Emotional Structures (Working Title): Chapter 3
Jan 08 '03
The Bottom Line The third chapter. One more to go after this.
The first chapter was here: http://www.epinions.com/content_3049496708
The second chapter was here: http://www.epinions.com/content_3049955460
This is the third chapter. This part gets into the controversial territory I've discussed, as a character in this story says the most appalling things, out of anger. I wanted to make a point, but perhaps it might just look .... well, bad. I'll be expecting some NH's now, either out of my own stupidity or out of everyone else's misunderstanding, or both.......
Erica departed from the bus. She noticed that the neighborhood was exceedingly quiet. All the cars were parked. There were no children in the front lawns, there were no adults walking about and doing errands, or just taking leisurely walks.
Then again, she rarely was home this early during a school day, so she had no idea what went on during this time of the afternoon.
She ran across the dark pavement of the driveway, as she always did. Her heart beat rapidly from her physical exertion, but an extra tingling vibrated from her chest, as if something unforeseen was about to happen to her.
She entered the house, expecting to hear the racket of the television. She did. She also expected to see her dad. She did not.
Instead, she saw her mom. her mother sat on the couch, watching the television. The image appeared to be of Manhattan, but everything was painted with a lifeless gray, the gray of smoke, of dirt.
“Where’s dad?”, Erica asked.
Joanna turned to acknowledge her. Her face was wet. She was crying. She pointlessly brushed the tears away from her cheeks, but the indelible truth of her emotional demeanor was like a shadow, its trace still visible to the eye.
“Hi, Erica.”, Joanna sighed, her eyes shining a lonely gaze.
Erica felt that tickling of her nerves again. The tickling soon grew into a sore within her body.
“Erica...”, Joanna trembled. “did you hear about what happened this morning?”
“I... heard that there was a fire. I saw all the smoke. There was a bunch of crazy talk on the radio, so I guess something bad was going on ........ Mommy?”, closing in on her mother’s despairing face. “what’s wrong, Mommy?”
Erica’s face began to experience sorrow forming around its cheekbones.
“There’s been a plane crash...... a couple of planes crashed into the World Trade Center...... it started a fire......”
Erica couldn’t imagine what such an event would entail. Two planes? Crashing into a tall building? Wouldn’t the buildings fall over, like dominos......?
“Oh no! That’s ..... bad....”, she replied. “Is everyone okay?”
“Uhh......no. No, it’s not okay, Erica..... the two buildings are... no longer there. They .... collapsed.”
Erica blinked her eyes, harshly. She did not say anything.
“Do you understand... what that means? Collapsed?”
“Yea... yea... they fell down......”. She wasn’t stupid.
“They fell down, and everybody in Manhattan... had to escape... because it was too dangerous.....”
“...... because... because of the fire?”
“yea, so to speak......”
Joanna’s tears resumed. “I’m sorry.... it’s a little too much to take in right now. I don’t know how much of this you understand. I’m sorry... I don’t mean to insult you. I just feel so helpless.... I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything for those people inside the buildings... I can’t do anything for myself. I can’t help feeling this way. I have no control. I’m so sorry.....”
Erica didn’t fully comprehend her mother’s words. But she knew her mother was only trying to repair what was broken. Joanna wanted to pour her heart out, to apologize ... as if it were her fault. Erica felt bad. She felt that her mom was shouldering too much of the blame. It wasn’t fair. Her mother didn’t have anything to do with the fires... she didn’t have anything to do with the buildings falling down.
Erica need to reassure her mother that she didn't’ have to apologize for anything.
“Mom.... I ... didn’t do my homework on the bus. I’m sorry......”, her eyes watering. “I ... was too busy talking to Trenna. I’m so sorry... please don’t get mad... please don’t......”, she cried. Erica had betrayed her mother’s trust. Her mother did not do anything wrong, it was her.
Joanna watched her daughter pouring out her little heart. She felt so sorry , so guilty, Joanna sensed... something told Erica that she had to come clean, even though her wounds were minor, irrelevant, in the grand scheme of things. Joanna’s heart melted watching her daughter begin to cry. Her own face crumbled, her expression broke down, her mouth faltered.
She grabbed her daughter, held her in her arms, as a lifesaver. Erica was her child, but she saved her from utter despair.
“No, no, no.. Erica, I could never get angry with you.”, Joanna sobbed silently. “You did your best, you did your best... that’s .. that’s all you need to do..... that’s more than a few people ever dare to do.......”
The two people, for that moment in time, were as equals. Their age differences, their blood ties, were forgotten. They were people in need of someone else, during a moment when everything around them could no longer be taken for granted.
Television is often derided as a projector of insignificant, mind-corroding entertainment, a corrupt influence. But at this moment, the broadcast brought millions upon millions together, in a slow, burning terror, as it reminded them constantly, coldly, unblinkingly, that the nation, the most powerful in the world, was not powerful enough to keep the enemies at bay.
Perhaps this did not cancel out the notion that television was a vile, corrupt influence. Perhaps that only enforced it, as all we heard and witnessed was misery on a grand scale, pain, death, sorrow. Our minds were etched with permanent reminders of the worst of humankind, and the victims of that shame.
Our souls and minds would be scarred permanently, never allowing to be completely healed by warmth and loveliness.
Joanna and Erica sat on the sofa, close to each other, watching the events unfold in front of their disturbed, haunted, confused eyes. The mother and daughter felt the need to stick together, to comfort themselves from the intimidating coverage.
Joanna murmured a few things once in a while. She was so entranced, so haunted, that she barely realized what she was saying, while she was speaking. She said that Erica’s dad was down there, in Manhattan. She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but most likely he was guiding traffic, or joining with the other officers in watching out for any activity that could be dangerous. She said that she wasn’t sure on how long he’d be down there.
“Why?”, Erica asked. She wanted to ask her why Daddy would still be down there, if the news people were saying that everybody has to evacuate town.
“Why? He...”, realizing that she said too much. “He ..... has to do his best to make sure that everything will be okay......”
“Yea...”
Erica knew that this was true. But she still worries. She still felt the sorrow, the fear, in her eyes.
Later on, she then wondered if perhaps she was too young to be watching these events unfold on television. She feels a tightness in her chest, as if witnessing a violent scene, a scene where the characters speak dirty words, or something gross like a young woman kissing a young man, just as her parents find out and say, Erica, change the channel.
Buildings destroyed. Places you’ve been in your past, now populated by dazed, crying, frightened people. Numerous fire trucks and ambulances.
Why didn’t Mom tell Erica to leave the room? Erica didn’t have the exact, precise words to describe what she would consider this scene to be, or what she was feeling. But if she did, she’s say that this was all so obscene, far worse then all that make-believe that her parents dissuaded her from viewing.
Joanna needed to talk to somebody. She need to confirm that at least one person she knew was safe and sound in their home.
So she called her mother.
“Well, it’s about time that you called....”, Edith opinioned, when Joanna said hello, in her gravely old voice, trying to interject a level of normalcy in this evening of hyper kinetic somberness.
‘yea...”, stopping Joanna in her tracks. She felt her throat catch, unable to decide how she ought to respond, in this place, at this time, with the smoldering ruins of buildings and bodies mere miles away. “.....Yea...I have... I ‘ll have lots of time to talk to you now, Mom.”
“Yes, unless something else were to happen.......”, Edith says, with a toxic mixture of genuine worry and standard flippancy.
“Don’t talk like that....”, she said, her breath tightening. “Don’t talk as if you believe that something else is going to happen. Don’t make things worse for ... for your state of mind. Don’t worry yourself like that.”
“I’m just being factual, is all. Whomever these..... people..... are.... they seem quite determined. You know Hitler, there was a determined man. He took Poland, France.....” Edith reflected upon world history with the tone of someone who had faith in the adage that history was doomed to repeat.
“It’s ..... those people in the Middle East.”, Joanna said, forcing it out of her timid lips. “I feel so awful for saying this... but it must be said. Some of those Arabs don’t like us for whatever reason... it’s... they’re so violent. They’d do anything to kill Americans. I’m glad that we live under a democracy. A democracy under God... rather than a tyranny under .... Allah, or Mohammad, or whatever the heck he is.”
Erica listened intently to every word her mother said. This was stuff she never heard before, especially not from her mother.
“The.... the military will be sent out, I’d say. I have a feeling that this will happen. They’d be sure to catch those idiots in that way. At the very least, take them back here for trial.”
“Well.... all those people know is fighting.”, Edith says. “It’s such a shame.”
“Yea, I know... but there’s not much we can do about it. All we can do is try to find the guys who did this, and bring justice.....”
“Anyway... “, Edith said, carefully. “I’ll let you go, dear. I want to call up Alice and see if she’s doing okay....”
“Okay, Mom........”
Pause. She didn’t know if she ought to add anything else......
“..... and please, check your blood sugar!”
“Dear, I’ll be too busy on the phone”, she says, casually. “... and I’ll be watching TV all night... I’ll probably not remember....... I try, but it never works.....”
“Yes.... I’m sorry, Mom...... bye.....”
“Bye.....”
Joanna slowly placed the receiver down to its resting place. She began to experience the transformation of her words into vivid imaginations. She imagined a land where nothing was known except for fighting, for religious obsession.
Erica studied the deliberate movements of her mother. At the same time, she had a few questions of her own to ask.
“Mommy, isn’t God and Allah the same person?”
Joanna smiled weakly at her, unprepared for this complex question.
Erica was so innocent. She believed that everyone was the same. She wasn’t afraid of anyone based on their religion, on their skin color, or ideology. She didn’t have the innate suspicions that harbored in the minds of adults.
“But... aren’t they, Mom?”
Joanna wished that she had an smooth, informative answer, but she did not.
“Ah... Erica, I don't’ want to think about stuff like that right now. Lets... let’s forget about that.”
“I have a friend at school, who believes in Allah. He likes me, we hang out. He likes living here. You know... Danny.”, she said quietly, honestly.
Joanna felt ashamed.
“I don’t want them to catch the bad guys.”, Erica cried. “I don’t want them to catch them if that means something will happen to Danny. What will happen to Danny? He’s an Arab. He’s a Muslim. Will he have to go to jail too?”
Joanna believed that perhaps Erica had heard and seen more than she should have.
“No, no, no.... Danny won’t go to jail. He’s only a little boy... he’s not a grown-up.....”, trying to be comforting.
“Are you sure.... he won’t have to go?”, she sobbed. Erica imagined Danny and his family being rounded up by the police. She envisioned a tiny set of handcuffs securing Danny’s wrists. She pictured him being locked in the back seat of the police car, before being sent off to a cold, musty cell in a strange location, with only soup and other boring and gross things to eat.
“Don’t... don’t be silly.”, Joanna replied, visibly frustrated. “Don’t engage in that kind of talk. God... will protect him.”
“God...couldn’t save the people in the building.”, she said, quietly. “They couldn’t get out. A lot of them... died. Maybe God will forget about Danny too....... ”
Joanna didn’t want to have this conversation. Erica was the child. She should be blindly believing her mother’s answers, not giving her more questions.
“Please don’t talk about that.... it’s not nice....”
Erica’s eyes were liquid with confusion. “Sorry...”, with downcast eyes. She was merely afraid for Danny. Theology was the furthest from her mind.
Later on in the evening. Erica was in bed. Joanna hoped that Erica calmed down enough to at least get a few hours of sleep. She, on the other hand, wasn’t so sure about herself.
Then, the telephone rang. Could it be......?
“Hello.....”
“Hi, Joanna.” It was Richard. His voice was flat, dry -- as if he never learned how to express feeling through words. Or if he had lost all ability to.
“Richard!”, barely hiding her primitive relief at hearing her husband’s voice. “I’m... so happy that you called.”
She began fondling her left arm with her right hand, slowly, mindlessly.
“How are things?”, he asked.
“Ah... they’re... we’re managing.”, she said, haltingly. She wanted to plead with him to return home, to feel the sounds of his real voice against her ear, rather than the muffled sandpaper voice that the telephone cruelly creates, to feel his arms holding her body, to feel his body upon hers, to offer his shoulder for her soft, wet eyes to sob upon, for her aching head to rest upon, to tell her that at least this small, precious part of her life, of her world, did not change.......
“..... it’s horrible... down here. It’s like a war zone. It is a .... war zone. It’s those pictures of those bombed out cities in Europe, in World War II. You can barely breath --- without tasting the facts of today, without feeling them literally settling within your lungs......”
......... but she realized that there were more crucial things than lost embraces to worry about. She tried to register a cool, sensible vocal pose.......
“It’s terrible.”, she said, rigidly. “I saw it on TV. It was a nightmare... of the worst degree. I felt my stomach twist. Everything inside of me, every organ, every bone of my body, felt so fragile -- at that moment -- when I saw those buildings collapse. I could read between the lines, so to speak. All I could do --- was run to the toilet, and vomit. All of my knowledge, all of my painful empathy... became an intolerable bile inside of me. I couldn’t help myself......”
Her voice did not tremble. Her lack of emotion when she spoke would soon bring fear to her, when she went to bed, alone, with only her memories, and her thoughts.
“Well..... babe..... I have to go.....”
“I understand..........”
“.........bye........... sleep well.........”
“.......... I will...........” Click. As much as you will tonight.
.......... Erica was in bed. Joanna didn’t want to bother her. She needed to rest. She’d find out in the morning that her father had called. She’d know that he was safe........
Her young mind became a victim of a violent psychic assault. She was unable to restrain the attacks, with even so much as an intellectually joyous non-sequiter, even as she rested in what ought to be a peaceful location, underneath her warm blanket, and against a number of stuffed toys.
She rarely slept with any of her stuffed toys from years past. She thought that it was too babyish. But tonight, without even thinking, she rescued an old, worn puppy dog from the cages of her closet, and made up for lost time.
Her eyes were not fully awake. Her brain was exhausted. Her stomach was trembling. Her heart was sore. She had no will to sleep, with all of the violence within her head. Nevertheless, she gloomily approached slumber.
Erica had heard a voice. It sounded like her mother. It was a faint murmur, but Erica believed that her mom made reference to “Richard”. Daddy. But it felt like a mere dream. It did not seem real. It seemed too intense within her body to be mundane reality. She also thought she had heard his voice, as well... replying to whatever her mom was saying.
She bolted up, and found herself in the dark. Her room was dark. The sky outside her windows were dark. Her clock said that it was one a.m. No sound.
She gripped her puppy until she felt the crunch of the stuffing against the fabric.
She ventured out of her room, slowly pacing the kitchen and the living room, until she reached her mother’s room.
Her mother was alone. Daddy was not home. He wasn’t speaking at all......
Erica went to the bed, resting beside her mother. A small jar of solace was better than none at all..........
September 12th, 2001, about two in the afternoon.
“Danny?”, she whispered. Erica decided to phone her friend, in hopes that her mother’s expectations did not come to pass.
“Hi... Erica?”
“Yea... what are you doing?”
“I’m with my parents. They’re watching TV. I can’t talk long. My dad wants to call some friends.... to see if they’re all right.”
“Are they?”, she asked.
“I don’t know... I know I have cousins in Palestine. Things blow up there all the time.”
“Wow, is it scary?”
“I don’t know.....”, he mumbled, unable to imagine accurately what life in the West Bank would truly be like for a kid his age.
“It sounds scary......”, she said.
“yea, probably ......”, he halted, as a muffled voice entered into the conversation.
“I have to go off the phone now.”, Danny say hurriedly.
“Okay... bye-bye.”
“Bye.....”
Click.
“Erica, who were you on the phone with?”
“.....Danny....”, she said, awkwardly.
“I see..... is he okay?”, she asked, forcing the words from her mouth. Joanna felt unsure whether her own words could be construed in condescending or sinister ways.
“I think so..... he’s not in jail yet anyway.”, she grinned.
Joanna rolled her eyes, and sighed, but in good humor. “I told you that nothing would happen to him... he’s only a kid......”
Erica grinned. “He’ll be okay, I know... I know..... Obviously, the bad guys aren’t Muslim.”
Joanna froze. Erica was still convinced that Middle Easterns weren’t to blame. Because her little friend was one of them.
“Erica.... not everyone is like him. Not everyone is nice, and harmless.......”
“Whatever.”, Erica said, in her standard dismissal. “I just know that Danny has a lot of cousins over there... kids my age. And things blow up all the time. I’d hate to live there. I don’t know who is doing it. But they’re not the same people as the people Danny knows.”
After four PM........
“Hi, Karen.”, Joanna announced, with surprise at her co-worker’s appearance at the front door. Karen has been a guest at the household before, but today was one of the few days that Joanna was expecting any company.
“Hi....”, she responded, softly, sorrowfully.
“Well, come... come on in.....”
She felt the need to place her hand upon Karen’s shoulder, gently leading her into the house. Her touch was a sensual message of empathy, of warmth; her attempt at showing her friend that virtue still existed in the world.
“So.... how are you feeling?”
“Rotten.” Karen had been given a chair near the kitchen table. “The only word I can think of.....”
Joanna looked at the whole of Karen’s face. Karen did likewise. For a few precious moments, the two women could only regard each other, as people that have survived, as the lucky ones.
But then, Karen felt a tremor ripple across her face. Joanna was not able to rescue her from the emotional quake.
“I found out.....”, Karen began, “.... that I knew somebody in the tower.....”
Joanna’s face registered shock.
“Oh, don’t cry for me!”, Karen insisted, sardonically, beneath the real tears. “He wasn’t even a good friend. He was the teller, at my bank, for Christ’s sake!” Karen wiped her cheek. “But..... I saw him.... all the time! Every time I went to the bank, I saw him. I spoke to him! I’m not one of those people who make do with an emotional attachment to a special ATM -- at least with a teller, you have some sort of human contact.”
Joanna was touched in any case by Karen’s story. “Wow... I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m switching to internet banking. That will teach me a lesson about the fragility of human attachments! God, I feel so crazy! I just don’t understand what happened. Why did this happen? I thought we were immune from all of this scary activity. Our borders shielded us.”
“No... not ..... any more.”, Joanna moaned. “Islamic terrorists, or whomever.....”
“Yes, you’re right. The Muslim fanatics. Apparently, they’ve been cooking up a plan for years!”, she said, in complete, abandoned shock. “Those people used to just enjoy blowing each other up, and making idle threats to everyone else. But I guess that wasn’t enough for them.”
Joanna had an inkling that Karen’s comments were simplistic, but she had little proof. “True...”, she rasped. “..... but what are we going to do?”
“Well..... I think that we’re just going to have to go to war.”
War?
“War?”
“What else can we do? Thousands of people died, in the space of seconds. So why shouldn’t we fight back with everything we’ve got? We know where to go. Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran.... you know, pretty simple.”
Joanna’s heart jumped. “Pretty simple. That’s.... that’s three whole countries. That’s a pretty big simple.”
“Well, less chance of those bastards doing anything like this again.”
“True.....” It was technically logical. But was it moral? “But this is a criminal act. A bunch of guys did this. Wouldn’t the other countries just cooperate and find the guys who did it so we can put them on trial?”
“Impossible!” Karen was sure of that.
“But this is terrorism. Not war. A country didn’t go after us. People did.”
“It’s terrorism, yes. But that’s exactly why we need to go to war. These people come from places where it is considered a virtue to be repressed, to be tyrannized. They think that we, champions of democracy, are Islamic Beelzebubs? How dare they feel that way toward us? We’re better than those thugs!”
Danny.
“We’re better than those thugs! Those... thugs who just come in here to destroy families.”
Danny’s family. Erica always said that they were nice people.
“They maim living breathing people until they’re nothing but mangled, bloodied scraps of flesh and bone and blood. Who leave children without mothers and fathers, uncles and aunts. They’re just a bunch of animals.....”
Danny had cousins in those parts.
“..... we should just get all our troops together and bomb some sense into that place. Clear a little more land for the Jews in Israel, you know. So they and we can live in peace.”
How would Danny feel about that? He would find out. Erica would find out. How would they feel then?
“Gee, Karen....”, Joanna grinning weakly, while falling in a sweat. “It’s always been said that the world would be more stable if women were heads of state.....”
“Well, if something decisive is done... then the world would be stable. Seems like I’m the only one with the ideas around here. Everybody else, the ones that we supposedly elected, are just like little boys. They talk tough... but in the end, they cower, they suck up! And sucking up is a totally bipartisan effort. Bush did it. Clinton did it. And Bush Version 2.0 isn’t any different..........”
Joanna’s eyes strayed. This would be the sort of talk that would captivate the national consciousness.... she knew this. She was helpless. She was dangerously close to the raging current. She would be swept away. She couldn’t say anything that would make any difference. She would have to agree with everyone -- with the status quo.
Erica. She’s sitting in the living room... in the next room. What is she thinking?
“You shouldn’t worry about it, Joanna. I.... I know... that if... well, when... we go to war, a lot of kids will be fighting. A lot of them might die. Maybe something like what happened yesterday will happen again. We’re a nation under God..... “
Karen’s eyes were wide, intense. The whites glistened from a curdling emotion.
“.......... I know there will be... a lot of sorrow, a lot of worrying, a lot of paranoia... for God knows how long. But ..... God knows... he knows what is right, and what is proper. And I know He’ll approve if we fight back with everything we’ve got.”
Joanna’s lungs emptied of breath, and her body flew away in the wind, unabling to remain rigid on the space in which she occupied.
“It will work out, Jo. Our freedoms will remain, and we’ll get the bad guys. We’re not going to get into some heavy-duty nuclear war, now!”, she laughs brittlely. “We’re not going to anger other countries with our methods. Well... we shouldn’t anyway.... not if they are sensible. We have the moral authority. We’re freedom fighters. We have God -- the real God -- on our side.”
“Sounds like a tough choice, isn’t it? Flying into someone else’s country, dropping bombs and the like in hopes that one of them contains our man. Sort of like breaking into all of your neighbor's houses because you think that one of the people in the neighborhood has stolen something precious of yours, even though you don’t have a shred of proof that it’s in any of those houses, or that anyone of those people have it.”
“Well, what other choice do we have? Are we just going to let things go along in their merry way? Just hope that everything works out okay? These people want to destroy us. They want to destroy everything that we are about. They hate us. It’s in their blood. It’s in their religion to hate democracy, to hate success. These people haven’t advanced in the last thousand years. Why do you suppose that is? I feel confident in saying that..... I’m an American. I’m in the best country in the world. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
Joanna felt like a cadet in the exercise yard, being verbally assaulted and humiliated by the general. She was weak. She would not be able to make deals with Karen’s strict rule book. Her body was exhausted.
“I ... don’t know.”, Joanna mumbled. “I don’t really know too many people ..... who come from those places. I don’t get too far beyond this sober suburb. I get a little tipsy in the noise and the frantic of the city, that’s why I only go into Manhattan a few times a month.”
“Well, you’d be flat-out drunk if you found yourself in the middle of the Arabian desert. And you’d get more than a corroded liver and a pounding headache. They treat women like...” Karen glances briefly in Erica’s direction. “......well, like.....”
Karen mouths the word s*it, thinking that ten-year old girls couldn’t read lips.
“....... women have to wear those things over their faces. Kids like Erica couldn’t go to school. Would you want to live in a place like that? Would you want those sort of people to take over America, and force you to do what they do on a daily basis? Would you want them to take your daughter away from you? If not in body, in mind? That’s just as much.....”
Karen began to lose her breath.
“.... as much.... a theft as anything else.” She turned her head away, trying to cover her saddening face with her hand. “I... I’m sorry. I know... I know I’m rambling. But this is all I can feel right now. I’m too emotional to think properly. All I can do is mourn this... this tragedy ..... and avenge it, at least in my heart......... ”
The two women never spoke about politics to each other before. Certain topics, when spoken of, can reveal many new shades of a person’s character.
The final chapter is at http://www.epinions.com/content_3052511364
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Alice, a story in nine parts, posted on Sept 24, 2008 - http://www.epinions.com/content_5241348228
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