LIVING HISTORY: The Investiture of the Honorable Cleo E. Powell, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Virginia

It was almost time.

I made sure to arrive early — the invitation said three o'clock, I had been advised a two o'clock departure, but I knew I would arrive well before even that. Even though I could barely sleep the night before, my excitement more than made up for it. I drove into downtown Richmond, navigating roads that seemed to swirl over and under one another until finally I was close.

At a stoplight, I gazed up at the tall buildings and sat with the weight of the day. The light turned green. Time to find parking.

I found my way to a parking garage connected to a church. As I pulled in, the attendant told me it would cost $3,500. He was joking, of course — it was only $35. I laughed, paid quickly, and told him I was going to park as close to him as possible so I could get directions from him on my way out. He let me park right up front.

I gathered my things, pulled on my J.Crew blazer and gloves, and walked back to find him. He walked me out and pointed me in the right direction. I had not gone but a few feet before he called after me — and tucked into my favorite white YSL leather purse went his business card.

I began walking toward the courthouse. Though it did not quite feel like walking. It felt more like floating.

I rounded the corner and breathed in the cool air, taking in the view — and then the memories came. The last time I had stood on these streets, I had not been alone. My late sister had been with me. We sat in that courtroom together, emotional side by side, watching a ceremony that moved us both. It is one of my most treasured memories of her.

I was still in that remembrance when I looked up and saw the sign on my left.

Supreme Court of Virginia.

We made it.

A security guard stood ahead. Hi — I'm here for the investiture. He smiled. Come on in.

Inside the entryway, staff greeted me warmly and explained that no recording would be permitted. I gave them my phones and my name, and was escorted to the room just outside the courtroom. Portraits adorned the high walls. My heels clicked against marble floors. Small burgundy leather benches lined the perimeter.

A group of women had arrived before me and were seated in the corner. Security personnel stood at their posts. At one point a dog moved through to sweep the interior. The women invited me to join them, and I graciously accepted.

They were Deltas — sorority sisters — and the conversation that followed was warm, easy, and full of laughter. They were deeply impressed by my background and I found them to be elegant and sharp. I will confess they may have kept me out of a little trouble, because I was growing quite curious about a room off to the side. I had just announced my intention to investigate when I was gently — and correctly — advised that perhaps I should not.

More familiar faces began to arrive. The energy in the room built quietly, the way it does before something significant.

And then — it was time. The courtroom doors opened.

I was escorted inside and took my seat. The room filled with smiling faces. The excitement was electric in the way that only certain rooms ever are — rooms where everyone present understands they are standing inside a moment that will be recorded.

I looked around and let it settle.

There is the bench where she will administer justice. These are the walls where her portrait will soon hang. This is the place where today, once again, history is made.

The ceremony began. There were distinguished speakers, each one honoring a lifetime of service, integrity, and trailblazing. And then — it was time.

The Honorable Cleo E. Powell received her robe and took her place as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Virginia — the first Black woman in the Commonwealth's history to hold that seat.

The rest — well. You had to be there.

But I was. And I will carry it always. For myself. For my sister, who sat beside me in that courtroom once before. And for every child who will one day learn that the highest seat in a room can belong to someone who looks like them.

Living history.