The Foretelling

The house was quiet when I got home save for the soft hum of the television two rooms over from the front door.

“Mom? Dad?” I called out. I assumed they were home since their shared car was in the driveway.

I saw my mother’s head peek out from behind the archway that led into the living room. She didn’t say a word. She only beckoned me with a slow-moving hand.

“What-”

“Look,” she told me.

And I did look.

I crossed over to the room to find my dad sitting in one of the lounge chairs in front of the TV. He was leaning forward and his chin rested in his hand while that arm’s elbow balanced on his knee. The three of us were watching New York City street corner, engulfed in flames.

“Oh my God-”

My mother quickly put an arm around me. My dad turned his head at me but not before quickly swiping an arm across his eyes. I think he was crying, but I was never sure. He tried to smile at me. It didn't work.

The woman in the newsroom continued talking, as calmly as anyone could.

“An attack from an unknown source has this busy city corner grasped in terror. Some people are comparing it to the September 11 attacks thirty years ago. There have already been accusations against a number of countries from the Middle East, Asia, and some even say Europe. Still, others say the assault came from someone or something else. Nathan Marlo?”

The woman addressed a reporter who was on the scene.

“Yes, Lisa, it seems a lot of locals who reportedly saw the attack happen before their very eyes have claimed they saw it coming not from planes or any tangible weapons but from the sky itself.” The reporter had then held the microphone out to one of the bystanders. “Excuse me, sir? Sir, what did you see?”

“I saw… a great white light from the sky! It-it... it was huge; really bright.” The man took a few breaths and continued again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I couldn’t believe it, I thought I was seeing things, you know? Well, once I got the hell - sorry, can’t curse right? – well, anyway, when I got out of there, I went up to a few people and-and they all said the same thing! A light from the sky.”

“Yes, but what happened? Did this light strike this building?” the reporter asked, pointing to the burning building a safe enough distance behind them.

“Yes, yes the light hit the building. It must have been a bolt of lightning, or something, I don’t know what it was. I’m just telling you what I saw!” The man being interviewed was speaking so quickly and was out of breath. It was understandable, seeing that he just avoided being obliterated, but there was another element of fear that could be easily seen in his eyes: the fear of the unknown and the knowledge that this unknown was far more advanced than we are.

“Thank you, sir,” the reporter said to the man, shaking his hand with a grip on his shoulder with the other hand.

“Sure thing," the man said, looking uncomfortably at the reporter and then at the camera before leaving to talk to some woman he seemed to know.

There were more talking, interviews, and personal commentary from the news anchors but the sound was dull to me. All I kept focusing on was the building. There was an incredible crack down the middle of it. The building was literally cut in half. It looked impossible but there it was, in plain view. The cameraman didn't even scale up the building which made me think that he didn't want to point the camera at all to the sky.

And I couldn’t help but look at the red band that ran across the screen towards the bottom. In yellow letters on the band read the words, “NYC UNDER TERRORIST ATTACK”.

At that moment, I had a flicker of a thought. It lasted about two seconds but the imprint would last me for a long time.

"The news is being controlled."

“Honey?”

My mother stirred me from my thoughts.

“I’m fine,” I told her. I gave her a quick smile. “Really, I am.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding.

My dad left the room without a word.

“Pizza tonight?” she asked me.

“Sounds good.”

Only I didn’t know that the box of intoxicatingly divine-smelling pizza would sit alone on the countertop in our kitchen, with three slices of the pie laid out in front of us, staring at us. I don’t think a single person actually took a bite of food that night. We just sort of pushed and prodded the slices with forks and knives. My leg shook with a nervous twitch. I could hear the subtle tapping of my father’s fingers drumming on his leg. My mother looked as if she might cry.

“Linda.”

My dad finally spoke that day.

“Frank?”

“Can I speak with you for a moment?”

I tried to look at my dad’s face. I couldn’t quite interpret it, but he wore a pained look. My mother didn’t say anything for a while. I felt as if she knew what he wanted to say, just by looking.
The two of them pushed themselves away from the table and went into the other room. I felt like a child; like I wasn’t smart enough to be able to handle what they were talking about. At that time, I resented them for holding their conversation in a different room; for excluding me. I actually wanted to leave them and was so very happy that once I was done with school, I was going to be able to leave and find a better place. I wanted to go somewhere where people didn’t hide things from you.

I just had no idea what I really wanted or what my parents were talking about.

I almost caught the last part of their conversation but it was muffled. I was, however, able to see them embrace each other for a long time before my dad left my mom standing in the living room as he walked out the door. The setting sun started to invade the room she was in and flashed off of the metal on my dad’s car as he drove away. I quickly got up and went to my mom in the living room. I grabbed her arm but she just gently patted my hand.

“He’ll be back before the night is over.”

I looked at her.

“I promise.”