The exercise:
Has it really been eight years already?
Today's Four Line Friday Prose topic: do you remember?
Mine:
I was sitting in my parent's living room, transfixed by the images playing over and over on the television screen. I remember going on the computer as soon as I woke up to sort out the final details of my six month backpacking trip through Europe, scheduled to start September 13th, and running to the TV to confirm the news plastered on every website I had visited.
My departure ended up being delayed, I think by a week or two, but I didn't care. I was just grateful to be alive.
6 comments:
Eight years isn't all that long a time I suppose, but I was with people who were talking about it recently and they all remembered what they were doing when it happened. That, I think, makes it something deeply significant.
I'm glad you got to go on your backpacking trip anyway though :)
Do you remember
"Do you remember?" said the psychiatrist, looking at me earnestly. He had liquid brown eyes that seemed quite hypnotic, and his calm, reassuring voice made me want to remember so as not to disappoint him.
"Do you remember that you're the Cheshwick rapist?" he asked, his hands trembling.
We could both hear the booted feet of the police coming up the stairs, but the life of me, I didn't remember that.
September 11, 2001
Our eight year old daughter came into the bedroom and said, “Daddy, there’s something wrong with the TV, the same thing is on every channel.” My husband got up and I laid there half asleep. I jumped out of bed and walked to the livingroom when I heard, “If you’re just joining us we are seeing the World Trade Center and it appears that a plane has crashed into the building.” As the horror before us unfolded over the next hours I felt that I should cry but instead I could only sit there numb and mesmerized by shocking disbelief.
© Salynne
Greg - that seems like something one would remember!
Salynne - I remember feeling very numb as well. Your daughter's take on the news coverage was heart-breakingly sweet.
It is September 11 and he is eight years old today. I told him the story of how his brave father ran into a building, while everyone else ran out; how he selflessly rescued complete strangers. He is the spitting image of you and though you’ve never met, he knows you—I make sure of it every day.
We will never forget.
I do hope that was a bit of very good fiction, rather than a very sad tale of truth.
Either way, well written. As always.
I am very lucky to say that it is fiction for me. But I'm sure it's not for someone else. We were married shortly after that (in fact, my husband was selected to go down to help and we were considering post-poning the wedding) and I remember thinking there must be others who were also getting married, having babies, had plans and now ... it's all gone.
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