An Afternoon Without Lunch

Trigger Warning: Gun violence, fear and terror, political themes

The lawn is yellowed with neglect—freshly cut and straw-like. Someone could drop a lit cigarette and all of the Capitol grounds would go up in flames. Thank god there’s snow in the forecast.

I make my way east and settle on the Pregnant Eagle Benches, just outside the north end of the Library of Congress. It’s fucking cold out, so I tighten the scarf around my neck and pull my beanie completely over my ears. The street noise muffles.

I like this spot for reading and people-watching. There’s a perfect line of sight to the south side of the Supreme Court building, and if you crane left, the East steps of the Capitol. Most of the hustle and bustle of politicians and the press happens a block southwest of here, but today it’s moved dead ahead. An entire press gaggle is stationed near the front steps of the Court. It’s a hearing day. Something about the Fourteenth Amendment. Challenge to Lawrence v Texas. I’m invested.

Jon will be here in twenty minutes or so, and I’ll finally be able to get something warm to eat around the corner at Quill & Crumb. I love their Mac and cheese, but today it’s gonna be quiche.

I see something. Ahead and to my right, a man, dressed in black, crosses 2nd and hops over a hedge row on the southeast lawn of the Court building. He’s wearing a backpack, also black, and a red ball cap. I squint as he crosses west on the lawn toward the front steps, toward the crowd that’s gathered around the press pool. His breath visible in the frigid air, chugging in puffs behind him like a train engine, out of breath. Something is off.

He finds the crowd and slows to a walk, weaves into the other red hats that have begun to converge. Fucking MAGA chuds. Of course they’re here to cause a scene. A hearing on whether to overturn Lawrence means the likely return to anti-sodomy laws in the US. They’ve been clamoring for this for thirty goddamn years, and they’re finally going to get it. Next they’ll come for Obergefell and take my marriage away from me as well. They start to chant for the cameras. USA! USA! USA!

GO AWAY!

You can never tell with these guys if they’re dressed for performance and projection of their insecurity, or actually ready for war. It’s usually the performance. A signal to like-minded morons they’re part of the cult. Black coat, baggy pants, red hat, something camo, overstuffed bag. Half of them could probably survive the DC frost on body fat alone. It’s a wonder they still persist. It’s been a year since Dear Leader was twenty-fifthed and replaced by the Vice President. But cults don’t end, they fizzle. They evolve. MAGA’s a lifestyle now, regardless of who’s in charge.

The temp ticks up as the sun peeks through the clouds. I remove my beanie and gloves, and text Jon.

Almost here? Getting peckish. Huge crowd at SCOTUS.

He responds, runnign late, traffic at Connecticut is inane.

Running. Insane. He never pays attention to what he’s writing and it drives me insane. I’ve told him a thousand times it isn’t worth driving in this car sewer when you can walk from our house to Farragut West and take the Silver straight to Capitol South. But I digress. Back to the people watching as my stomach eats itself.

The red hats have started shouting down a small group of counter-protesters, and in the time I looked down at my phone and up again, Metro Police formed a line between them. That was fast. I mean, there’s never a shortage of pigs on this farm, that’s for sure.

I scroll Bluesky for updates on the hearing. Not much coming out of the chamber at the moment. Minutes pass. No Jon. My phone vibrates in my hand and I look down at my lock-screen.

Traffic’s being rerouted. Maybe motorcade. Not sure.

Fuck. Okay. I have to eat at some point soon or I’ll d–

POP. POP POP.

My phone slips from my hands and I fumble to pick it up off the concrete.

POP. POP. POP POP POP POP POP.

Bodies scatter on foot everywhere around me. I lock in on the Supreme Court press gaggle who have dropped to the ground with their hands over their heads, cameras standing sentinel over them. There are bodies on the ground. Police split and move with urgency.

Active shooter.

I drop to prone position behind a bush. Red hat man in black is pushing the crowd west, out to the street, handgun firing off, then–

POP. POP.

The gunman smacks into the sidewalk, and it ricochets through the chaos. A black car slams on its brakes, nearly running him over.

My eyes dart around frantically, peering through the small openings in the bush. Oh god. Oh fuck.

On the east side of the Court building, another black-clad red hat rushes around the back of the building, and out of view.

I glance back to the press pool, still on the ground. Police have taken control of the situation, calling in backup. Sirens. Shouting. Lots of shouting.

CRACK.

A deafening boom to my right, and in my peripheral a flash of electric orange, then dust exploding out of the court chambers.

I stay still, reach for my phone. Three missed calls from Jon. Fuck.

Another explosion, same place. I close my eyes and tell myself everything is going to be okay. Jon can’t be more than a few blocks away. God, please let him be okay too.

The cacophony of sirens and screaming and shouting intensifies. Suddenly, sharp pain in my right leg. I turn over on my side and realize I’m being stampeded by people running away.

I have to go. I have to get somewhere safe. I can feel my heart thumping in my throat. It hurts. I gather myself up and run south, past the Library, pure adrenaline. I run past C Street and into Folger Park. Tree canopies. Places to hide. Out of breath, I stop, hands on knees and inhale. God, it hurts. My chest aches.

I look up at the sky as another boom sounds off in the distance. A charm of finches bolt south from a beech tree. My phone vibrates. I ignore it and reel around to look back at what I’ve left behind.

Three pockets of smoke rise behind the sea of limestone.

My phone pulses in my front pocket. The air cuts through my throat like a razor, cold and unforgiving. I reach for my phone and pull it out. It’s Jon.

“Babe? Babe? What is going on?” I say.

“I have no idea, but there’s smoke. I’m at a standstill. I’m close, but I can’t get through. Metro, Park, Feds, all of em. They’re everywhere.”

“The Court. I saw it. I’m in Folger. I’m safe.”

“You’re safe?”

“Yah. Someone ran over my leg. I’m fine. What’s your cross street?”

“Stopped at Constitution, facing the Capitol. Whole street’s barricaded off, and I’m five cars deep so I can’t see shit.” He’s panicking. I want to hold him. All I want is his arms around me right now.

BOOM.

“Babe?” My eyes are fixed north. “Babe, you ok?”

“Yah, I think that was the Capitol… I… Oh fuck, it was. The Capitol. I’m getting out of the car. I’m coming to you.”

“No the fuck you aren’t. Stay where you are. They’re not gonna let you through. Just stay where you–“

POP. POP POP POP POP POP.

My phone falls to the grass. Ears are ringing. I drop to my knees and run my hands through the dry grass and find my phone. Jon’s still on the line.

“Babe? I heard shots…” Sirens scream through the speakers. “Jonathan! Are you there?” My breath quickens and my body goes numb. “JONATHAN? JONATHAN!” A faint voice speaks.

“I’m…I’m here, honey. I’m here.”

A surge of warmth shoots through every limb. I sob into the phone.

“But you’re not. You’re not here.” My eyes well up with tears. “I just want you here.”

Jon’s voice shakes. “Aaron?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you t–”

My voice catches in my throat and I cough. For a moment, save the sirens in the distance, there’s silence. Then I hear him chuckle under his breath. It feels good to hear him laugh.

“You were right,” he says.

“Right about what?”

“I should’ve taken Metro.”