Four Years Ago

I was sound asleep when The Ex came home. It was between 10 and 11 am. It was as if I heard every other word. Bombed ... Trade Center...airplanes .. closed .. buildings destroyed.

"What, what? What are you talking about?"

I turned on the coffee and then the TV.

And there I sat for hours and hours that first day. As I realized it had already happened. I was watching the tape of the horror that was inflicted on my people, my city. As the events unfolded, I remember quite clearly being unable to comprehend how other human beings could be this consumed by hate. Could be capable of this kind of poisonous rage.

And I remember, as the days and weeks and months went by, and my adopted home transformed into a city under seige, my neighborhood, quite literally, mutated into an armed camp, I remember doubting if we would ever find our way back again. If we would ever heal.

And half way through the afternoon I did what I thought was right. I joined the thousands upon thousands of people making their way uptown on foot. And while they were heading for refuge, for bridges, for carpools and buses for home, I went in to work. And gathered a crew and opened a bar. About 100 or so people dropped by. In shock they took whatever comfort they could from a cold drink and some soft music.

And now four years later, I find the memories just as vivid. The sadness over the evils man can and does willfully inflict upon other humans just as troubling. But I wistfully celebrate the triumph that is the spirit of my city. The joy of a summer Sunday walking through a city park, armed only with a camera and some water. And I smile, if a bit less broadly, recognizing that we have come back from the edge, as people will do, as a city with a heartbeat too loud to more than quiet.

I have no desire to read a list of names. I have no desire to attend a somber ceremony. The dead will be remembered. The living continue. I continue. I will start my summer Sunday head held high. I will trust in the limitless promise that is the future.