This week I've seen destruction

I've seen destruction.

I've helped haul the ruined remains of normal life.

I've stepped past photos, saved by miracle of chance and set to dry by gentle hands.

I've breathed the stench of wet decay.

I've seen destruction.

I've held shocked survivors.

I've witnessed shaken pride and unfettered tears.

I've ceased imagining that I can understand.

I've seen destruction.

I've raged at an indifferent press, concerned only with peddling fear.

I've quelled unearned grief and battled selfish personal pride.

I've carried the secret gratitude of the spared.

I've seen destruction,

And I've seen people step up to bring aid and comfort to strangers.

I've seen destruction,

And I've seen within it the seeds of new life.

I've seen destruction,

And, in moments of precious foolishness, I've hoped to never see it again.

Passing

The seeds finally sprouted today. The ones he planted. He's not here to see them. Struck down. Car crashes are supposed to kill the young.

He was 75 and he was my husband. Ben... He was my husband. I so hate that word: was. Since the crash, all I hear is ‘was’ or ‘were’ or ‘had’. ‘He had a good life.’ ‘He was such a fine man.’ ‘You were such a perfect couple.’

The windows need washing. My hands just aren’t up to it anymore. He'd planned to wash them this week. He had such strong hands. Strong and warm.

His little dog, Susie, is at my feet. He loved this shaggy thing. She misses him almost as much as I do, I suppose. She cries for him. She’s crying now.

So much to do around here. Always more. Always something left undone.

I should fix breakfast. Mark said he would come by later this morning. He tries to visit every day he’s able. He’s a good son. He means well.

It’s so quiet. I can hear the wind blowing through the trees. So different now. He always played the radio. Life needs a little background music, he’d say. I should turn it on. But Susie might think he’s come back. It might make her cry and she’s only just stopped.

The girls tell me it will get better. Lilly and Gerty. They’ve been through this, they say. Lilly lost Ted…it was three years ago now. He was a nice man. Cancer. Took him slowly. I never new Gerty’s George, but his picture is quite handsome. She's been without him 15 years. I can’t imagine.

Lilly said I should come live with them, but I can't leave here - not for that place. They say it isn’t a home, but I know it is. I’ve been there. Ben and I used to visit from time to time. Our last visit wasn't so long ago. A month. Has it been a month? It was just the day before…

I've been sleeping in Mark's bed. No one has used it since my cousin, Ruth, visited last summer. She didn't mention how worn it is. I wish we'd known. We would have had her take ours. Ruth's gone now too. Mark tells me to sleep in my bed. He's gentle about it though.

People don’t like open caskets, but I always thought they made it easer to say goodbye. With the crash, though... Ben's was closed. I’m not sure I could have said goodbye anyway.

Yesterday's paper is here on the table. Did Mark bring it in? Water bills are going up. Everything's going up it seems. It was years and years ago Ben got me interested in the paper. I like to see the wedding announcements. Ben always read the sports pages and the obituaries.

There's a car outside. Could be Mark. No. No, it drove on. He won't be here until 9 o'clock. That's what he said. It will be good to see him.

I don't have an appetite. I know I should eat.

His garden shoes are by the kitchen door. He was always so good to take them off. I know he thought it silly, but he did it for me. I should put them away. I can have Mark to do it. He won't mind. Though, I suppose they aren't hurting anything, are they? I think Susie likes them there.

# # #

When her son arrived he found her sitting at the kitchen table tearing strips from the newspaper. Her eyes were dry and red. He opened the curtains and made some tea. He put out food and water for the dog. He sat by her and held her hand. He spoke softly to her. When he left to pick up the kids, he told her he loved her and kissed her forehead. He told her the whole family would come over on Sunday. He lingered at the door.

When she heard the car pull away she rose from her chair. She made toast and had it with her tea.

Break in the Monotony

I'm afraid there's not much to tell – nothing new, at least. I tried to think of something important I could add – something missed by reporters and other witnesses, something undocumented. I couldn't think of anything. But you've asked me to tell the story, and I don't mind telling it. So, here it is.

The craft, or ship I guess, landed on the roof of my company's office tower. It wasn't very big, which is a good thing since there's not really a lot of space for landing things up there, but it was heavy. It was reported later an inspection showed the its weight was probably a pound less than that particular area of the roof could support. Lucky.

Though it landed on my building, those of us inside weren't the first to know about it. The landing was actually caught live on the news 3 traffic-copter as the traffic reporter, Chopper Dan, began his first report of the afternoon. People all over the mid state watched it land, but none of us inside knew anything until those people started calling. A chorus of cell phone rings blared throughout the cube farm as loved ones called to tell us our building was on TV.

Having the closest thing to a reporter on the scene the producers at news 3 ordered the traffic-copter pilot to fly closer and ordered Chopper Dan to start reporting. Aside from an I-Reporting how-to video I saw on CNN's website once, I know very little about journalism, but it seems to me this really should have been Chopper Dan's big break. UFO invasion - it doesn't get much bigger than that. He could've finally dropped the “chopper” and just been Dan again. As it turned out he wasn't in complete control of things though. The pilot wasn't thinking about Dan's career. The YouTube footage I saw later showed my building with the craft atop it moving further and further away with the pilot praying, and very specifically listing his sins and begging for forgiveness, while Chopper Dan screamed at him to turn this goddamn helicopter around right NOW.

The ship made an attempt at contact via the building's intercom system. The usual announcements, I suppose. “We come in peace.” “May we speak to your leader?” That sort of thing. To tell the truth, I don't know what all was said. I doubt anyone does. By that point we knew something serious was happening and a full-blown panic was underway.

I wish I could say I was calm and kept my head while those around me lost theirs, but the truth is I ran for the stairwell as quickly as anyone else. When I later found out that in the excitement Ruth, the semi-retired receptionist, was knocked against a wall and broke her arm, I couldn't help but remember the small grey blur I leaped over as I rounded the corner. I've decided to believe she would have done the same thing.

While there was plenty of running, yelling and general panic roaring throughout the cube farm, to my surprise the practice gained from our biannual building fire drills turned out to be quite effective. Once in the stairwell and removed from the voices coming over the intercom, we became calm and docile. We walked slowly, but resolutely, down the stairs occasionally passing a waving, orange-vested fire warden. Few people talked, and no one mentioned what was happening – or rather what we all assumed to be happening. The closest I heard anyone come was an expression of gratitude for the break in the monotony. In the hundreds of interviews of building staff later produced, packaged and published in every conceivable media outlet, I've heard no mention of the calm in the stairwell. We've all kept it to ourselves. I think we collectively decided it was too unbelievable.

(Hmmm, I guess that stairwell thing is new, huh? Glad I could think of something.)

So, while we were exiting the building, things were happening outside. The police helicopter had been mobilized and was circling the building. Another local news helicopter joined in shortly thereafter and recorded everything. TV screens worldwide showed images of my office building's roof and the small downtown of our city. The next week I watched the video with some friends and pointed out how in the background you could almost see my house. If that hospital wasn't there, it would have been clear as day.

In a way I feel bad for those poor souls on the other side of the world, sleeping through the whole thing, but in truth I almost feel like one of them. Both in the building and later in the quarantine zone quickly established in Ray park across the street, none of us got the live, wide-screen, close-up, HD view being beamed to the rest of the world. For some reason one guy had a pair of binoculars, but he wasn't sharing. The rest of us had to squint. Like those who slept through it, we had to wait for the replay.

Once out of the building and into the quarantine zone, those of us who had them pulled out our smart phones. Quickly we learned that CNN.com, Fox, YouTube, all the media websites, had all crashed as soon as word of what was happening began to get out. Cell networks were flooded too. Even the most robust system can't handle everyone trying to connect. No Internet access. No cell service. Our devices weren't useless though. We began taking pictures and video. Since then, those images and videos have aired on every news channel and can be found all over the web. I took some of them myself, and I'm in a number of others. I know a few people were hoping to make some money off the footage, but there were just too many people giving it away. Everyone's an I-Reporter these days. Personally, I don't regret not making any money. I just wish I hadn't worn a short-sleeve button up, "nerd" shirt that day. Message boards can be cruel.

As far as I know, and as far as any of the reports I've seen suggest, no one ever actually made contact with the ship, nor did it try communicating again after the initial attempt with the building's intercom. For a while there was a rumor spreading through the quarantine zone that Bob Winkle – or “Bull” as most of us call him – the building manager, was in communication via the intercom – this rumor was even picked up by NBC – but it was later learned that Bull was in the park with the rest of us. He'd bolted after the first "We come in peace" and hadn't talked with anyone.

Bull's supposed chat with the ship wasn't the only rumor flying around. There were - and still are - plenty of rumors, theories and wild speculations about the events of that day. You've got your usual government/corporate conspiracy and terrorist plot stuff, but others are pretty good. The Russians testing some rediscovered cold-war, spy satellite. Reality show gone wrong. God's remodeled chariot of fire come looking for a pious man.

TV Experts on every imaginable subject were called in to discuss the matter as the world set glued to the screen. None of them knew anything, of course, but there was time to fill. And fill it they did. And, of course, this is the sort of news that doesn't stop giving. There seems to be no end to the coverage. I'm sure it's been a gold mine for advertisers. By now we can all quote commercials for male-enhancement pills and stock trading services by heart.

Despite all the rumors and speculations, the most common theory was - and is - the one I'm certain is the truth. Aliens. We're not alone. I guess that's kind of a big deal.

Well there's not a lot left to tell. As you know the ship didn't stick around very long. It's funny though. Talking about it... I remember everything, but it in some ways most of it seems like a movie. Like something I watched more than lived. You wouldn't think it would be that way, would you? I mean, I know it happened, and I know it was a big deal. I got to meet Matt Lauer after all. But...Oh, I don't know. It's funny.

Anyway, about 6:00 – just over an hour after it landed – the craft left. And - you know what? - this part is different. This part is not like a movie to me. This really happened. It's also the one thing the recorded images and video weren't able to capture. It started with a great whooshing sound that caused everyone to look up. Then the sky, the clouds, the building, everything began to...ripple. Like a reflection in a pool of water after a stone is dropped in. The space around the craft shrank and expanded, shrank and expanded in waves of...well, I don't know what. All I know is the waves spread out all around while the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh sound grew louder and faster. Eventually the whooshing and warping reached the ground and everyone watching. A woman near me screamed and fainted, but most of us kept quiet. We felt a gentle pulse wash over us. It was both energizing and peaceful. Our bodies tingled and our hair stood on end. It probably sounds scary, but it wasn't. Every face had a smile. It's hard to explain. Again, there's no way you can relive this online or on TV. The feeling was - it kinda comes back to me just talking about it - we were THERE. Does that make sense? It was the feeling of waking from a dream. One of those dreams that doesn't seem like a dream when you're having it, but as soon as you wake seems so unreal you don't know how you could have mistaken it for truth.

Then it was gone. The ripples stopped. We kept looking up for a long while, but nothing more happened. After that we began to just, sort of, mill around the park. The cops and emergency personnel wandered over to join us. Someone went to look after the woman who'd fainted, but most of us just...hung out. Several of us took off our shoes. The grass and earth felt nice under our feet and between our toes. I realized it had been a long, long time since I'd been bare-foot outside. It was nice.

That's my story. After that more cops came. Then the reporters. Then the military. We were examined and interrogated. Then we were sent home. Many of us talked with reporters, some did not. The building was closed for nearly a month. We finally all went back to work last week. Things looked pretty much as we'd left them – though I understand there was some damage done to the top floor by the investigators – and we're getting back into the swing of things again. The monotony of everyday life.

Entryway

It was a windy summer morning and, while storms would drench the city by early afternoon, for now the day was sunny and pleasantly cool. In front of the library a bearded man sat leaning against the marble wall. His knees were bent so his feet were close to his body and out of the way of those passing by on the sidewalk. His attention was focused on the lit cigarette he passed between the fingers and thumb of his left hand. He dragged, occasionally, from the cigarette, and when he did his gaze moved upward toward the top of an oak in the block-sized park across the street. There were squirrels in the tree, but it wasn't clear if they, or something else, drew his attention.

A group of joggers – lean and fluid – passed through the park. A bicyclist with a scruffy goatee and a messenger bag came racing up the street in front of the library, narrowly missing a green checkered taxi as it turned against the light. On the corner a middle-aged woman in a business suit stood, drinking coffee from a paper cup, waiting for the light to change.

Three teenage boys stood talking near the library's entrance. Their words were garbled by the wind but the general tone was cheerful and carefree or, at least, mostly so. They were aware of the bearded man. One of them, a dark-haired boy with large pink zit on his chin kept turning toward the man and then back to his friends. He lowered his voice so that even the tone was lost and playfully punched the boy to his right in a manner suggesting it was time to make a move. He repeated this gesture a few times, but other than laughter and a few return punches no move was made. If the man noticed this he made no sign of it.

A girl, somewhat older than the boys, walked out of the library. She had curly black hair tied in a simple pony tail. Except for a few freckles on her nose and cheeks, her skin was pale and smooth. She wore a light, loose-fitting yellow dress that ended two or three inches above her knee. The wind was blowing steadily, and she had to grab its hem to keep the dress from blowing up around her as she hurried away. The boys noticed her immediately and ceased their conversation until she reached the corner and turned out of sight.

Near the foot of the oak tree a squirrel paused, its head turning rapidly from side to side, and when the time seemed right, it dashed into a nearby bush, roused a couple of pigeons and darted up the tree carrying a piece of bread. One of the fleeing pigeons narrowly avoided clipping the head of a pudgy man walking along the concrete path by the oak. The man shouted and dropped the book he'd been carrying. He quickly bent to pick it up, and – red-faced, his head turning rapidly from side to side – he hurried away.

A round, child's face appeared at a second-floor window of the library. From the street the child's gender wasn't clear until her long hair swooped into view as she turned away. She returned moments later with another little girl – a friend. They pointed and clutched each other, giggling, then ran out of sight.

The boy with the large zit left his friends and walked over to the bearded man. He stopped a couple of feet from the man and stood there staring down at him. Ten seconds passed. The man paid no attention. The boy turned to his friends and shrugged. His friends laughed, then nodded encouragingly for the boy to continue. The bearded man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. As he turned the pack, beginning the motion of fetching a cigarette, he boy grabbed the pack and ran. He darted passed his friends and up the street. For a moment his friends remained still and stared at the bearded man with shocked expressions, then they turned and ran. The bearded man watched them go, then closing his eyes, he rested his head against the marble of the library wall and whispered softly to himself, “Fuck”.

In-Between Time

chirstmas over and new years yet to be

the office is still, barely a body to see

bless the vacationers for great gifts of silence

it's finally here, let the in-between time commence!

He Entered the Room for the Last Time

He laid the briefcase on the table and the sound of it momentarily drowned out the central heat and the muffled banging of a construction site a block south and 32 floors below. He was grateful that the cushioning of the padded, Naugahyde side-panel masked the hollow, empty sound he'd expected. He wished, briefly, that he'd not eaten the apple and jelly sandwich he'd packed that morning as they'd added some weight and would have made his swinging the briefcase down onto the table look more authentic. This thought was followed by a surprisingly intense shame, and he did his best to push it out of his mind. Looking down he saw a bead of sweat land on the right-side, brass latch and resisted the urge to wipe it away. He sensed the stares coming at him from the men around the table but did not yet look up. He paused for a moment pondering, and quickly rejecting, the idea of opening the case and pretending to rummage through it. In the moments he had left he tried to accept that there were no answers, no solutions and no recourses. Then, he raised his head, and in a slow, soft voice began to speak

To the Peacemaker

Dear Richard,

This is a confession.

I broke the first rule. I told my mother. She wanted to know where I’d been and after she refused my usual story, I told her. She does not know who is involved. I want you to understand that. I wouldn’t tell her no matter how hard she tried or what she threatened. But she knows enough to understand what’s been going on.

After I told her, she sent me to my room. I’m here now. She’s on the phone. I don’t know who she’s talking to, but I can guess. There may be trouble. She’s a believer. I’ve known that in my heart all along. Until now I could pretend that she was faking, that she was just trying to survive it like the rest of us. But I know she’s a believer. I hear it in her voice through the door. There will be trouble.

It’s hard to describe how I feel. I'm sorry. She asked and asked. I lied as I always have, but you were right, the lying gets harder. Every day we studied I could feel the truth welling within me. I tried to be firm in the telling of it. I tried to remember the rules and why they are important. I tried to keep my head. I wasn’t successful, not completely. I did manage not to raise my voice in anger. I know that’s not enough, but it’s something. Isn’t it?

At this point, I have to make a decision. I knew this day would come. You always told us it would. It had to. I just never expected it so soon. Though I suppose we rarely know what to expect. As you say, it would have been nice of Fate to give us an outline.

I want to thank you for the peace you’ve helped me discover. Your guidance has meant more to me than I can express. I may never fully repay you, but I will try to use your lessons well. I know that now, no matter my decision, everything has changed. I know this is my time of trial. I think I understand now what you meant by that phrase. I feel ready.

As I have told you, as we’ve all told you, I’ve spend many sleepless nights thinking about what it’s like on the other side. I have the photo you gave me -- your mother’s family on the beach. It may be in black and white, but I swear I can see the blue of the ocean. I long to see that ocean, to really see it, and to feel its cool water roll over my feet. Does the beach have a scent? I want to find out. I want to feel the sun. I want to lie on the sand and watch the people – the free people – walk by in their swimsuits. I want a dog like your mother’s. I want to be as happy as she and her family seem.

There it is. I’ve made my decision. Maybe this letter is more of a goodbye than a confession, though I suppose it’s also a warning. I know putting this on paper is dangerous, but how could I not? You have to know. I hope you and the others are not harmed by my actions. My leaving is the best thing. If I’m gone I can’t answer their questions.

I’ll leave this letter in our usual place. When I’m not at practice tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll send someone to fetch it. Tell them not to look for me. Not to ask after me. Not to draw suspicion toward the group. Believe I made it. That’s the last thing I ask of you. No matter what, believe I made it.


Yours in love and gratitude,

Kate