I spent the day shopping home improvement stores with my son. The day dragged angry and the slightest of off-norm action became the greatest of irritants; traffic being the main culprit.

The overcast sky was heavy with grey-black clouds. Should the day’s temperature fall, the ceiling would drop and blanket the city in fog.

We walked from the lumber yard to the truck. The parking lot smelled of rain and sawdust, and I walked slowly to belay my angst at having to re-enter the crowded streets. We paused by the truck and I pointed out the brush strokes of rain that shellacked the sky with the grey, visceral innards of the midday clouds.

As we watched, aircraft dropped in and out of the clouds like metal fish leaping the waters of a large, upside-down spillway. The larger planes, the cargos and 737’s, crept up the sky, but it looked as if they did not move and rather it was the backdrop of clouds that pulled past creating the illusion of movement.

“This reminds me of the twin towers,” I said.

He looked up at the 737. “Nine-eleven?”

“Yes,” I said.

I opened the door and watched the 737 creep under the skirt of clouds. My son crawled across the bench seat of the truck, rustling the plastic shopping bag against his leg.

“Why?” he said.

“The planes, they move like they did on TV. I didn’t see the first one, but I heard about it. I was driving school bus when it hit. I thought it was a joke the way my co-workers talked about it, but as I listened to it on the truck radio as I raced home, I trembled, refusing to believe what I was hearing.”

“You were scared?”

We stopped at a red light and I leaned over the steering wheel to look at the sky.

“Real scared. I got home before the second plane hit. I remember watching it live on TV. It wasn’t like in the movies where everything is real fast and the explosions are huge. This was slow, real slow and it looked fake when the plane hit the second tower. The explosion out the other side was the shape of the plane. It was big, but it wasn’t huge like in the movies; at least not at first. The plane hit and the fire came out the other side.

”I swore I saw the people looking out the plane’s windows. They could have been little kids, moms and dads looking at the skyline, but I heard later the terrorists made everyone close the shades. Even so, I wondered if the people onboard dreamt about visiting the Statue of Liberty, or Broadway, or Times Square, but I know they were just thinking, ‘Why us?’”

“I don’t remember it.”

“You won’t. You were one. I don’t remember your mom during all of it. I think it’s because she couldn’t leave work and I spent most of the morning watching replays and talking to grandma; crying with her on the phone. That day was a shock, but it was the next day that was scary.”

He shook his head and looked out the window up at the sky. “Why?”

“No one knew what was going on. It seemed like everything, but retail stores and school was shut down. The government told us to go about as if it were business as usual. It was anything but. I still had to drive school bus; your mom still had to work, but it wasn’t the same.

“For one thing, the bus lot was next to the airport; parallel to the runways. Even with the bus’s diesel engines rumbling and the interstate traffic behind me, it was the quietest I’ve ever heard the city. It was the first time the airport and skies were that quiet in a long time. No noisy jets taxied by, spewing the smell of burning JP8. There was the occasional hum of an airport security vehicle passing the other side of the fence, its red lights flashing, and the bark of a security dog, pulling at the leash of a security person checking the fence perimeter at random intervals.

“It seemed to me like those winter nights when the fog and snow muffles most of the sounds, especially around midnight. This was early morning though, the busy time of the day and it was quieter.

“It’s weird how you don’t notice a sound until it’s gone.”

He kicked at the shopping bag, rustled the plastic with his feet, and pushed himself back against the seat. “I’m glad I don’t remember it.”

“Me too,” I said. “Me too.”

[773]

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