Pomp and
Circumstance
It is 1736 and a chilly April morning when Frederick, Prince
of Wales is slated to marry Princess Augusta of Saxe-Gotha. A light drizzle
accompanies the proceedings, but, even so, the kingdom has come out in force to
witness the happy occasion. Or, if not the happy occasion, the presentation of
the couple following.
Westminster Abbey would’ve blocked the sun had it been
shining, and Juliana’s hair is dripping onto her face despite her best
intentions at pulling it back this morning. She had decided that she’d try to
catch a glimpse of the happy couple, even if it takes standing in the drizzle
for hours.
A few moments after she’d left her home, she saw that
everyone else had decided the same. Wet wool is the de facto smell, and as
everyone started to brush against one another as they neared the Abbey, Juliana
began to feel sick. She considered turning around and heading back home, but
then remembered that days like this only happen once or twice in a generation.
A royal wedding! She’ll see royalty!
She’s now standing near a woman who’s wearing the same style
frock as herself, in fact, even the same color. Color in 18th
century England isn’t in abundance for the commoner, but Juliana had secured a
fabric so lemon yellow and warm that it matches her hair, with a profusion of
violets on the bodice. Her neighbor here in the crowd has belted her bodice to
help with the stays, an unusual look that Juliana hasn’t seen before.
The woman’s young son has been scurrying back and forth from
the Abbey steps, reporting to his mother on what he has seen. His enthusiasm is
contagious, and Juliana finds herself caught up in it as well.
At long last, the bells ring and the doors open. Everyone
present seems to catch their collective breath, and the sound, a huge gasp, is
so loud that it drowns out the sound of the gentle rain pattering the ground.
The couple stands and acknowledges the crowd (no kissing, of course not), and
then a shower of coins rain down from the bridal party. Children and some
adults run for the coins, not realizing they are worth next to nothing,
commemorative only, but the little boy has snatched one and is blindly running
back to deposit it in his mother’s petticoat pocket before running for more.
But, instead of his mother’s pocket, Juliana feels his tiny hand shove the coin
into her own petticoat as he runs back to the line of revelers.
Juliana would like a coin to keep. She knows she should give
the coin back to the little boy, or at least his mother, but she can’t quite
bring herself to do it. Her hand reaches into her petticoat pocket and rubs the
coin, which feels warm but also new in a way that’s foreign to her. Something
so fresh and cut from a coining press only recently is a wonder. She decides to
keep it.
Juliana moves away from the mother so that the discovery of
the missing coin doesn’t affect her. Slipping behind the man next to her, she
continues to side-step right until she’s out of sight of the little boy and his
mother, absorbed back into the crowd like bubbles are absorbed back into yeast.
For the rest of the day, Juliana can’t forget the little boy
and his mother. She hopes that he was able to find another coin. She imagines
he doesn’t, and imagines him sobbing at home, blaming his mother for losing a
coin she never had in her pocket.
It is 2018 and a beautiful, sun-drenched day in May when Prince
Harry is slated to marry Meghan, the American. The day is stunning: the sun
warm, the temperature perfect at 72 degrees. Fat, fluffy clouds dot the
horizon, hinting at a storm to come, but that won’t happen until everyone is
home tonight in bed. Right now, at 10:00 am, Julia feels like the day ahead is
a present waiting to be opened.
She was invited by her coworker, Oscar, to attend the lining
of the Long Walk in order to see the happy bride and groom process by in the
Ascot Landau. Just seeing that grand carriage would’ve been enough to get Julia
out of her apartment and braving the crowds. She and Oscar have become closer
friends, definitely more than just co-workers, ever since they started working
the Hamilton project together. As comfortable with each other as a married
couple, they brush against each other, holding hands when the need arises to
prevent one from becoming adrift in the sea of royalty-crazed humanity.
There are so many Americans in the crowd, with their signs
and silly t-shirts. Julia and Oscar are taking it all in, the sun on their
shoulders, the laughter and giddiness of the crowd, when all at once a small
hand shoves something into Julia’s pocket. She hasn’t a moment to register this
when she spots a tow-headed child running away. Almost afraid to reach into her
pocket (it’s a large pocket; she’s wearing baggy khakis of a style popular ten
years ago), Julia wonders what it could be…she immediately thinks of toads and
frogs, those items of little boys’ pockets in nursery rhymes, but of course
it’s not a toad, she’d have felt movement.
The horses are pulling the carriage past so quickly, too
quickly, in Julia’s opinion, that she barely registers the wedded couple’s
appearance. In fact, she may have missed it if not for the roar of the crowd.
She tentatively reaches into her pocket and pulls out what
appears to be a clump of flowers. Looking closely, she sees that it’s a sprig
of the forget-me-nots that Meghan is carrying in her bridal bouquet; one sprig
of several that were tossed from the carriage as it passed.
This sentimental souvenir isn’t that important to Julia, and
besides, who could steal a keepsake from a child? She waits for the little boy
to return.
Since the carriage has passed, some members of the crowd
decided they’ve had enough; they’ve seen the royal pair once, they don’t need
to wait for the carriage to make the return trip to the castle. As the crowd
thins, Julia sees the little boy, crying with a woman who, incidentally, looks
a lot like Julia. Ah, she thinks, he thought I was his mother.
Julia doesn’t hesitate, she grabs Oscar’s hand and
approaches the mother and son, knowing that she’ll solve this dilemma for them
and stop the pitiful sobbing all at once.
“Is this yours?” she holds the now-soggy lump of flowers
toward the little boy, bending down as she does, to his height.
He looks at it, sniffling, not taking it. The mother is
thankful, showing her appreciation to Julia and Oscar, encouraging her son to
take the bouquet. He finally does, not wanting to fully relinquish his sorrow,
evidently.
They were Americans, of course.
