Dreamrail

Tragadar - Anthem

by Michael Ripley

A microphone is handed to a young lady at center court; a spotlight shines on the flag affixed to an end wall of the stadium. Both teams stand at attention. The crowd rises to their feet. A beautiful ‘a cappella’ rendition of the national anthem begins.

The songstress starts with a noticeable tremor in her voice, but settles into a beautiful and strong tone by the time she bellows, “…what so proudly we hail.” During these moments, I glance between the artist and the flag, considering the fortune in our lives, the opportunities that lie ahead for us. This crowd, our entire nation, all have so much to feel strongly about and look forward to accomplishing - even this unimportant game. Like an expectant father, I’ve awaited the chance to be here when they toss the ball into the air.

I glance to the rafters as the young lady sings, “…through the perilous night…” Something catches my eye, a catwalk high above the floor, constructed to allow access to lights, speakers, or the ventilation system.

With everything happening around the world seeming like a Shakespeare tragedy turned to seventy-eight rpm, I awe at the opportunity to bask in the glory of a country that provides prosperity for all, and offers a wondrous host of reasons to love and cling to life.

Her voice roars at full strength, “…oh say does that star spangled…” causing my hand to slide to my heart and my eye to the flag. Even with events that have touched our shore we feel the safety that our land gives, and we cherish our days on earth with a vigor like nowhere else on the planet. I see movement on that catwalk again, this time my focus is directed to a man walking along slowly, probably checking the systems, doing his job.

I look to the wonderful young lady bellowing in high perfect pitch, “… the land of the free…” and I find it no wonder that everybody in the room treasures each moment. Then I’m pulled back to the catwalk where I see the man, a young boy really, probably a student, and he jumps.

The anthem abruptly ends in the middle of a robust and valiant “…home of the brave” with the songbird girl dropping to her knees, shocked by the body hitting the floor no more than fifteen feet from where she had stood. The boy not moving, the impact appearing as a fatal blow, the crowd still standing, all eyes moved from the flag, staring at the crumpled heap on the varnished hardwood surface. Blood starts to flow toward the center circle approaching the girl; she crawls away to avoid its contact; the microphone thumps to the floor, resounding amongst the silence in the air. _____________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ The End