The same date. Plus one to the year. All dates returning without fail for the living, except that one. The one that slows the pace. If only I had been born on February 29. I would be 16 going on 17. All of life in front. I could change the past. You can’t change the past. We’re not time travelers. Not yet anyway. The good. The bad. The ugly. Live it. Use it.
September 11. A date which will live in infamy. For Americans anyway. The world has other poignant memories. Madrid. Paris. Hiroshima. Nagasaki. London. Tel Aviv. Azbakiyah. Damascus. Java. Dar es Salaam. Chiricahua Mountains. Hanoi. Darjeeling. Napnapan. Little Big Horn. Chernobyl. Bombings. Fires. Floods. Hijackings. Kidnappings. Tsunamis. Volcanoes. Tornadoes. Nuclear Reactors. Landslides. Fires. Floods. Tsunamis. Volcanoes. Tornadoes. Nuclear Reactors. Landslides. Bombings. Volcanoes. Kidnappings. Genocides. Keeps repeating. Like dates. Shared with some and forgotten by others. Dates that will gather dust and be forgotten. School children trying to remember dates without any real passion for them.
September 11. A day of devastation and death propagated by human beings that instilled many with a new robust understanding of fear and hate. Two sides of hate. They for us, and us for them. We propagated hate to that directed attack. And now natural disaster. Winds and rain killing and robbing as if nature hated us humans. Or maybe it’s angry with us. If you believe climate change, then the storms are beating their breasts in fury with us. But there are conspiracy theorists too with other ideas. Suggesting Machiavellis among us or maybe just plain old psychopaths. Not the simple denial and ignorance and disregard with climate change. The manipulation and use of nature. Not in a good way. Humans vs. nature. Humans may win but they really lose. The paradox of getting what you want and realizing it isn’t at all what you wanted.
Harvey was a planned attack. Are these theorists crazy? Or do they see the things that mainstream deniers don’t? It is true that we tend to call people crazy that see what we don’t. Maybe. Maybe not.
And then I have very intimate memories of this date. It’s a wedding anniversary. A happy event bloodied in hindsight with my husband’s lies. “I’m not going to go and pretend,” he said. A lie within a lie like a pretty little matryoshka doll.
Feeding monsters’ egos with memories.
And this September 11? Writing out a card. Watching Facebook check-ins of friends in Florida. Safe. No electric. Listening to pounding rains and roaring winds. Safe.