3.26.00

Early this morning they destroyed the king dome. I was nearby for the event; watched as the tiny orange flames of detonation traveled down each spoke, turning the spokes into dusty stripes. Then it was gone into a plume that traveled north and east. We went for breakfast at the Crocodile Café. Afterward, with full bellies, we walked down to the perimeter to view the carnage. It looked like the thing had simply deflated, the walls folded over on themselves and stubbly with twisted and broken rebar. Bystanders were combing for pretty pieces of dome to take home, and we were no exception. The concrete is chunked with pebbles like robin eggs, more colorful than we ever thought. Finding a piece smoothly grooved on one surface was a delight: From what part did it come? The very top maybe? It wasn't important for me to see it, but something not to be missed. Growing up, the king dome was part of the folklore telling of some greater city beyond the shore, where buildings reached the sky. People from that place could foretell the weather and talked endlessly of traffic and crime. Their sports teams gained our faith by proximity; the king dome was that temple in the mythical land to which other children made pilgrimage with their parents and returned to tell all about its immensity. If we approached the city, it was always by water, slowly observing the buildings growing into their true height and girth. The king dome was that great white head off to the right, anchoring the city's southern edge. The first time I saw the inside I was nine or ten. For good grades or perfect attendance or some other achievement, I got free tickets to a Mariner's game. My uncle drove us over in his pickup truck and we sat in 100 level seats, way back up under the shade of the 200 level, for three hours of boring play. In junior high, as a marching band geek, I got to walk on the spongy Astroturf. These memories are not fond. (My memory of going to the game with my uncle is tinted with fondness, but the game itself was not spectacular. Also, I remember feeling lonely as my mother had just died or was dying - I can't remember which - and that feeling colored everything more.) For years I've wished the king dome gone, or painted or lit some festive color. I've hated attending events there, finding it dark and oddly stuffy. Any attachment I have to its legacy rests in the novel reminiscence of a king dome that once was: one more thing I have outlived. It was glorious to watch it go.

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