stepped out to walk a short stretch of the parade route and wave to the public,
Malia and Sasha stayed behind inside the warm cocoon of the moving limo. It
seemed to hit them then that they were finally relatively alone and out of sight.
By the time Barack and I climbed back in, the two girls were breathless and
laughing, having released themselves from all ceremonial dignity. They’d shucked
off their hats and messed up each other’s hair and were thrashing around, engaged
in a sisterly tickle fight. Tired out, finally, they sprawled across the seats and rode
the rest of the way with their feet kicked up, blasting Beyoncé on the car stereo
as if it were just any old day.
Barack and I both felt a kind of sweet relief just then. We were the First
Family now, but we were also still ourselves.
As the sun began to set on Inauguration Day, the air temperature dropped
further. Barack and I, along with the indefatigable Joe Biden, spent the next two
hours in an outdoor reviewing stand in front of the White House, watching
bands and floats from all fifty states pass by us on Pennsylvania Avenue. At some
point, I stopped feeling my toes, even after someone passed me a blanket to wrap
around my legs and feet. One by one, our guests in the stand excused themselves
to go get ready for the evening balls.
It was nearly 7:00 p.m. when the last marching band finished and Barack
and I walked through the dark and into the White House, arriving for the first
time as residents. Over the course of the afternoon, the staff had pulled off an
extraordinary top-to-bottom flip of the residence, whisking the Bushes’
belongings out and our belongings in. In the span of about five hours, the carpets
had been steamed to help keep Malia’s allergies from being activated by traces of
the former president’s dogs. Furniture was brought in and arranged, floral
decorations set out. By the time we rode the elevator upstairs, our clothes were
organized neatly in the closets; the kitchen pantry had been stocked with our
favorite foods. The White House butlers who staffed the residence, mostly
African American men who were our age or older, stood poised to help us with
anything we needed.
I was almost too cold to take anything in. We were due at the first of ten
inaugural balls in less than an hour. I remember seeing very few people upstairs
beyond the butlers, who were strangers to me. I remember, in fact, feeling a little
lonely as I moved down a long hallway, past a bunch of closed doors. For the last
two years, I’d been constantly surrounded by people, with Melissa, Katie, and
Kristen always right by my side. Now, suddenly, I felt very much on my own.