Ten years since

For reasons I can't put into words, I spent some time on YouTube yesterday, looking up footage and sound clips from that awful, awful day 10 years ago.

I felt truly compelled to do so. Compelled because I'd talked with my sister about a story on the news, featuring the recording of a flight attendant calling from one of those doomed flights. The people first receiving the message couldn't quite believe what they were hearing. Attack? Not a test? And then, when it was confirmed, they were all business.

I listened to some heartbreaking stuff on that website. Last recordings from many, calls to emergency operators who began as hopeful lifelines and became instead a last contact, a companion for death. There were a few clips that, after reading the comments below them, I chose not to hear. There are some voices that I don't want to have in my head permanently.

But I have a choice; I can simply click elsewhere. Those people who died had very little choices remaining for them. Burn, choke, or jump? Sit in fear or attack your attackers? Get yourself out or go back for others and risk your own neck?

I will never forget what evil people did that day. I will never become complacent. I don't want to—that's what compels me to listen to the recordings and watch those towers crumple into the ground over and over. I believe that not all Muslims are killers, just like I believe that I'm not represented by the extreme Christian factions who bomb abortion clinics. But I also know that my savior is a proponent of love, and forgiveness. And whomever those people worship doesn't condone that sort of thing for anyone who doesn't share the same beliefs.

They're out there, right now, plotting. Planning. They might even be in your town. Don't become complacent. Don't think that things are different now. Hang a flag, and shamelessly put your hand on your heart when you speak the anthem or sing a song about our country. Pray. Try sincerely to be good and forgive. But do not rest easily. We're not dealing with mere people here; I believe we are dealing with Satan's soldiers.

Vladimir Putin: "We are as dust to them."

Mel: Yes, that about captures it. I'm willing to be dust to God, but not to those bastards.


NOTE: At least Google kindly decided to acknowledge the event, in its own small way, for the first time. FINALLY.

Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the law

Recently I stepped into a realm that I try to avoid: the criminal realm.

I forgot to get the car inspected.

It just sneaked up on me. There I was, driving carefully and cautiously, using turn signals faithfully, even congratulating myself on the fact that both vehicles were legally registered with PennDOT for another year. And irksomely, out of nowhere, a thought leapt into my mind: inspected? Hmmmmm.

By the time I’d come to a permanent stop and stepped out of the car, the thought was gone. I never glanced at that stupid little sticker on the windshield. When I did remember to check, a few days later, a horrified gasp escaped me. Yep—expired. Not just expired: a couple of days expired.

I called the dealership in a panic, told them my sad, scatterbrained story. They were untouched; they’d heard it before, I’m certain. They had no openings for a week. But, but, I have to drive places! We need food! We need to go to church! We need to tour the preschool on Monday!!! Couldn’t you…? No, they couldn’t. Thursday was the day.

I took the appointment and said a prayer that the police wouldn’t notice my very basic, beige-ish little sedan scooting unlawfully around the area. We cancelled some unnecessary trips, continued on the local jaunts that couldn’t be avoided, and to make a long story short, we made it. I wasn’t stopped during that week, and the car passed inspection on the designated day.

But the brief foray into lawlessness reminded me that, quite frankly, I’m not cut out for this lifestyle. I’m a pansy, a wimp, a coward. I do not have the personality to dwell outside of the established boundaries of legality. I don’t mind not fitting in, and I’ve long grown accustomed to being unstylish. Although I occasionally yearn for some of the current electronic gadgetry, I’ll also readily admit that to me, Bluetooth sounds like a horrible dental condition.

And yet…I am not comfortable being outside of the law. I fear the men in blue. I know they’re my friends, UNLESS. And when I’m functioning in the “unless” state, I cower and cringe and glance over my shoulder. My week or so of being uninspected brought back every other time I’ve been outside of the law. And don’t try to tell me you don’t know what I mean. Come on, now. You can think of some experiences you’ve had when you weren’t playing by the book, either.

The whole week, every time we set foot in that car, my heart beat with trepidation. Every siren or flashing light caused a little quake in my soul. I was uneasy. I felt guilty; I felt like a scofflaw.

So, next year, I’ll try to be more on top of things. Because it’s the responsible thing to do, of course—but mostly because I’m not cut out to be a criminal. It’s downright unbecoming on anyone, and especially so in the mirror.

Reality check

Driving along a local highway, Saturday morning. On my way to run an errand. Traveling a little over the speed limit, listening to the radio, checking the clock, enjoying the sunshine. Without warning, a police car ahead, on the shoulder, lights flashing. Great, a speed check. I’ll probably get a ticket, since there aren’t many people out yet—slim pickins increases my chances. Nice.

But no. The cop doesn’t budge. He’s just sitting there in his cruiser, watching the cars in his rearview, undoubtedly noticing the distinct decrease in speed that comes as soon as each driver spots him. And then I notice that from the cop car onward, there are flares. Lit flares. And more police cars, a handful of them. And a fire truck.

And a wrecked car.

The car is a PT Cruiser convertible. It’s literally crumpled into an embankment along the road. The car is on its side, and thankfully there’s no sign of a driver or passenger. But I can see that the roof was down when it wrecked. I can see it’s in pretty bad shape. And I can also see, now that I’m passing the destroyed vehicle, that there is an ambulance at this scene. An ambulance that, while sitting along the roadside with lights revolving, does not appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere.

That’s not a good sign.

And in that second, I’m reminded of the tenuous filament that holds our souls to this little revolving rock. One minute, someone was joy-riding, wind in his hair, no cares. And now? Who knows. The stationary paramedic vehicle isn’t filling me with much hope.

Then, I am past. The open road stretches before me once again; accident and flashing lights and rescue personnel are left behind to pick up the pieces—perhaps of broken headlights and mirrors, perhaps of a life lost. I leave the scene, but not the moment. I slow down a tad; I turn the radio off. The image of that ruined car and the ambulance sitting still remains with me like a distant wail: bearable because it is not mine, but impossible to ignore.