Four years ago tonight, I was soaking in a brand new hot tub in Aurora, CO, drinking wine coolers, smoking Marlboro Lights, listening to Lee Greenwood, and watching the footage of the World Trade Center destruction play over and over and over again on CNN or any channel we turned to. Later, when we were outside in the steaming water, the window open so we could hear the TV, we looked up in wonder and a little terror, the primeval terror of the unknown, as we heard the sonic booms of fighter aircraft take off from a nearby Air Force base. Our voices burbled over one another as we began to explain to each other the fact that military aircraft were flying overhead, it was ok, nothing to be alarmed by. But everything alarmed us that night. We were together and we were safe, but what did that mean anymore, what did anything mean?
It was a month ago yesterday that I spoke to her last. Only a month. The last time. How can that be?
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