Saturday, September 11, 2011
Ten years after the planes crashed into the Twin Towers, my family and I were homeless. We checked out of the hotel, and wandered around the town in our car. We spent all day in the car. Mom would stop, talk on her little pay-by-the-minute phone and get back in, and drive some more. Mom bought us an Adventures in Odyssey cd to listen to with her dwindling amount of money. I sat there, consumed with guilt, as I watched my life go by. It was all my fault. Somehow, it was.
We got a call from another dear friend of our's, I'll call them the Benedicks. Their family was a dad, mom, and two girls, Beatrice, who was Scott's age, and Lucy, Abraham's age. Anyway, Mrs. Benedick called and asked us what was going on. They had been close family friends since I was born. Mom cried as she stood out in the parking lot and retold what had happened.
They invited us to stay with them. Mom asked us kids, and we all agreed to go check it out. We were all very leery, after all who wouldn't be after such an ordeal? We went to the Benedick house, and decided we did want to stay. We had to go through a gate to get to their house, and it was out of town. They lived by our local lake, and it was peaceful. We liked that. Nobody knew where we were and nobody wanted to. Nobody would find us.
They had two dogs. One of them was a Boxer the other one a little rat terrier mix. Abraham and Lucy went downstairs, where the Boxer was. The next thing that we knew, Lucy rushed upstairs, telling us her Boxer had attacked Abraham and he was bleeding very bad. Mom rushed too him, but he had locked himself in the bathroom. We could hear him crying. Mom coaxed him to open the door and I saw that he was covered in blood, his lip was cut down the middle, he had a huge, gaping scratch on his little cheek near his eye.
I started crying and ran outside. I didn't want to stay there. I didn't. They cleaned him up, and started to convince Scott and I that it was alright.
That night we hamburgers, french fries, and onion rings that night for dinner. It was our first home cooked meal in 3 days, and I swear, it was the best meal I had ever had. It was a little sad actually.
We brought our meager belongings inside to the basement, where they had a spare bedroom. I had my own little bed at the foot of the bed. I was so glad. I still remember what that room smelled like. Antique clothes. It grew to be a sanctuary for me. I would sit in there and watch a movie, or read, or think. I still love that smell. It reminds me of being safe. I fell asleep that night and had no dreams.
During this time, my dad had gotten up. He thought we had come home, and he said he saw Scott. Dad also thought that there was all night prayer at the church, drove there, and hit mailboxes. There was no all night prayer. The police pulled him over, made him test for alcohol use, and sent him home. He told his dad he would get a physical on Tuesday. Why not today? We shall find that out soon. He put up a sign in the window "MOM DAD HELP". He was showing signs of a crazy person.
We were already living separate lives. While I slept peacefully, he was doing who knows what. It was the first time in a long time I had slept peacefully. There were no dreams, no nightmares, just peace.