America drabble
New York thrummed around Alfred as he walked the sidewalks, his bomber jacket unzipped and his hands pushed in the pockets. The autumn air hit his chest, refreshing and crisp, making the country shiver. It was a beautiful day, he thought as he watched the world go by from under his brown cowboy hat. He turned the corner and bumped into some one. There was a shout and some curses as the man nearly lost the boxes he was carrying. America held up his hands and apologized but the man was already moving down the street ranting about stupid idiots and how they should watch where they were going.
Alfred had to chuckle at that.
He loved New York, it was one of the places that his attire wasn’t stared at, instead he could get lost in the shifting boiling sea of his people, watch as woman and men shifted around him, never glancing up, not noticing him. Here he could truly be American for once, rather than America.
It was nice to be able to watch his people without being watched back.
A pair of kids on bikes zipped by him as they laughed at some joke only they knew, an elderly woman struggled with a door and some bags. A drug dealer walked, his eyes darting, looking for the next addict. A bum begged with a sign that proclaimed that, yes, he would be using the money for booze, but at least he was being honest. The blond haired man passed him a 20 and walked on. A woman with a black eye sobbed, while next to her some girls laughed at a comic they had read. A Chinese restaurant worker flew by on his bike, a few teens in black glared out at the world for reasons only they knew. A hot dog vendor sat outside a Pizzeria selling his wears.
Each person was trying to find a place for themselves, trying to achieve a dream.
Alfred turned another corner and looked up.
There was a clock flashing the date above a bank.
9/11/09
The man takes in a deep breath and let it out as the old wound twinges in remembrance. It had been 8 years and by now it seems that the world around him had recovered, as if he had as well. He had taken his pound of flesh from the Middle East, and while it had not earned him many friends it had made his people feel better. Safer.
He continued towards his destination, down the streets noticing that many people had on red white and blue, as if they had woken up and unconsciously all dress to match their flag.
He approached the ground zero, wincing at the scar in the city sky line, then down to the tall fence around it keeping the people who came there to mourn from going into the pit. People were walking around it, past it, and some quietly towards it with drawn faces and flinted eyes.
His chest tightens as he watches people coming to the fence and staring, some crying others with a sense of duty. Most would stand a moment and then lay a flower in the fence or on the ground, some prayed or sang under their breath.
One girl though never stopped staring at the sky.
She was average height, heavy set and strong looking, her back hunched by a large back pack full of books , her blue grey eyes behind black glasses. He noticed that she had some budge in the front of her stomach and her hips were made more for birthing children than looking good in anything but jeans. She had tilted her round face with its well sculpted nose and wide cheek bones up, looking where the twin towers might have been.
She couldn’t have been more than 25.
He noticed to that she, unlike many, clutched a camera to her chest. She seemed to shiver slightly.
“Cold?” he said softly, wondering why he was speaking to someone who was having a moment. When she turned her bleach blond hair swayed. She gaped at him.
“Oh no just…. Thinking.” She muttered. “I… Just remembering.” He voice was quiet and reserved with a strong New England accent but a hint of southerner. She held her self straight.
“I’d give more than a penny for those thoughts. Most people stare at the hole but you are gazing at the sky.” He leaned against the fence.
The girl chuckled strangely, as if caught crying at a sad movie and trying to laugh it off. “Well… I was just remembering that day.” She didn’t name it and didn’t need to.
“Ah.” He said.
“It’s silly, I never was here, no one I knew was hurt, my family never went to war since uncle Jeremy was a cop by then.” She looked down. “I have no reason to morn, yet today I could not help but come here and watch as so many others did. As if they needed conformation. “
Alfred nodded, knowing she needed to say this.
“ Its… like we do sometimes. We are America but I have had people tell us that…” her she stopped and shivered, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes but she looked like she was fighting to keep it together. “I have seen people saying we deserve it for the way we treat others. That we shouldn’t be crying because others have it worse than us.”
She turned back to the sky and Alfred felt a deep pain.
“That could be true you know. We have done many bad things.”
The woman growled and turned.
“NO! I may not like America! I may not think that we are the best! I may think that what we have done in the past is wrong but I should NEVER have to feel the shame I do when I hear a joke about us! I should never have to feel shame for wanting to mourn the dead! This is about being human not what country we are from! “She nearly shouted, her foot stomping the side walk. “Why do I have to hear people tell us that it’s our fault when we did nothing! I was 12 when this happened. The worse I had ever done was being a kid in America. What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to watch as the people around me were fearful and cautious to the point of paranoia? Did I deserve to watch in fear when jets flew over my house? Did I deserve to sob under my covers and wait for a death I was sure would come? Do we deserve to be told we are bad people? Did people deserve to die just to get us off our “high horses”? People who were just trying to live and be happy?”
Alfred blinked as she ended her tirade and turned away, her body heaving. She looked back at the sky.
“I know others will never care about what I have to say. I know if I said this to other people It would sound like I was whining but… I cannot accept that ANYONE deserved to die to put America back in place. I cannot be told that mourning such a loss is the price we must pay to be humbled. It hurts to hear such things and it makes me want to hate myself. I am no longer proud to be what I am. I hide it on the internet and when I go overseas. “She shifted once more and looked back at the blond haired man.
“Of course that’s just me.” She said before walking away quickly.
Alfred watched her go and looked, for the first time in a long time really looked, at the cloudless blue sky .
Perhaps it was time to heal so he could make her proud.