The Ghost of Memories.
September 11th, 2001.
When I was six, I was sat, with Sophie on the sofa, where I was waiting to put one of my favourite Disney movies on; The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, though at the time, I simply called it ‘Quasimodo’. Sophie had said, “Hold on, hun, let me just see the news.”
So I was sat, waiting for her to finish watching the news. It was uncle Mikey’s birthday, the day before, and I still had some chocolate cake in my goodie bag from the party. I walked into the kitchen to get it. I walked back into the living room with it on a plate, and a glass of milk. By time I got back, Sophie was in tears.
I asked her what was wrong, and she replied, “Oh, Audrey, there are some real bad people in the world. And they, they, they tried to kill a lot of people.”
I simply sat, attached to Sophie’s side, the cake discarded on the other side of the sofa. After about an hour of the TV displaying pictures of what looked to me like two smoking rectangles, Sophie stopped crying suddenly, and called my dad’s cell phone. I asked if I could put Quasimodo on, and she said ok, so I did. I sat, transfixed by the animation, while Sophie frantically asked Gerard if he was okay.
“Gee,” she said down the phone, when he picked up. “Oh, Ger, is that you?”
He said something, “Oh my God, Ger, are you okay?”
Pause. “But Ger, why? Come home, come home, I’ll worry all day.”
“But Audrey will like for you to be home.”
“Please Ger, I only want to see you.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, Ger, come home, you’ll feel better.”
“Get yourself a nice caffé latte from Starbucks, get yourself a vente, and come home.”
“See you in a bit.”
So I was sat, waiting for her to finish watching the news. It was uncle Mikey’s birthday, the day before, and I still had some chocolate cake in my goodie bag from the party. I walked into the kitchen to get it. I walked back into the living room with it on a plate, and a glass of milk. By time I got back, Sophie was in tears.
I asked her what was wrong, and she replied, “Oh, Audrey, there are some real bad people in the world. And they, they, they tried to kill a lot of people.”
I simply sat, attached to Sophie’s side, the cake discarded on the other side of the sofa. After about an hour of the TV displaying pictures of what looked to me like two smoking rectangles, Sophie stopped crying suddenly, and called my dad’s cell phone. I asked if I could put Quasimodo on, and she said ok, so I did. I sat, transfixed by the animation, while Sophie frantically asked Gerard if he was okay.
“Gee,” she said down the phone, when he picked up. “Oh, Ger, is that you?”
He said something, “Oh my God, Ger, are you okay?”
Pause. “But Ger, why? Come home, come home, I’ll worry all day.”
“But Audrey will like for you to be home.”
“Please Ger, I only want to see you.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No, Ger, come home, you’ll feel better.”
“Get yourself a nice caffé latte from Starbucks, get yourself a vente, and come home.”
“See you in a bit.”