, and the Q’Anon guy in the risible Viking costume. Being a homo sapien is perhaps the only thing Heidy has in common with them, so what could the disappearance mean. I panicked. “You okay?” Speaking of professionalism, she’s already done with the authentic parking. I took her hand, as well as my water-down boba tea. We stroll across the heightened, marble white building. “Remember when we video chatted that day? You were super pale”. For a reason. It turns out Heidy’s phone died as she passed through the Capitol. “Can you hold it? I want some pictures, not gonna miss it this time”.
This time around, there are no shattered glasses on the ground. No sight of broadcast vans from the NPR, AP, or the Washington Post. Heavily armed police forces are nowhere to be seen. Swarms and swarms of enraged protesters have long dispersed. The fearmongering populist is no longer in the oval office. 365 days. That kid who was a part of the Bruin Republicans left no trace. That’s precisely how long ago the notorious storming made the national headline and by chance the same day Heidy was running her errand. I pictured angry mobs throwing racial slurs at her or even throwing fists as she passed through, and this was the best-case scenario inferred from what I saw on the breaking news. What is surreal is that we are chilling at the exact same place that’s supposed to symbolize the country’s heart, where Brian Sicknick served and gave his life to guard the grandeur of this symbol and the dignity of many. “It’s almost 7.” The last half hour passes astonishingly fast. Well, time is something else, like a pernicious frenemy that refuses to go away. We need it for romance, and we need it to cope and heal, and I finally start sipping my no longer sweet nor icy brown sugar combo as we part the Capitol. I’ve decided to dedicate my next 5 minutes to enjoy this deserving cup of boba tea.
