The flag

Dinner at an Italian restaurant tonight. Not so much Italian food as pasta. But okay.
And wine.
Walking home with Willem. Past the U.S. Embassy. There is an American flag. I watch it as we walk. They did not take it down at Sunset as they do with the flag. On the military base in Naples, there was a ceremony, colors, at sunset, as they drew down the flag, folded, and saluted the stars and stripes before taking it indoors. So I'm struck by this flag at midnight. It flaps in the high night wind, a spotlight fixed on it.
There has always been a flag, and in every Embassy I feel the relief of being on American soil again. I remember the sensation. In Sekondi, in Lagos, Dakar, Monrovia, Limbe, After days ashore in a foreign land, every time I returned to the port and saw the grey hull ship my heart thrilled with pride and relief when I saw the flag. And I always felt the gladness of being home.
I stopped, and tried to sing the national anthem. Quietly so as not to embarrass Willem. He's a little drunk and hums along raucously for a moment, not knowing the significance to me. It's been a year since I've been home.