Touching the past

There I stood, my eyes fixed upon that which I had made a pilgrimage to see. It was much bigger and more sinister looking at such close range, despite the fact that it was no longer part of a much larger whole. A relatively small piece of what was once a garguantuan structure; yet it dominated this spacious area in which it, and I, stood. I got as close as I could to it, but as this was a museum display, there was no way to touch it. I shut my eyes for a moment, and in my mind I imagined that I was able to lay my hand upon some part of it. Even though I was indoors, goose bumps rippled across my exposed skin as I felt the cold, hard steel surface and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. A chill propagated up my arm and into my body as I flattened my palm against it. A vision of its past, especially the many grim events that it witnessed over its fourty seven year lifespan, seemed to flow from it into my mind. Some believe that tragic events become “imprinted” onto objects and places and can be sensed by some people. I’ve been in places that have felt off to me, and a few others that have felt benign, if not welcoming. So quite possibly I’d have such a reaction upon touching this artifact.

But then I opened my eyes, and I continued to stare at the ashen-grey painted metal, dotted in places with traces of rust… It will be such a surreal experience to look upon an actual piece of the Francis Scott Key Bridge one day. A section of truss that is to be preserved in a museum exhibit slated to open a couple of years from now. I can only imagine what I will feel when I look upon it. I told my friend John about it, and he recoiled in horror at the the thought of going to see any part of that b;ood splattered metal monster. I wasn’t sure how he’d react, but perhaps he still might decide to accompany me to make that visit one day in the future. For some this exhibit will be a small fragment, a fond memory of the past to be cherished and its passing to be mourned. But for others (likely including the loved ones of the workers who died during the collapse) it will be a painful reminder of tragedy. It will be this way for John, and also my mom. I didn’t even bother to ask her, as I know she would have no desire whatsoever to see the remains of the Key Bridge up close and in person. But for me, it will be a chance to see a piece of the fallen monster up close and to confront whatever feelings that might arise.