U.S. Embassy

We are told that we are to leave our Parade back packs and hip bags on the bus because we don’t want the US government going through and inventory our personal souvenirs, now do we.  One of the kids notes that technically the US embassy is considered U.S. soil so it’s the only place in London we are under US law.

"Yeah, but it would really suck having to call your parents' form overseas and ask for bail,"

Spencer makes an insinuating gesture stating good point.

The moment arrive at the Embassy the sun props up. It takes us what seems like three eternities to go through US embassy security. We are padded down, our bags are x-rayed, our passports are highly scrutinized by fellow US employees who examine each of are visages with the picture inside the passport, staring at the petite squares of our visages.

I have no clue where to sit in the United States embassy theatre. From behind me I hear someone caroling out for Tony. After approximately ten seconds I realize they are trying to flag me down.

I turn around. It is Sam. Vinny is next to him. As is his counselor Eric the cool theologian major from Georgetown.

Sam notes that its kinda ironic that we met at the first one of these dignitary things and that here we are again.

Vinny turns to me and slaps me on the back and offers how’s it a hangin’ Tone.This group are closer to the kids who are my age then the kids in the Big Ten.  They are the oldest kids on bus number two. I find out from Sam that I’m actually a few months older than he is. I am avoiding the Big Ten. Jim is still seated next to Sir Charles. It is cool to see Sam again. Sam makes a comment that makes me laugh about about playing gift of the Magi to the Ambassador. I am laughing. This is the group I should have perhaps been a part of. They are closer to my age. They are nerds yet they are cool. I am laughing. In front of me I hear a voice.

“Hey,” The voice comes from in front of me. I look. It is my early morning running partner.

It is Meg Weaver.  Next to her is Harmony.The whole trip I have endeavored to find Harmony and now she is in front of me. It is awkward. I have just more or less asked her out to which she replied she would love to have a dance with me tonight.

Harmony smiles and then seems flushed. Meg looks straight at me and tells me that she has never seen my in glasses before. She tells me they look dapper.

Without trying I have located Harmony. Her counselor Ahlex shoots me a look like she has seen my profile on milk cartons across college campuses and I am wanted for something involving statutory advances toward the female gender.

“Harmony how are you?”  I inquire. I want to ask her about her Lynn Minton fiasco, if she has successfully collated the group together.  I want to inquire if she is excited about tonight.

Meg is turned completely around and there is a smile branded across her face.

“It’s good to see you Harmony.”

She retorts back telling me the same thing. Meg Weaver pasty forehead is looks like a botanical garden. She is swivels all the way around in her seat. She is looking at us the way a toddler might look at her progenitors if they kiss or hold hands in public.  Counselor Ahlex tells Meg to turn around we’re going to be starting. Two chairs down I can here Vinny tell someone that ol’ Tone he’s pretty smooth with the girls’ ya know.

From the right of the stage a group of 20 kids line up with plaques for the US Ambassador.

“Harhm-mony,” The sweet southern belle vibrato of Ahlex, the counselor all the male counselors are in love with, continues to say Harmony’s name like she is trying blow candles out on William Faulkners birthday cake. Her voice is mellifluous and sweet and syrupy the way southern comfort is syrupy come two year times. The trinket of Mount St. Helen is still below Harmony seat,  the miniature volacnoesque replica of intercontinental transatlantic goodwill Harmony is to bestow to the Lord Mayor of London from the city of Spokane. Washington.

  “Hahrm-ony” Ahlex says again, her short cropped hair reminiscent of Renae Holiday’s in a way. The ring bestowed upon her index finger by what one can only assume is some sort of southern sheik, the heir to tobacco row continues to seriously cause retina damage if gazed upon for more than three minutes.

This seems to be the one lecture I keep my glasses on the entire time, as if to be scholarly, as if because Harmony has eschewed my advances all day I no longer care if she acknowledges the presence of my bespectacled visage. As if I am comfortable sitting next to Sam, smiling, watching as gifts are presented in an almost magi-like fashion to the U.S. Ambassador, who seems like the sort of Republican who would have a well-stocked liqueur cabinet in his posh Kensington apartment.

Justin has already given the US ambassador the plaque from Nebraska City Nebraska, There are about ten more young Columbus heralding gifts for the US ambassador idling  in line.  He smiles as if he is attending some sort of none summer barbeque roast.

“Wait,” he says, flashing a smile that is almost too dental and hygienic as he makes a carousel motion with his pointer finger to the entire YC group as a whole, curious if the entire one-fifty clan of good looking American youth came all the way to London just to lavish him with gifts.

            “All of you?” He says out loud, a look that is not quite a question not quite a smile.

            “No,” The audience replies, the main conductors of our group, the two ladies from Parade swipe their head as if almost in apologetic fashion.

            “Damn!!!” The US ambassador jests out in self-induced roast-like laughter. A few sprinkles of youthful cackles reverberate throughout the room in echoes. The majority of self-conscious post-adolescents. Everyone knows that if we were to say “Damn!” out loud in the fashion of our nations delegate we would more than likely find ourselves exiled in the back of the discipline bus for the rest of this sojourn.

After the US ambassador finishes giving a very customary speech about the importance of international delegation there is a highly ranking military officer who speaks to us next. The military dude with the shock of hair continues to look at the group as if he is briefing us on a classified Area 51. He seems like he is trying to recruit several of the older Young Columbusians as he talks about the benefit of serving your country while stationed overseas.

At the end Liz Madigan opens the floor to ask if our group has any questions for these dignitaries. Several  members in Nat group seem to have questions for the military officer, in terms of what would happen if a third world would bomb London, would the US get involved. While the military dude is answering the question to US soliders walk up to him and bend over, whispering something in his ear. He nods wants. gets up and says thank you before leaving the stage.


There is more questions for the US Ambassador. I want to do something nice for Harmony.

At the end there is smattering of applause. For some reason I feel compelled to reach beneath Harmony’s seat in front of her and retrieve the vestige she was supposed to present to the dignitary only forgot. It takes me forever as I bend over beneath Harmony’s seat and grasp the shale-flavored object .From down the row Ahlex is looking at me in a manner suggestive of an antique dealer and a you break it you buy it sign.  The top of the craters art is doled with three almost conch-like holes.

Harmony look back. I pick it up and then hand it to her.

Harmony blushes when I hand her the replica Vinny adds something about chivalry not being dead, look. Meg is looking like she is just joined the local anachronistic chapter  Jane Austin fan club and she is being set up on a blond date with a long hair stud portraying caddish Willoughby.

Harmony looks down and blushes. She accepts the miniature volcano without saying thank you.