Flags

Flags

Noel Laflin

11-3-18

They were found rummaging through the old warehouse one Friday afternoon, looking for the right flag to sacrifice later that night.

“That one looks too new,” one staff man said, even though it only bore forty-eight stars in the field of blue.

“And this one is way too big,” said his buddy. “It would take ten guys to hold it in place.”

“Along with a giant fire to boot,” his friend replied.

And so the two searched on, pulling triangulated-folded flags off the wooden backroom shelf, reading a tag - if one were attached, stating from whence it came - reverently unfolding each one, examining, refolding and returning it to the dusty shelf, until the perfect candidate was selected.

Their final choice was the first one after all. The tag said it had flown over the U.S Capitol in 1957. The giant would be saved for some special occasion.

“I wish we had more ratty-looking choices,” said the first friend, as they headed back to their cabin, the perfectly folded flag tucked under his left arm. “Folks would understand its need for retirement more easily if they could see the tears and rips.”

“Well, we’ll just have to leave it to Freddy to come up with a good reason,” replied his friend, as they strode into staff hill.

“Do you ever really understand his speeches before we burn a flag?” asked his buddy.

His friend stopped and thought for a moment.

“No, not really. But he’s really good at it. I guess that’s all that counts.”