Stars and stripes flickered from sticks in the hands of nearly everyone in the crowd as a convoy of military vehicles came roaring down the street.
Everyone cheered.
The instrumental version of “America the Beautiful” played from a tinny-sounding speaker on top of the last vehicle, a camo-painted Humvee. They didn’t need the words. The parade-goers sang anyway.
A resplendent color guard marched in perfect unison wearing the same uniform, flags billowing softly above them: red, white, and blue against a pale blue sky.
Drummers tapped against the metal of their drums, clicking out a secret message to the band marching behind them. Horns began blasting, shifting and turning, and every now and again they’d do a cool little hop-step in perfect time.
Whitney smiled from her front-row seat in her apartment, thankful for the air-conditioning and perfect view of the activities while floats lined the street as far as she could see.
The oven timer blasted. She hopped up and ran to the kitchen to silence it, dumping the potatoes into the colander, then ran back to see the rest of the procession.
In open convertibles, old men in military uniforms and funny hats waved. Heroes, all of them, probably harboring the sadness of the loss of friends and fallen soldiers they’d served with. A day of remembrance. War was such a terrible thing. No one really came out a winner.
A marching band stopped and turned left, facing the crowd on that side of the street with a banner that said “TRIBUTE” to our nation’s heroes. They marched in place, then moved forward and did a one-eighty to the other side, before double-stepping it to face forward again. There were six of those banners in all. Each required eight handlers spread out from end to end to move them down the road.
The banner handlers turned with the timing of synchronized swimmers, giving everyone a view of the poster. She wondered if it was as impressive at ground level as it was from up here.
A bright red convertible corvette followed behind the banners. Her heart danced, thinking of Matthew. He would’ve loved to see this.
Six uniformed men rode horses, carrying flags, and then three more high school bands followed. In full regalia, from jackets and sashes to hats and fuzzy plumes, to their white gloves, they had to be burning up in this heat.
With the last notes from the marching band lingering in the air, the Memorial Day parade concluded, leaving behind an infusion of unity and reverence.
Energized by the parade, Whitney hummed as she mixed the potato salad in a casserole dish for the drive to William and Carina’s.
She tucked her bathing suit in a bag in case she wanted to swim, and carried it and the potato salad to the elevator.
The streets were clear when she pulled out of the parking garage, but the pavement was littered with flags and wrappers. Ground workers rushed along with bright yellow bags, cleaning up the aftermath.
On the drive over, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the message, expecting it to be Carina asking her to pick up some forgotten item, but her dash screen said “Matthew.”
She tapped the button on the steering wheel with her thumb to display his message.
“Looking forward to Saturday.”
She resisted the urge to text back until she got to William and Carina’s.
The driveway was triple-parked, so she parked on the street and walked around to the backyard. The sounds of music and playful squeals and laughter carried across the lawn.
Everyone gathered on the porch, under the tree, or around the pool. They’d filled the screened gazebo with the food, lining up catering-style chafing dishes to last all day. Iced trays to the left, hot trays to the right, and the other snacks in the middle. She tucked her dish on top of the ice and then made a plate for herself. Luckily, she’d gotten there early enough to get a burnt hot dog. William always burned a few just to be sure she got one the way she liked them.
She could forgo the bun, but baked beans and potato salad were a must.
“Hey, Mom,” Whitney called out.
“Come. Join us.”
She sat next to her mother in the open chair at the long outdoor table.
Kids bounced into the pool, one at a time, and little Chloe sat poised in a floppy white sun hat and little blue cat-eye sunglasses next to Carina.
It was fun to catch up with everyone at the annual event, and at toast time, William raised a glass to Dad’s leadership and bragged about being a finalist in the upcoming awards.
“Hey, Whitney.”
She turned around. “Roger? What are you doing here?”
