The Day the Sky Did Fall

A Special Edition of Rio Grande Report 

I was sleeping on the couch in the living room of an ex-lover. I rose early, went to the bathroom to piss, started a pot of coffee, plopped myself back down on the sofa to wait for the java to brew, and turned on the morning news.
I don’t remember which network I was viewing. I can’t remember the name of the anchor, even though she is well-known, blonde, and very professional.
As she cheerfully recited to us a news item of the day, or set up the tag for the next segment, I saw an airplane move slowly on the screen behind her, which showed the New York City Skyline.
I was surprised by this. I had assumed the backdrop was a fake. You know, like Letterman’s and Leno’s? When I overcame my initial amazement, I began to cover my mouth to hide a gasp. It looked like the plane was going to hit one of the buildings.
And then, it did, exploding, dropping flaming debris, and probably body parts, onto the sidewalks below.
The anchor continued her recitation from the screen in front of her for a few more moments, her smile unwavering. Suddenly she stopped short, put her hand up to her earpiece. She turned to look at the view out the window at her back, frowned, then took a deep breath before telling us that a plane had hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center.
No shit, I thought. I just saw that.
While she kept us updated, repeating what little information she had on the matter, another airliner entered the screen.
Before it even happened, I knew. I believe then, we all knew. We did not want to know, and we wanted what we knew to be untrue. Our intuition served us well that day, unfortunately. Tears and silence fell across our country as that second plane crashed into the other tower.

Then came The Pentagon. Then a plane headed for The White House crashed in a field. We would learn later that a group of brave passengers thwarted the terrorists.
To me it felt like the start of WWIII, the end of our country, the end  of the world. They, whoever they were, would just keep dropping planes, and/or whatever else they chose to, on us until we descended into chaos. It wouldn’t take long. I suddenly regretted not owning a gun. I suddenly regretted many things, done and undone.
After the field crash, things seemed to level off. We wondered whether we could breathe a cautious sigh of relief now, rescue those in the burning buildings, get to work cleaning up, take time to grieve-individually and across the globe, get an investigation underway to find out who we would have to bomb later, just move on with our lives as we had before.
Everyone knows the climax of this tale, and the entire episode plays out in my mind as I write to you about it. I cannot elaborate, or my mind goes dark. Suffice it to say that the icons of an establishment fell, and thousands of good people’s lives were snuffed out. It was an act of anger, perhaps of misdirected revenge. It was an act of war. It was an act of mass murder.
Never forget that. Forget instead the pointless wars and federal lies and  jihadist or political rhetoric. Remember the human lives these things cost, that they have always cost. This is how we endure, by keeping memories alive, and discarding the darkness. We may not be able to eliminate evil, but we can disperse it.

I would not describe myself as a religious person. Yet, I often quote The Holy Bible.
Thou shalt not kill.
Pretty straightforward, isn’t it?
Remember those lost. Remember the heroes. Remember the fathers and brothers and sisters and mothers, lost or abandoned, and the children left behind. Remember with loved ones, in a place of your choosing. :Leave flowers, burn candles, and just love one another. And tell each other that you do.
Blessed be.

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---RGR