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Another Day of Perfect Blue Sky
I’ve tried to write this entry for days, but haven’t quite managed yet. If you’re actually reading this, you know how far I got.
There is a lot to say—and nothing that probably hasn’t been said already. I was in Washington that day, having moved to start college less than three weeks before, and my family was at home in New York. We all have memories, lots of memories, of panic and consternation and confusion and despair and cursing at phone companies. Those memories are still here and clear, vividly clear, and will probably never fade no matter how much time passes.
But if one thing has changed in the years since—if only for me—it is that those memories no longer hold this date hostage; the recollections have managed to divorce themselves from the pain. There are other, happier associations with the 11th of September now, and I intend to hold onto them with the same tenacity as the others.
Osito, thank you for suggesting that perfect swim in the warmth of the Pacific last year. Today’s sky here was just a perfect a blue as it was in San Diego, and it was just as easy to remember the best parts of being alive as it did when sun and water kissed my skin. It was just as easy to remember that no matter how much they want it, I have too many reasons to not cede this date to vengeful murders and intolerant fanatics.
We will never, can never, forget.