just one morning

Marie Arlington rubbed the sleep out of her tired, red eyes as she got out of bed. Winter was coming early this year, and she could feel it. It was only the beginning of September, and yet the temperatures had taken a plunge. She shivered as she grabbed her robe, and went downstairs. She quickly flipped through the main sections of the newspaper. 

	She wasn’t surprised by what she saw. Death, destruction and hate were at new highs everywhere around the world. She was a mild pro-life activist who strongly opposed war; it was too ironic that her husband for American Defense, a leading construction company that rebuilt the countries American bombs obliterated. She started a pot of her favorite Jamaican blend when she heard a faint crying. She ran upstairs to find both Billy and Alex moaning; the twins had had pneumonia the past week. She poured out a little of the antibiotic their pediatrician had prescribed before rocking them both back to sleep.

	When she went back downstairs, the brewing scent of coffee greeted her. She poured out a cup and sat on a lawn chair on the porch watching the sun melt the stars away. When she went back in for more, she saw a black bag leaning against the kitchen table. It was Rick’s laptop, which, she was sure, he needed. She dialed the nanny, who could watch the boys when she went to drop off Rick’s computer. 


                                         *****

	Kent Darnay woke up to yet another depressing morning. His back was sore, his head still hurt from all the files he had gone over last night, and he could feel a sharp pain in his left arm. He had spent the last thirty years of his life as a financial analyst for TD Waterhouse. Up until four years ago, he worked at a local branch in his hometown of Beechhurst, New York. However, when the company began downsizing, the small branch was closed down, and he was offered the same job, but in New York, a much longer commute. He had very reluctantly taken the job; he had convinced himself the harder he worked now, the sweeter his retirement would be. 

        Kent went for a jog with his collie, Brahmst, ate a small breakfast, showered, and was out the door by seven o’clock. He really had to push himself to finish these last three weeks; in just three weeks, on his sixty-second birthday, on October second, as per his original contract, he would retire with full benefits. Each day brought him closer to that shining moment. 
	
        While he didn’t have any big plans for after retirement, he was determined to pack up his apartment in Beechhurst and move in with his widowed son. He hadn’t seen his grandchildren in over a year, but once this job was over, all he’d have is time. 

                                        *****

	“Molly…Molly Amelia Cassidy,” she repeated over and over in bed as she fingered her diamond studded wedding ring. Molly had married just two months ago, and been in the country for even less. Her husband, Oliver, was a lawyer for Chambers and Associates, one of New York’s largest firms. She was just a young woman from Dublin; they had met when he was on a company-sponsored vacation. They talked, laughed and before she knew it, she was in America. Their quiet home in Eleanor, a small suburb, was an hour’s drive from New York. 
	
         She wasn’t yet accustomed to the American culture, and she wouldn’t be for a long time. She knew if it weren’t for Oliver, she’d be lost in this frenzy of food courts and what not. Yes, it was all because of Oliver. She had always dreamt of coming to the United States, and Oliver had made that possible. She loved him with all her heart, and couldn’t bear a separation, even, as she had repeated at her wedding, “...unto death.” 
           
                                       *****

	Richard woke up to a pounding hangover, the result of a long night at a local bar and sustained yelling afterwards. He was an out-of-work guy who had fallen into such a depression he couldn’t control himself any more. A wave of guilt washed over him as he thought of last night. Ever since he had lost his job at a pediatrics clinic, his wife, Emily, seven years his junior had really done everything around the house. She had given up a life of ease she had when Richard was working; she swallowed her fears and went back to work, and of course the three of them, Richard, Annie, and their four-year-old daughter, Eliza, made do with what she made.

	Last night he was so drunk he couldn’t unlock the front door; they had gotten into an argument and then it all just blurred. Richard knew Emily had taken Eliza with her to work; he had really messed up when she no longer trusted him with their daughter. And to think, she was working, taking care of Eliza and him, and being five months pregnant. 

	Richard washed his face with cold water and swallowed some aspirin. He looked for Emily’s work number; though he knew it was a futile, he’d try to apologize.

                                      *****
 
	Josh Williams quickened his pace as climbed the stairs. He had arrived in New York fifteen minutes ago, already very late. He worked in the research department for AmeriGene Laboratories, a Toronto-based genetics company that had expanded a few years ago. He was the first in many generations of his family to graduate high school and go onto college. He had received a Masters degree in genetics from NYU, and was immediately hired as a research scientist by AmeriGene.

	But today he wasn’t doing lab work; he was supposed to meet with the company’s financial head about a possible grant for a new research project, but the way things were going he was sure he’d miss the whole meeting. It was a real pain getting into New York, and the elevators for the World Trade Center were horribly crowded this morning. AmeriGene had its offices on the seventeenth floor, and since marathon running had long been a hobby of his, he decided to use the stairs. He could feel the muscles in his ankles strain as he ran. Little did he know he’d never make it to that meeting. 

                                     *****

Two months later:

	“I’d like to welcome you all to our group grief counseling session today. I’m really happy you could make it. This may be one of the most difficult experiences you’ll ever have, reflecting on such a painful memory, but I’d like to go around the room and have each person introduce themselves and tell us a little about their loss.”

 “My, um my name’s Chris Darnay. My father was a financial analyst for TD Waterhouse, and he, he was only a few weeks away from his retirement. I’d lost my wife a few years ago in an accident, and I, I nearly died myself when I heard.”	
	Janice Peters unsuccessfully tried to dry her eyes as she spoke.
“My name’s Janice and I lost my sister on September 11th. Her name was Marie Arlington. She was the mother of twin boys, Billy and Alex. She had just gone to drop off her husband’s computer when, when it happened,” she finished, breaking down.

	“My, my name’s Molly Cassidy. I just moved here from Dublin, and my, my husband…” Molly said, drifting away into tears. Janice locked her fingers into Molly’s hand; Molly looked up with her teary red eyes and managed a thankful smile.

	“Richard. Richard Mann. The night before, I, I had a horrible fight with my wife. She had taken our daughter, Eliza, with her that day, and she was expecting in a few months. But she was forced to work because of our money problems. I guess Fate had already determined the death of my wife and to-be child. But I’ll, for the rest of my life, hold myself responsible for my daughter’s death. She was so sweet, so young, she didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

	“My son, my only son, the first in our extended family to do so well 
in life, I lost him on September 11th. I roamed around for hours after it happened, carrying a poster with my son’s picture. A man who had seen him running up the stairs saw my poster. That man was lucky enough to survive. My son was not. He’s gone now, forever. I’ll, I’ll never see him.. aga…ag…” 

	The circle finished, remained unbroken. Six pairs of hands connected, gave strength and courage to carry on the struggle, to remember, and never forget.