Screams—mainly girlish, high-pitched screams—blasted through the travel bus as our eyes were set on the view through the tinted windows.
We had just landed at JFK Airport an hour ago, and after the teachers helped us get our luggage, we went to find the travel bus that had been organized for us. Apparently, getting to the hotel where we were staying would take an hour. But the excitement was high on the bus, which was heightened when we first saw the landscape of New York City.
I’m pretty sure the loudest screams came from me, though. From the corner of my eye, I could see Cornelia, my close friend, rub her ear momentarily afterward.
As part of our drama class, the class and school offered us a trip to New York City for a few days. Apart from seeing a Broadway show, I wasn’t sure how this was meant to further our education in the subject, but I didn’t question it. It had taken a bit of convincing, but my Dad agreed to let me go.
I always dreamed of coming to New York City and possibly living here one day. As a big FRIENDS fan and slow-developing writer, it was the dream location.
Soon, the high squeals and enthusiastic chatter died down. Many people, including me, just took in the streets and took photos that the bus was traveling through.
“Just to let you guys know!” one of the teachers began, standing up from her seat at the front to gain all the students’ attention. “We’re currently driving through Brooklyn!”
There were a lot of o’s and ahs to that, everyone falling into an interested silence as we continued to roll through the streets.
At some point, as the bus rolled under a bridge of sorts, it stopped. The traffic made any journey to the hotel slow.
I turned excitedly to Cornelia next to me, “Can you actually believe we’re here? After all the months of waiting, it’s finally happening!”
Cornelia shook her head in disbelief. “It’s hard to believe it! I might ask you to pinch me later!”
I giggled and looked back out the window. The weather did not reflect the warm emotions inside the bus. One of the teachers said it would probably snow in the few days we were here, which I didn’t know was necessarily a good thing. Due to my lack of coordination and clumsy nature, snow was asking for trouble.
The bus moved slightly more forward, giving me a view of a building to its side. It was a typical New York neighbourhood building: old-style bricks, familiar windows within a few feet of each other, and fire escapes at each window. The image was so interesting, though, as the dirserly weather complimented it rather than hardened it.
So, naturally, I reached for my camera on my lap and took a photo of it. Once it was taken, I looked at the screen and smiled at the beautiful image.
I turned to my friend beside me. “Cornelia –” I cut myself off as I realized her attention was on one of the teachers, who I hadn’t even realized had started speaking again.
Looking back to the side of the building, I raised my camera again to take another photo, but the bus suddenly started moving again. Soon, the sight was gone, but I looked back, taking in the area and committing it to memory. I hoped to be around the area again before we left so I could take another beautiful photo.
This blog is a personal diary, and the content shared here is based on my own experiences, thoughts, and opinions. I am not a professional in any field, and the information provided on this blog is for informational and entertainment purposes only.
I do my best to ensure the accuracy and validity of the content I share, but I cannot guarantee the completeness or timeliness of the information. The content may evolve and change over time as I continue to learn and grow.
Please keep in mind that any advice, tips, or recommendations I provide are based on my personal experiences and should not be considered as professional advice. Before making any decisions or taking actions based on the content of this blog, I recommend consulting with qualified professionals or experts in the relevant field.
I am not responsible for any consequences that may arise from following the information provided on this blog. However, I will do my best to ensure any sensitive topics will be warned prior to each post. Your use of this blog and its content is at your own discretion and risk.
I value respectful and constructive discussions, so I welcome comments and feedback. However, I reserve the right to moderate and remove comments that are offensive, spammy, or violate the blog’s policies.
By accessing and using this blog, you agree to abide by this disclaimer and all applicable laws and regulations.
Thank you for visiting and reading my blog. I hope you find it interesting and enjoyable.
Apart from the booth itself, there wasn’t a lot to see within the theatre, and after ten minutes of wandering around aimlessly, I headed towards the Peterson House.
There was a little line outside for it and I couldn’t understand completely why until I got inside. It reminded me a lot of the Anne Frank House where the hallways were so narrow that you could only go through in single file and some sections were cut off so that only a certain amount of people could go through at a time.
Plus, it wasn’t a big area to see. We saw the hallway, the living space, and then, finally, the bedroom where President Lincoln took his last breath.
It was weird to see, especially with the bed there (that wasn’t the exact bed he died on but the design is the same). As you imagine, when someone as important as a president, dies, he would be in a big, luxurious room. But… it was just a room. A small, simple room. And I think that was what was the most heartbreaking part. For someone so great and important to history, he died in such a simple room.
However, his cause of death was not simple.
I just stared at the bed, the room, for the longest time. Trying to imagine what it was like for Lincoln. The pain of the gunshot. Of people trying to save him. The feeling of those who cared for him gathered around for his last moments. Was he scared? Or at peace? Did he feel like it was too soon to go?
Both unfortunately and fortunately, I was reminded of other people waiting to get through and move on, the room and emotions staying with me as I moved into the museum area.
As I learned about the aftermath of President Lincoln’s assassination and death, thoughts and emotions kept swirling around inside me. Trying to place something together but not fully getting there.
It was only when got onto Lincoln’s Legacy part of the museum did it finally clicked together.
I do have role models in my life – some people I know personally and others that I have never met. Some are historical and others are in the modern age.
The biggest ones are Anne Boleyn, Taylor Swift, John Oliver… and now President Lincoln. And while they all did/do very different things from one another, one thing that they each had in common became painfully clear.
They had a voice. They hold/have such a unique and bold voice that they use their own way to speak up for things they believe in because, at the end of the day, it’s the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, two of my role models got killed for it.
And, as I remembered that moment at the Lincoln Memorial, as all my life flashed before my eyes, I wondered: isn’t that what I always tried to do? I’d admit I haven’t always got it right or even been in the right headspace to get it right, but I remembered in those harsh few years when I first left Joy’s…
The family hated how open I was about what happened. It often led them to conclude half of what I was speaking out against was made up or that I was being dramatic.
‘Of course, you were dramatic,’ the responsible voice whispered through. ‘You were a kid, a teenager, you were meant to be dramatic.’
‘But it didn’t mean any of it wasn’t the truth.’ The bright voice also whispered, which was more unnatural than anything else.
Truth.
I never liked it, despite what the family thought. I never liked talking about it. I shook and sweated as I spoke about it to them, my Dad, the counselors… I hated talking about it. At one point, in a counseling session at school, I sweated so much through talking about it so much, I put my coat on afterward and refused to take it off for the remainder of the day as I didn’t want anyone to see the sweat marks that ran through my school top and a little bit on my cardigan.
But I spoke about it because, not only was it me standing up against something wrong and should’ve never happened, but because I thought… I thought that by talking about it would feel better. The burden would feel lighter. That I could slowly recover and move on, and do right by me.
It was years after that, but slowly, the talking did help. Slowly I did move on, and afterwards, I felt even more empowered to use my voice. To speak up against what was wrong and for what was right. To used my voice in my unique way so that others would feel seen and listened to as well. So, they too can feel empowered to use their own voice.
Not only is it the truthful way to live, but it is the most brave and rightful way to live.
Just like President Abraham Lincoln.
***
While a part of me wanted to linger about the Ford’s Theatre museum a little longer, I knew I had to get moving to do everything I wanted to do and get to the bus station on time.
As a true tourist, though, I did stop by the Ford’s Theatre gift shop and looked around for the perfect souvenir to cement my time in Washington, DC. At first, nothing seemed to pop out. But then, just near the till desk, there was a hanging station for jewelry made for the museum.
One piece of jewelry was a necklace featuring a compass pressed down onto a coin with Lincoln on the back.
It was cheap and probably wouldn’t last forever, but it was perfect for me. So I bought it, never realizing that I would hardly take it off in years to come.
***
Once I left, I decided that after visiting the Capital again, I wanted to go to the Lincoln Memorial. After everything, I felt Saturday evening and everything I concluded today… I felt a connection, and a great debt to the president and, in some stupid and silly way, I wanted to thank him. For not just what I learned over the weekend, but for being… one of the greatest people to ever live.
However, things went pear-shaped.
I had a choice of either the Capital or the Lincoln Memorial at halfway points but decided to stick to the original plan and go to the Capital.
Complete waste of time! It wasn’t open today either, which should have been freaking obvious as HELLO! It’s Independence Day, so it’s a bank holiday which would make the Capital closed for business!
When I tried to the Lincoln Memorial with an Uber, the traffic was so bad that I had to give up and change the route to the bus station.
Guilt swarmed me when I did. I know it was stupid but… I felt the need to thank President Lincoln in some way. And not being able to felt terrible.
Once I got to the bus station, I looked through the text messages I had exchanged with Ryan and Janette. The latest one stated that they were in a McDonalds area of the bus station getting food for now and the journey.
It took some time but I eventually found them and smiled warmly at them. However, a bit of sadness vibrated through me when I realized that it was over.
Since I was going to be in the same area, I decided to go to Lincoln’s Waffle Shop again for breakfast. While there was a line for it again – bigger than the previous day – I was allowed quick entry again for being a one-person party.
Benefits of going at it alone!
I had spoken to Janette and Ryan about Ford’s Theatre and while they were interested the previous day, they texted earlier to say they weren’t coming as Janette was suffering from pretty bad bug bites.
(Spoiler alert – I would soon be suffering too.)
So, once I had a fill of a good breakfast, I made my way over to Ford’s Theatre.
I was nervous at first that I wouldn’t be allowed entry with both my backpack and rucksack. But thankfully I was and a group of us were soon led into the theatre itself.
We were all asked to take our seats in the theatre – mainly on the bottom row so we could hear what the speaker spoke to us.
Once I took my seat, I noticed some people pointing their phones to the far, upper right of the theatre. Like they were taking photos.
Curious, I followed the direction of their attention and saw a booth up above decorated with American flags. At first, I thought: why the hell have they done that?
But, after a few, quick seconds, it clicked.
Shit, that was the booth he was shot in.
I didn’t know how long I ended up staring at it, unsure of what to think, but soon the speaker for this part of the theatre/museum experience came up to the stage. I pulled my attention to it as he began to speak, asking if everyone could hear him.
“First things first, welcome to Ford’s Theatre!” The speaker welcomed us all, and in response, we all gave positive mumbles. “I’m Alan and I’m just here to speak to you generally about the theatre’s history, the night that this theatre is famous for, and what happens here in the present day.”
And he did. At first, he spoke about the theatre’s opening dates and what performances were normally held here. Then it went to the night that the President was assassinated here.
“So, raise your hands if you know roughly the events that took place here on April 14th, 1865?” Alan asked and slowly hands rose, including mine. “Right, would anyone like to offer up some facts about that night that someone might not know?”
Everyone’s hands went down faster than the bolts of lightning the other night. Unable to bear the awkwardness of that, I raised my hand back up.
Alan smiled at me. “Yes miss?”
I returned the smile. “Yeah, well, there wasn’t just President Lincoln’s assassination that night. There were two other planned assassinations – one with the Vice President and the other with the…” I paused for a moment to recall. “The Secretary of State?”
Alan nodded, “Yes. That is true, but the people who were tasked with it failed.”
“Well, the one who was meant to kill the Vice President got drunk and talked himself out of it.” I said with a slight laugh, “and the Secretary of State was only wounded during the attempt, saved by the fact that a few days or weeks earlier he was in some sort of carriage accident and he had some kind of jaw assistance that blocked the knife from morally wounding him.” To further emphasize this, I made a stabbing motion towards my cheek with a funny face to accompany it.
The friendly smile on Alan’s face then turned into a full-on grin. “You don’t need this part of the history lesson, do you?”
Feeling my cheeks redden, I shifted in my seat. “I know a lot of weird facts.”
Alan nodded and then proceeded to the next hand raised.
Once he got a few other facts about the night from other people, he went on to tell the events of that night. Like he said though, it wasn’t anything completely new to me. The only few new things I learned were the facts about how he ended up at the Peterson House across the street.
When he asked if there were any questions about the events of that night, I raised my hand back up before I could stop myself.
The friendly smile on Alan’s face returned to a grin. “Yes miss?”
“Ugh…” Why do I hate myself? “When Booth jumped from the booth – no pun intended there.” I gestured to the booth in question. “Didn’t he say something on the stage before he skipped off?”
“Yes and no,” Alan said, thinking over what to say for a moment. “There are conflicting reports of what Booth said after he shot the president. Some say he said it from the actual booth, and others on the stage. Some say he shouted “freedom” and others say he shouted the Virginia motto: “Thus always to tyrants!”” Alan then gestured his hands in a shrugging manner. “Depending on what witness you believe from that night what he said varies largely.”
Then he went on to answer a few more questions that other people had about that night before going on to speak about President Lincoln himself.
“Historians often weigh the importance each president has had,” Alan went on, sitting on the stool provided for him on the stage. “And the best way to rank each one is based on the lasting impact of their presidency – whether good or bad – and how they kept and held themselves to the constitutions of the United States. And you know when that is best evaluated?” Pretty much everyone shook their heads no. “You look over the particular president’s time thirty years later. That way you can best see the impact of their legacy and come up with scores from that.”
I took that information in, eyes flickering up towards the flagged up booth above.
“President Lincoln, unsurprisingly, is one of the top-ranked presidents of the United States. And it can be the top at some points, though it’s a bit of a wrestle with President Washington. And that is based on the fact that historians waited thirty years to see the impact of his legacy on this country.”
Someone then raised their hand, which Alan waved for them to speak. “Does that mean we won’t know how bad Trump was until thirty years?”
Alan laughed, “Pretty much, unfortunately.”
Then there was another round of questions, some I was paying attention to and others I was not. I just kept thinking about the stage, President Lincoln, his impact… My eyes constantly darted upwards toward the booth in contemplation.
“Right! I think that’s it for now!” Alan clapped his hands together. “Feel free to explore as much of the theatre as you can before heading over to the Peterson House. Then, after the Peterson House, there should be a little museum that will explain the events that followed Lincoln’s death. If you have any more questions though, please do not hesitate to come over as I’ll be here for a bit longer.”
I stayed in my seat as everyone started to get up and go. Some went over to the stage to talk to Alan, and others went exploring the theatre. Taking photos and chatting amongst themselves as they did.
Eventually, I stood up from my seat and made my way over to Alan. Luckily, the last person who was there to speak to him finished just as I wandered up.
“My best student.” Alan joked as he noticed me approaching.
I let out a laugh. “Sorry about that. I am just a download away from being a complete know-it-all.”
Alan waved it off. “No, don’t apologize. I’m glad to see someone so enthusiastic about history.”
I laughed. “Well, I think in another life I was a historian. I would’ve liked to have been now, but fate had other plans.”
We chatted for a few minutes, mainly on the night of President Lincoln’s assassination and we traded additional information we had of that night. But as the conversation bled out, I had one last question.
“What do you think it would’ve been like?” I asked, going on when Alan titled his head in question. “If he had lived? If Booth hadn’t been a suicidal idiot and just kept to his acting ways?”
Alan puffed out a laugh. “That is a question that we have no way of truly answering, unfortunately. But,” Alan then reached over for the stool on the stage, getting ready to leave. “All I can say is that he is probably one of the greatest men to ever live. And people like him are a rarity.”
“Why do you say that?” I knew it to be true, but I wanted to hear his opinion.
“Because he wasn’t a man who fought for what was a popular cause.” Alan shot me a soft smile, “he fought for what was right.”
I woke up earlier than the previous day for two reasons. First, to ensure everything was packed and secure. Second, to make the most of my last-half day in Washington DC. As I got ready, I seriously debated whether to put on makeup, especially since I felt so much prettier on Saturday morning without it. Even when I decided to wear makeup, I wondered if I needed the full routine. Did I really need concealer, foundation and powder? Could I get by with just the concealer and powder – or even just powder, some eyebrow stuff, a little eyeshadow and mascara?
In the end, those were experiments for another day, and I ended up putting on the whole shazam.
Another debate that followed was about my rucksack. I considered leaving it at the hostel to pick up later so I wouldn’t be carrying it around like a crazy person. However, when I looked at my plans for the day – visiting Ford’s Theatre and going back to the Capitol to see if I could get any closer – I knew there wouldn’t be time to return to the hostel, especially since it was nowhere near the bus station.
So, with a heavy sigh, once I was ready to go, I picked up my rucksack and left the shared room.
This blog is a personal diary, and the content shared here is based on my own experiences, thoughts, and opinions. I am not a professional in any field, and the information provided on this blog is for informational and entertainment purposes only.
I do my best to ensure the accuracy and validity of the content I share, but I cannot guarantee the completeness or timeliness of the information. The content may evolve and change over time as I continue to learn and grow.
Please keep in mind that any advice, tips, or recommendations I provide are based on my personal experiences and should not be considered as professional advice. Before making any decisions or taking actions based on the content of this blog, I recommend consulting with qualified professionals or experts in the relevant field.
I am not responsible for any consequences that may arise from following the information provided on this blog. However, I will do my best to ensure any sensitive topics will be warned prior to each post. Your use of this blog and its content is at your own discretion and risk.
I value respectful and constructive discussions, so I welcome comments and feedback. However, I reserve the right to moderate and remove comments that are offensive, spammy, or violate the blog’s policies.
By accessing and using this blog, you agree to abide by this disclaimer and all applicable laws and regulations.
Thank you for visiting and reading my blog. I hope you find it interesting and enjoyable.
The swim turned out to be a great idea. It was nice to swim back and forth and not worry about any kids or anyone else hanging around. It was just nice to take a minute to appreciate the cool water and also the fact: I’m swimming in the middle of Washington DC!
It was a thought that I never thought would come to pass. It never probably never would’ve made it to my bucket list as it was such a silly thing to wish for. But the thoughts washed over me then:
I ate breakfast in Times Square.
I went swimming in Washington DC.
These unbelievable but simple facts cracked a wide smile on my face that I hope wouldn’t be removed for a long time.
***
I was swimming for a good hour or so, which ten minutes after I got out I ended up sitting on one of the beach chairs and got talking to another girl at the pool. I found out she was there for the weekend also, though visiting a friend within Washington DC. We spoke about what we got up to within the city and she also gave me some ideas of places to go within America, which I thanked her for.
Once I got back to the shared room, I quickly showered to get the chlorine off my skin and popped out to a nearby shop to get food. I didn’t get anything too fancy, and when my stomach was satisfied, I called it a day and went for my last sleep in the bed of heaven.
The conversation continued for a while longer, delving into other things I’d been up to and how he was doing. Just before we wrapped, he practically demanded I send him photos so he could feel even more jealous.
Shortly after I ended the call, I received a text from Janette saying she and Ryan were at Rock Creek Park and asked if I wanted to join them. I replied that I would be there soon.
Since it was quite a distance from the Capital to Rock Creek Park, I decided to get an Uber there.
Then, almost twenty minutes later, I arrived at a car park of the park and text Janette to send me her location.
A few minutes later I groaned out in pure frustration.
It turned out they were on another side of the park, and it would take nearly thirty minutes to walk through the park to get there.
It’s fine. I thought as I tugged out my camera from my backpack. Just another jolly walk through nature again.
Normally, it wouldn’t be too bad – I love walking through woods and parks. Sparking the photographer skills in me. But the major difference was that I was on my own. And I’ve watched way too much true crime content to know what happens to girls in the woods on their own.
I’m literally my own worst enemy.
Straightening my shoulders, I marched into the woods, and after a while, it was easy to forget that I was on my own. Nature had that effect on me.
I took photos, captured footage and simply immersed myself in the natural beauty surrounding me. Though at times I felt a bit unnerved, as if someone were watching me, encountering other hikers put me at ease.
I made sure to smile and say hi to them. Because you never know.
Following Google Maps proved to be difficult at some points too. Sometimes it would say I was going off the pathway (which I wasn’t) and other times it would say I was swimming in the flowing river (which I most definitely wasn’t). But it did give me the gist of where to go and which directions to take, so I couldn’t condemn it completely.
(Google Maps get your shit together.)
Eventually, I found Janette and Ryan at a picnic table, enjoying the sunshine washing down on them.
“Good day?” I asked after hellos were exchanged.
“Kinda,” Ryan replied, “the zoo was a bit of a let down though. All the animals… they looked so depressed there.”
“Ugh, that sucks.” I said as I sat down with them. “Have you guys eaten yet?”
Janette shook her head. “Nah, not yet. We were waiting for you to see if you wanted to go out for something to eat.”
Feeling how empty my stomach had become with the day’s events, I nodded. “I’m starving!”
We hung about in the area for another ten minutes or so before getting a refill of water nearby and heading to the bus stops back into the city centre.
***
Once we returned to the city centre, we wandered around before settling on Taco Bell for food. I thought – hoped – it would be the same experience as Popeyes. That the uncertainty would turn into a good experience.
But I was wrong.
I couldn’t find anything I would particularly like, and when I did order something, I ended up hating it.
The joys of being a sensitive taste buds.
Fortunately though, after the Taco Bell disaster, we stopped by a Krispy Kremes that had a special deal going on.
“Since you guys are wearing the colours of red, white or blue, you get one of the flag doughnuts for free.” The till operator informed us with a wide, friendly smile on his face.
I frowned. “But why – oh, Independence Day tomorrow.”
Janette snorted, “as you can tell, we’re not Americans.”
“But we’ll be enjoying betraying our country by celebrating Independence Day tomorrow with you guys.” I commented, “because, you know, good for you guys.”
***
Eventually, the three of us went our separate ways. Janette and Ryan were considering going out for dinner with me tonight, but later I received a text from them saying they were having a night in. Considering the amount of walking I did today, I was grateful for the chance to rest.
As I was lounging about, exploring the hostel and contemplating how to spend a relaxed evening, I noticed the entrance to the outdoor area of the hostel, where the swimming pool was located.
Feeling it would be a good time for a good ole fashioned swim, I grabbed my swimwear and headed for the pool area.
