13

 I get a text from a friend saying her neighborhood is throwing a block party and that she’ll be hiding in the backyard if I want to swing by. I think about it, but the Oregon Symphony is having a free concert on the waterfront. The program sounds pretty pedestrian, as befits a free outdoor concert, but like I said it’s free, and there will be musical acts all day before the show, so I decide to go to that instead. 

It’s a gorgeous day and there are people everywhere, and they all seem to be getting along. I walk past the new courthouse. Stark black and white slogans hang along its length. Defund Hate. Seek Justice. The building is right around the corner from the much-beleaguered justice center. Armored cop cars are everywhere. Though construction is finished, the courthouse sports a set of scaffolding out front, from which hangs a printed mural of a courtroom with benches filled with figures painted by kids. One of the figures wears a toque. Across his chest are lettered the words “Chef Boyardee.” Whether he’s part of the jury or on the stand or just watching the proceedings is unclear.

I stroll along the promenade, reminiscing pleasantly about all the times I’ve spent here. At the base of the Hawthorne Bridge are a number of men in full camo gear, trying to recruit people for the Army Reserve. Four enormous cannons loom beside their table, barrels pointing at the river. I ask one of the soldiers if they’re expecting invaders from Gresham. His eyes stare through me as if I wasn’t there.

I walk beneath the bridge, listening to the sound of the tires on the metal grating overhead. A couple of stages are set up on the other side, and a band is doing its sound check on the smaller of the two. Most of the crowd is made up of families and elderly couples sitting on blankets or camping chairs arranged across the field. Boats bob close to shore; you can see the faces of the people partying on board. The ground is muddy and there is a faint scent of goose droppings in the air.

The band launches into their set, and they sound pretty tight. The lead singer is a broad Black man with a full head of dreadlocks and a pleasant but not powerful voice. The sound system is amazing, and there is a huge screen so those in back can see. The band plays a couple of James Brown numbers, which are fine, followed by a rendition of The Beatles’ Come Together, which is somewhat less fine.

Then they launch into Journey's 1981 classic soft rock power anthem Don’t Stop Believin'.

I text my friend to see what time that block party is, and without waiting for an answer I walk toward the bus stop, slowly at first, then speeding up and breaking into a run.