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Last night, Ty and I had one of those silly, dime-a-dozen marital arguments. Something on the order of, which of us sleeps less, does more chores, does more for the babies, etc. You know, the kind of debate that Lucy and Ricky ended with a draw, a laugh, and a shared steak with the Mertzes back in the '50's.
But, naturally, at 11:30 pm, it seemed quite serious. I woke up at 5:30 to tend to the babies, and was still vaguely pissed when I turned on the television at eight.
I had forgotten what day it was.
Not "forgotten" forgotten, mind you. It's been on my mind all week, yesterday included. It's something I think about periodically all throughout the year. It usually comes up when I least expect it. I'll see mall footage of a Sbarro's pizzeria, for example, and I'll get a flashback to the shops at the World Trade Center and think to myself, I ate pizza there, and now that place is completely annihilated.
Many stations were running replays of the live footage from that morning, with the simultaneously clear-and-fuzzy commentary that results when human beings mix shock recollection with legend and then try to explain what they're feeling. It was a beautiful, sunny day, the newscaster will say, but it wasn't. It was incredibly humid and hazy, and sweat poured down my forehead as I walked to class in my short-sleeved sweater set and black slacks. For weeks afterwards, New Yorkers jumped every time they heard a siren. This is true.
At this morning's memorial service, a man was recalling his wife, the mother of his children, who had worked in one of the Towers.
I thought of Ty, how he was not yet my husband, or even my betrothed, at that point. How he showed up that morning at my apartment, gray dust all over his suit composed of the ashes of thousands of other peoples' beloveds. How our relationship changed after that, and became more serious. It was clear that our dating life was over. We were grownups.
My sons fussed as I watched the footage. Sage was inconsolable this morning. He wanted a bottle; then he didn't. He wanted a nap, but wouldn't go to sleep. In the background, grim-faced individuals spoke of "anniversary reactions" and read the names of other peoples' baby boys and girls.
Ty kissed me before he left for work. We lingered for a moment.
Between us, all is forgiven.
But, naturally, at 11:30 pm, it seemed quite serious. I woke up at 5:30 to tend to the babies, and was still vaguely pissed when I turned on the television at eight.
I had forgotten what day it was.
Not "forgotten" forgotten, mind you. It's been on my mind all week, yesterday included. It's something I think about periodically all throughout the year. It usually comes up when I least expect it. I'll see mall footage of a Sbarro's pizzeria, for example, and I'll get a flashback to the shops at the World Trade Center and think to myself, I ate pizza there, and now that place is completely annihilated.
Many stations were running replays of the live footage from that morning, with the simultaneously clear-and-fuzzy commentary that results when human beings mix shock recollection with legend and then try to explain what they're feeling. It was a beautiful, sunny day, the newscaster will say, but it wasn't. It was incredibly humid and hazy, and sweat poured down my forehead as I walked to class in my short-sleeved sweater set and black slacks. For weeks afterwards, New Yorkers jumped every time they heard a siren. This is true.
At this morning's memorial service, a man was recalling his wife, the mother of his children, who had worked in one of the Towers.
I thought of Ty, how he was not yet my husband, or even my betrothed, at that point. How he showed up that morning at my apartment, gray dust all over his suit composed of the ashes of thousands of other peoples' beloveds. How our relationship changed after that, and became more serious. It was clear that our dating life was over. We were grownups.
My sons fussed as I watched the footage. Sage was inconsolable this morning. He wanted a bottle; then he didn't. He wanted a nap, but wouldn't go to sleep. In the background, grim-faced individuals spoke of "anniversary reactions" and read the names of other peoples' baby boys and girls.
Ty kissed me before he left for work. We lingered for a moment.
Between us, all is forgiven.
Copyright 2005-2010 by Arabella and Trattoria Breve. All rights reserved. 10:17 AM
7 Comments:
Amazing how the perspective changes, no? Sometimes gradually, sometimes suddenly.
It does make everything else seem so small. I felt the same way recently watching a documentary about wounded Iraqi soldiers.
I wish reality checks weren't so costly...
That is as it should be. An argument seems kinda nothing compared to the events of six years ago...huh?
We all start every day expecting more of the same in our lives. We always think we have time. September 11 reminds us we don't. The whole world and millions of individual lives changed in that instant the towers fell.
This is one of the most moving posts I've read about the weight that September 11 now carries.
Beautiful post. Perspective is everything...
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