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Eleven Years
by Sarah HoytHas it really been eleven years? It was a beautiful day. I remember that. I got up to check email, and the AOL homepage had something about a plane flying into a building. I thought it was a goofy thing, like that idiot who had earlier flown into -- was it the Empire State Building? -- in a small plane. It was a beautiful morning, and I had a kid to take to school. His older brother could walk on his own the five blocks to elementary, but Marshall -- in Kindergarten -- went in an hour later, and at any rate was too little to walk alone. (And too sleepy. I used to get him up, bathe him, shovel breakfast into his mouth and walk him to school and if I were very lucky, he'd wake up when we got there.) So I walked him to school, waited till the teacher took him in and walked back home, under a cloudless sky, across our little mountain village, looking forward to our writers' group meeting that Saturday, feeling financially stable for the first time in my adult life (I'd just sold my first book) and thinking "This is when we reached adulthood. From now on, it's the easy part. Things will only get better." When I got home, I went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee before going up to write. And the phone rang. It was Rebecca Lickiss and she was screaming for me to turn on the news. ...And part of me thinks of the psychological twisting that has taken place since then: people who blame their own country for the actions of barbarians; people who kowtow to the barbarians and claim to be multiculturalists because that sounds so much better than vile cowards; people who think that a country the size of ours, as wealthy as we are should do nothing to deter attackers because we'd be protected by our halo of purity and goodness. Posted by: g(r)omgoru 2012-09-12 |
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