Every few days over the next several months I will be posting installments of a novel about life, death, war and politics in America since 9/11. Through the Darkest of Nights is an intensely personal story of hope, reflection, determination, and redemption. It is a testament to the progressive values we all believe in, have always defended, and always will defend no matter how long this darkness lasts.
All installments are available for reading here on my page, and also here on Docudharma’s Fiction Page, where refuge from politicians, blogging overload, and one BushCo outrage after another can always be found.
On the last night of her life, Sarah undressed silently, lay down beside me, and turned out the bedside light without a word. She was usually very talkative, but that night she was solemn and seemed preoccupied. Lying on the same bed we shared that night, in the same hotel room, listening to the INXS song we loved so much, I remember our last hours together.
The music takes me back . . . I remember every moment . . .
“Is something wrong, Sarah?”
“It’s just that . . . I’m sorry Jericho, I just don’t want to go to that meeting tomorrow. I wish we could just stay here . . . .”
“I can go with you. You can meet me in Windows on the World after your meeting, we’ll have breakfast and then go to Central Park. If the forecast is right it’s going to be a beautiful day.”
“OK. I’d like that. But you don’t have to, I can just come back here. . .”
“I want to, Sarah. You must know why by now. What does our song say?”
She laughed. “Don’t ask me . . . what you know is true . . . don’t have to tell you. . . I love your precious heart.” She kissed me. “And what else does it say?”
“I was standing . . . you were there . . . two worlds collided. . . and they could never tear us apart . . .”
I held her in my arms, one kiss led to another, and we made love, we sought communion in this world of loneliness and heartbreak, and found it in each other. We consummated our passion, we drove the cruelty of the world away, we became one, moving with a rhythm as primal as it is transcendent, until the moment of release came, and the beating of our hearts subsided in the warm aftermath of our lovemaking.
I woke in the morning to the sound of the shower. I was drifting off to sleep again when Sarah called my name and asked if I was awake.
“Sort of . . . what time is it?”
“It’s time to bring me a towel.”
Not accustomed to fetching towels for naked women, I found the process interesting. In the warmth and steam of the bathroom, I pondered the selection available on the towel rack. “Do you want the pink towel, or the other pink towel?”
Sarah opened the shower door. Her wet skin glistening invitingly, she told me the choice was mine. After careful deliberation I selected the left pink towel and unfolded it. “I highly recommend this one, and would be happy to provide any further assistance you may require.”
“I’m seeing indications of the kind of assistance you have in mind.” Sarah’s eyes were appraising, her smile revealed her interest in pursuing the full range of enticing options available to us. “But it’s almost eight o’clock and I have to get to the Trade Center.”
“We have to get to the Trade Center.”
“You don’t have to go. I’ll just get this meeting over with and be back at ten.” She stepped out of the shower. Being assertive, demure and seductive at the same time is a fascinating combination.
“You’re so beautiful, Sarah.”
“You probably say that to all the naked women your bring a towel to.”
I didn’t hand her the towel, I toweled her dry myself. Sarah saw the desire in my eyes, then reached out and tenderly closed them with her fingertips. “You must listen to me now, Jericho. Are you listening?”
“I’m listening . . . I’m listening more closely than I have ever listened to anyone in my whole life.”
Sarah embraced me, and whispered in my ear.
“That doesn’t matter, Sarah, I love you.”
“I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I’ve been waiting for the right time.”
“Sarah, it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t.”
“If this meeting doesn’t go well, its going to matter. It’s going to matter to a lot of people.”
Chastened, I watched Sarah get dressed, then pulled on some jeans and a shirt and walked down to the street with her. “We all have wings, Jericho. Never forget that.”
“But some of us don’t know why.”
“Most of us don’t even know we have wings, much less why.” Sarah kissed me. “Not yet, but understanding is coming. For everyone. It’s not far away, it’s finally within reach.”
I cherish that last embrace, that last kiss, those last words of comfort in those last minutes of peace under that beautiful September sky.
An hour later I saw the Towers burning. Sarah never had a chance, she was on the 98th floor of the North Tower. I watched as people fell. I watched as fathers fell . . . as mothers fell . . . as husbands fell. . . as wives fell. . . I watched them fall, I watched them all fall, I watched everything fall on that long, awful morning when two worlds collided.
I have never felt such horror, such helplessness.
I don’t understand death, Sarah. Is it nothingness? Am I just communing with a memory? Loneliness, I understand that very well. I understand regret. I understand weariness. They’re always with me. They never leave. They’ve been my dark companions ever since the fire and horror of that morning tore us apart, leaving nothing behind but ashes on the autumn wind.
I still feel your presence, Sarah, every day and every night. I think about our unborn children, of the home we never had. When I am in need of comfort, I whisper your name in the darkest hours of the night, when all is cold and still. I can’t bear the thought of going out alone on the highways of this misbegotten land, but I must. I tell myself to remember how transforming love can be, so my grief won’t overwhelm me. I tell myself you’re waiting for me somewhere, I have to believe that once I’ve traveled my last mile, I’ll see you again, and I’ll find peace in your arms.
Until then, Sarah, I have promises to keep, and I will keep them. Until then . . . wherever you are . . . whatever you have become:
Don’t ask me
What you know is true
Don’t have to tell you
I love your precious heart.
I was standing
You were there
Two worlds collided
And they could never tear us apart . . .
You told me
That we could fly
Cause we all have wings
But some of us . . . don’t know why..
I know why we all have wings, Sarah. You told me why. Now I must tell others why. I am weary of falsehoods. I am weary of the lies we are being told. I long for the truth. It lies ahead of me and I will find it.
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The dialogue is realistic too.
Did you get hot writing the bathroom scene?
I’ve got heart palpitations and tears going on at the same time. Gorgeous!!!
makes me v. sad… and missing people i’ve lost…
lots of love stuff going on in this blog today… and funny, i love inxs
Herr Rusty.
Coincidently I was listening to this as I read:
Send Me An Angel
Of course we do! Anyone would be daft not to.