9/11
by Susan Gibb
He laughs and runs just like the other boys even though he doesn't have a father now, just his mom. Wild-eyed, big-grinned, crazy-legged games of tag with hands held open at the ready. On a schoolyard in Missouri, grassy brown and littered with the colors of September, he is happy, unaware of any threat except for maybe Brandon who's a bully and likes to pick on younger kids.
Something needles through the moment and he slows and for a moment stops and listens. Eyes dart at the subtle hum that only he can hear off in the distance. Shoulders pull together at an imagined rush of wind that brings the scent of smoke so strong he holds his nose. Brown-black curly head dipped down, he cringes as a plane glides overhead. Sometimes his friends will tease him but most times they somehow know and don't, remembering what Miss McCallum told them about that picture in their history book. About that day.
He's just a little boy and he was only two all those years ago in New York City.
Something needles through the moment and he slows and for a moment stops and listens. Eyes dart at the subtle hum that only he can hear off in the distance. Shoulders pull together at an imagined rush of wind that brings the scent of smoke so strong he holds his nose. Brown-black curly head dipped down, he cringes as a plane glides overhead. Sometimes his friends will tease him but most times they somehow know and don't, remembering what Miss McCallum told them about that picture in their history book. About that day.
He's just a little boy and he was only two all those years ago in New York City.
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Author's Note
Written for the group 52/250 back in 2010, my day's contribution to a memory that we've overcome but will never forget.
Other stories by Susan Gibb
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That needle ever lurks, doesn't it.*
"Something needles through the moment and he slows and for a moment stops and listens."
*
***
Thank you for reminding me. I knew but I didn't remember. *
"He laughs and runs just like the other boys"--stunning tribute. *
Nice work...my son was one at the time.Every year he asks me to tell him about how his mother held him and the three of us sat glued to the TV all day.*
Wonderful playing, not toying, with time here. Reminded me, too - not only of 9/11 as such but of similar moments like it which somehow get built into the fabric of one's body, mind and soul.