Behind the Scenes in DC

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The dark haired cop took me over to do another, different, set of fingerprints and chivalrously poured the really hideously disgusting slime off the top of the hand cleaner before he offered it to me. Not much longer, but first you get the authentic experience, he said, as he ushered me into a cell that had nothing but a narrow bench, a bar for handcuffing, a silver toilet bowl with no seat or paper and a filthy floor. After a while he came back, dialed the phone for me so that I could get picked up and led me out of the station. At the door, we shook hands. I told him that he was a good guy and it was too bad that I wasn't an eligible DC woman. He looked away and gave an aw shucks laugh before the door closed between us.

Someone had donated money for a car and driver for Cindy in DC, so Patrick, the Jamaican driver, came and got me. By this time we had gotten to know Patrick pretty well -- and vice versa -- and he had gotten to the point of being only slightly shocked by the bawdiness of our humor. Patrick and I had spent that morning together while Cindy was lobbying on the Hill, first at Kinkos and then futilely searching for ribbon on Capitol Hill, until -- eureka -- a florist shop! so that Cindy could tie a laminated picture of her son Casey to the White House gate, which would trigger her arrest. He said that the most interesting client he'd had before us was Jerry Falwell, who still stayed in touch with him, and that the security for Cindy was only slightly less complex than at the inaugural. By the time Patrick picked me up, it was about 7:00PM and raining -- the rain had held off until just the right moment. All the other protestors, except Cindy and Dede, were still handcuffed and waiting in buses to be booked. But a few wily activists -- perhaps those with cleavage -- had managed to keep their cell phones with them and to wriggle their hands out of their cuffs, so I got an interim report. I just heard today that some protesters weren't released until up to 10 hours later than I was and many were in handcuffs the whole time, including people in their eighties, but the CodePink group sang the whole time.

Patrick and I went to pick up Cindy and her sister, Dede, who had already been released and were packing up their stuff to move to yet another strange bed. Cindy would be starting early the next morning with an interview on Good Morning America. They dropped me off at the train station. Patrick and I hugged goodbye and he openly conceded that we were way more fun and more interesting than Jerry Falwell. I had long hugs with Cindy and Dede and we all said we loved each other and that our paths will keep crossing. Then they drove away and I got onto a train and hurtled through the darkness to New York.

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