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Oct. 12th, 2001 01:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
johnpalmer>
> The loss of the rescue workers was really what made the World
> Trade Center and Pentagon attacks 'real' to me. Today I decided to
> write through some of that pain. I'm not sure if it 'worked',
> because, well, what I've got is a super-simple story that's a bit of a
> morality play. But I don't think it's a bad one, so I guess it's
> probably worth sharing. Feel free to let me know what you think.
> Being dead gives you perspective. That's not all it does, but
> sometimes it's enough.
>
> So I knew what to do when the fireman came running out of the
> cloud, with a still form in his arms. I grabbed it away, and nodded.
> If I had been alive, I'd have started crying, because dog gone it if
> the guy didn't turn back around. Countless tons of cement and steel
> falling down around him, and he's ready to turn around and see if he
> can rescue someone else.
>
> But it was hitting him now, and he looked into my arms, and
> saw the fading form he'd been carrying. You can't carry a soul, of
> course, but if you're refusing to let go when you cross over, you
> might show up carrying a spiritual mannequin. I nodded to him as the
> last of the mannequin faded, confirming what he'd already guessed.
>
> He put his face in his hands, and was learning there aren't
> any tears here, but I let him go. If a hero wants to cry, I sure
> won't stop him. I just checked the books, found his favorite drink,
> and got it for him.
>
> Oh, we don't need to eat and drink, and once you've been here
> a while, you mostly give it up, but there are memories, and we can
> give them shape, and those who are new still need them.
>
> It was hot chocolate, with a little rosette of whipped cream
> floating on top. It had to be a rosette; if it wasn't a "fwower!" as
> he'd said when he was just learning to talk, it just wasn't right.
> Once he was ready, I handed it to him, and I was relieved to see he'd
> settled things some. Some folks start crying again from a memory of
> their life, because the change is just so big.
>
> "Shoulda told Meatball," I told him, referring to the nickname
> of the cook at the firehouse. "He'd have teased you about it
> mercilessly, you know... but he'd have made sure you had a perfect
> flower every time, too."
>
> Yeah, he'd settled. He smiled, and he didn't care that he'd
> missed a chance to have fun with ol' Meatball, because he knew the
> important thing was that he loved Meatball like a brother, and now he
> knew for sure that Meatball loved him the same way.
>
> So we chatted for a bit about life, and let me tell you,
> that's one of the finest parts of the job. Just about everyone is
> beautiful, you know, and I never get tired of seeing that beauty, or
> the incredible variety of ways it showed itself.
>
> But, while that's the part I love, it's also part of what I
> hate, because once a soul's settled in enough to talk, that's when the
> demons try to take him.
>
> "It was useless! Useless and worthless!" the first demon
> screamed, and he jumped, let me tell you, because it was naming his
> fear. But like I said, being dead gives you perspective. Sure, he
> hadn't pulled anyone out on that last mission... but you had to go in,
> you had to try, because you never knew if it was possible or not until
> you'd given it all you had. The demon screamed in frustration and
> vanished.
>
> "You failed!" screamed the second, and that one hit even
> closer to home. But he got that one even quicker. Once you're here,
> you can't help but notice how fragile and weak those meat machines
> really are. You can't help but notice how hard it is to do anything,
> and how death is waiting just seconds away all the time. If getting
> hit beaten by fate and interrupted by death was failure, there wasn't
> anything worth being called a "success".
>
> When there wasn't a third one, I got scared, because I was
> pretty sure what that meant, and I was right. We took a walk (yeah,
> we don't need to walk, but trust me, it's easier at first if you
> pretend to use your legs), and his eyes fell on another recent entry.
>
> I'm sure you've guessed what he saw. A guy with Middle
> Eastern features, who thought he was a Muslim (and if he was lucky, my
> boss wouldn't decide to tell him exactly how wrong he was). He had
> his three demons too, and one was tearing into his gut with sharp
> little claws. The other two were taking turns using the box cutter.
>
> I don't think it's fair, making a man face one of his murderers
> that quick, but I don't make the rules.
>
> I don't break 'em, either, but sometimes I bend 'em. So I
> said "Look at him!" and pointed. I hoped he followed what I was
> pointing at.
>
> I won't deny it, once he realized what was going on, he got a
> bit of a smirk on his face. He even laughed a bit when he heard the
> demons scream "we're taking this plane!" and then screeching their
> evil, mocking laughter. But then he did 'look at him', and I
> breathed... that is, I didn't breathe... well, I pretended to sigh in
> relief.
>
> He looked at the hatred first, and who can blame him? It was
> fascinatingly ugly, all twisted and hot and kind of glowing orange,
> like a super-hot piece of metal. But then thank... well, thank you-
> know-who, it's a bit funny to use names around here, but anyway, he
> looked at the real ugliness.
>
> Indifference. Like a black hole, it seemed to suck in
> everything. How else could anyone help crash a plane into a building,
> killing thousands of people who never did them any harm? There had to
> be indifference, sucking in everything, and leaving his life empty.
>
> Oh, yeah, hate looks more dangerous, more evil, but let me
> tell you, more damage is done by people who just don't care about what
> damage they do, than is done out of hatred. You can't even keep up a
> good hate without indifference to the person you hate. If you care at
> all about someone, you can be angry, but you can't keep hating them
> forever.
>
> I guess I shouldn't have been scared. I guess I should have
> know this guy had the right stuff. But damn if he didn't reach out to
> the terrorist's soul, hoping to pull it to freedom, and damn if he
> didn't give it a hell of a try, too.
>
> It really was hopeless, though. The demons couldn't touch
> him, sure, but he couldn't remove indifference, or hate, from a
> terrorist who, even now, clutched at them as if they were precious.
>
> Now, I don't want to hammer a point home too hard, but, like I
> said, you get perspective here. He realized it was impossible, and
> stopped.
>
> "Jesus," he said, and please don't laugh too hard at him.
> There's a reason you keep quiet on the names around here, and suddenly
> finding himself face to face with the famous rabbi himself just
> freaked him out. But just like tears are left behind in life, so is
> embarrassment for the most part, and soon all three of us were
> laughing it up. We walked on, but unfortunately, not before promising
> to stop by for dinner. Okay, yeah, it's an honor, and yeah, you don't
> have to eat, but it's habit, and though the company is great, and the
> wine is superb, fish and barley loves for five thousand gets old. I
> think it gets old for Jesus, too, but someone always wants to see just
> how that miracle worked, and no one wants to disappoint them.
>
> "So, you think you're ready?" I asked him and he nodded.
> "Then, here," I said, and handed him a T-shirt. He looked at it; it
> was a really nice one, comfy and stylish, at least as T-shirts go, and
> he admired the picture of the Jester's cap for a couple minutes before
> asking about it. He knew it was good, but he hadn't caught on to why.
>
> "That, m'friend, is for you, because you're a fool. One of
> those who spent their lives rushing in where even the angels would
> fear to tread."
>
> This time it didn't hurt to see him remember that there
> weren't any tears here, because it wasn't pain that was causing it
> now... just the weird kind of pride and honor that comes from
> realizing that, yes, we'd been watching him, and yes, we understood,
> and you bet we were cheering him on every step of the way.
>
> And as he finished up, I could see he had some questions, so I
> stuck around a bit, even though there was a nasty backlog building up.
>
> "That guy, the terrorist... he put himself there, didn't he?"
> he asked, but he didn't even really need to see me nod to know he was
> right. Remember, perspective... of course you build your own bits of
> heaven and hell. Who else could do it as well?
>
> "Okay, but what about the tests?" he asked. I think he knew,
> but I think he wanted to hear it. Well, if he did, then I sure wanted
> him to hear it so why not?
>
> "Well, you always knew you'd miss some of the important ones,
> right? You always knew sometimes someone would die and you couldn't
> do a thing about it. But you knew you weren't useless, even though
> you felt that way after you lost one, because you knew you were going
> to keep on trying.
>
> "And you always knew there was a chance you'd hit something
> too big for you, and then, bang, you're gone, and there's one less
> person to help. But you knew that it's not a failure when can't do
> the impossible. Failure's only when you give up on the important
> stuff that really is possible.
>
> "And finally, when you realized that poor bastard was already
> in a hell of his own making, and knew he couldn't hurt anyone ever
> again, sure you tried to help, because you never asked if the people
> you protected deserved your help.
>
> "You lived well... you died well. And, you loved well.
> There's nothing else anyone will ever need to know about you to know
> where you belong."
>
> Yeah, I was right. He knew it. But I was also right that
> he'd wanted to hear it, and what's a few minutes of my time next to
> making one of our heros happy?
>
> But I was getting antsy about the backlog. I guess he knew
> that because he jumped right into his final point.
>
> "Can I help?" he asked, gesturing back to you folks. I smiled
> sadly and shook my head.
>
> "Not for a long time. It takes lots of practice."
>
> "Can you, then? Can you at least take them a message?"
>
> "It's the least I could do," I said.
>
> "Tell them... tell them to remember me. And my brothers. And
> all the people that were in there. That's just wrong, and they have
> to stop it. But not by killing more of my brothers, and more innocent
> people, wherever they live."
>
> "It might take a war. People die in a war, you know," I
> reminded him.
>
> "Yeah... but they can try. They can make sure that no one
> innocent suffers unless it just can't be helped. They can do their
> damnedest to take down the bad guys, hard, and lay off the rest as
> best they can."
>
> "I'll tell as many folks as I can. I can't promise they'll
> listen... but I'll do my best," I said.
>
> He was really starting to 'get' things now, because he felt
> what I said, just like I meant it. He heard the silent "just like you
> always did" at the end of my promise. He was still worried about all
> the people he wouldn't be there to protect anymore, but, well... Never
> mind. You don't need to hear the P word again, do you?
>
> So, as he "walked" off, I got back to my post. Off in the
> distance I could see a man cut badly, thinking he was still struggling
> with a highjacker, not realizing the battle had already been won, with
> the crash of a plane far from its target. Well, I'd been hoping for
> Meatball, so I could tell him about the flowers, but who could ask for
> more than helping a hero land comfortably?
>
> Well, I could... I could ask that the message I promised to
> spread will be heard. I really hope someone's listening.
> The loss of the rescue workers was really what made the World
> Trade Center and Pentagon attacks 'real' to me. Today I decided to
> write through some of that pain. I'm not sure if it 'worked',
> because, well, what I've got is a super-simple story that's a bit of a
> morality play. But I don't think it's a bad one, so I guess it's
> probably worth sharing. Feel free to let me know what you think.
> Being dead gives you perspective. That's not all it does, but
> sometimes it's enough.
>
> So I knew what to do when the fireman came running out of the
> cloud, with a still form in his arms. I grabbed it away, and nodded.
> If I had been alive, I'd have started crying, because dog gone it if
> the guy didn't turn back around. Countless tons of cement and steel
> falling down around him, and he's ready to turn around and see if he
> can rescue someone else.
>
> But it was hitting him now, and he looked into my arms, and
> saw the fading form he'd been carrying. You can't carry a soul, of
> course, but if you're refusing to let go when you cross over, you
> might show up carrying a spiritual mannequin. I nodded to him as the
> last of the mannequin faded, confirming what he'd already guessed.
>
> He put his face in his hands, and was learning there aren't
> any tears here, but I let him go. If a hero wants to cry, I sure
> won't stop him. I just checked the books, found his favorite drink,
> and got it for him.
>
> Oh, we don't need to eat and drink, and once you've been here
> a while, you mostly give it up, but there are memories, and we can
> give them shape, and those who are new still need them.
>
> It was hot chocolate, with a little rosette of whipped cream
> floating on top. It had to be a rosette; if it wasn't a "fwower!" as
> he'd said when he was just learning to talk, it just wasn't right.
> Once he was ready, I handed it to him, and I was relieved to see he'd
> settled things some. Some folks start crying again from a memory of
> their life, because the change is just so big.
>
> "Shoulda told Meatball," I told him, referring to the nickname
> of the cook at the firehouse. "He'd have teased you about it
> mercilessly, you know... but he'd have made sure you had a perfect
> flower every time, too."
>
> Yeah, he'd settled. He smiled, and he didn't care that he'd
> missed a chance to have fun with ol' Meatball, because he knew the
> important thing was that he loved Meatball like a brother, and now he
> knew for sure that Meatball loved him the same way.
>
> So we chatted for a bit about life, and let me tell you,
> that's one of the finest parts of the job. Just about everyone is
> beautiful, you know, and I never get tired of seeing that beauty, or
> the incredible variety of ways it showed itself.
>
> But, while that's the part I love, it's also part of what I
> hate, because once a soul's settled in enough to talk, that's when the
> demons try to take him.
>
> "It was useless! Useless and worthless!" the first demon
> screamed, and he jumped, let me tell you, because it was naming his
> fear. But like I said, being dead gives you perspective. Sure, he
> hadn't pulled anyone out on that last mission... but you had to go in,
> you had to try, because you never knew if it was possible or not until
> you'd given it all you had. The demon screamed in frustration and
> vanished.
>
> "You failed!" screamed the second, and that one hit even
> closer to home. But he got that one even quicker. Once you're here,
> you can't help but notice how fragile and weak those meat machines
> really are. You can't help but notice how hard it is to do anything,
> and how death is waiting just seconds away all the time. If getting
> hit beaten by fate and interrupted by death was failure, there wasn't
> anything worth being called a "success".
>
> When there wasn't a third one, I got scared, because I was
> pretty sure what that meant, and I was right. We took a walk (yeah,
> we don't need to walk, but trust me, it's easier at first if you
> pretend to use your legs), and his eyes fell on another recent entry.
>
> I'm sure you've guessed what he saw. A guy with Middle
> Eastern features, who thought he was a Muslim (and if he was lucky, my
> boss wouldn't decide to tell him exactly how wrong he was). He had
> his three demons too, and one was tearing into his gut with sharp
> little claws. The other two were taking turns using the box cutter.
>
> I don't think it's fair, making a man face one of his murderers
> that quick, but I don't make the rules.
>
> I don't break 'em, either, but sometimes I bend 'em. So I
> said "Look at him!" and pointed. I hoped he followed what I was
> pointing at.
>
> I won't deny it, once he realized what was going on, he got a
> bit of a smirk on his face. He even laughed a bit when he heard the
> demons scream "we're taking this plane!" and then screeching their
> evil, mocking laughter. But then he did 'look at him', and I
> breathed... that is, I didn't breathe... well, I pretended to sigh in
> relief.
>
> He looked at the hatred first, and who can blame him? It was
> fascinatingly ugly, all twisted and hot and kind of glowing orange,
> like a super-hot piece of metal. But then thank... well, thank you-
> know-who, it's a bit funny to use names around here, but anyway, he
> looked at the real ugliness.
>
> Indifference. Like a black hole, it seemed to suck in
> everything. How else could anyone help crash a plane into a building,
> killing thousands of people who never did them any harm? There had to
> be indifference, sucking in everything, and leaving his life empty.
>
> Oh, yeah, hate looks more dangerous, more evil, but let me
> tell you, more damage is done by people who just don't care about what
> damage they do, than is done out of hatred. You can't even keep up a
> good hate without indifference to the person you hate. If you care at
> all about someone, you can be angry, but you can't keep hating them
> forever.
>
> I guess I shouldn't have been scared. I guess I should have
> know this guy had the right stuff. But damn if he didn't reach out to
> the terrorist's soul, hoping to pull it to freedom, and damn if he
> didn't give it a hell of a try, too.
>
> It really was hopeless, though. The demons couldn't touch
> him, sure, but he couldn't remove indifference, or hate, from a
> terrorist who, even now, clutched at them as if they were precious.
>
> Now, I don't want to hammer a point home too hard, but, like I
> said, you get perspective here. He realized it was impossible, and
> stopped.
>
> "Jesus," he said, and please don't laugh too hard at him.
> There's a reason you keep quiet on the names around here, and suddenly
> finding himself face to face with the famous rabbi himself just
> freaked him out. But just like tears are left behind in life, so is
> embarrassment for the most part, and soon all three of us were
> laughing it up. We walked on, but unfortunately, not before promising
> to stop by for dinner. Okay, yeah, it's an honor, and yeah, you don't
> have to eat, but it's habit, and though the company is great, and the
> wine is superb, fish and barley loves for five thousand gets old. I
> think it gets old for Jesus, too, but someone always wants to see just
> how that miracle worked, and no one wants to disappoint them.
>
> "So, you think you're ready?" I asked him and he nodded.
> "Then, here," I said, and handed him a T-shirt. He looked at it; it
> was a really nice one, comfy and stylish, at least as T-shirts go, and
> he admired the picture of the Jester's cap for a couple minutes before
> asking about it. He knew it was good, but he hadn't caught on to why.
>
> "That, m'friend, is for you, because you're a fool. One of
> those who spent their lives rushing in where even the angels would
> fear to tread."
>
> This time it didn't hurt to see him remember that there
> weren't any tears here, because it wasn't pain that was causing it
> now... just the weird kind of pride and honor that comes from
> realizing that, yes, we'd been watching him, and yes, we understood,
> and you bet we were cheering him on every step of the way.
>
> And as he finished up, I could see he had some questions, so I
> stuck around a bit, even though there was a nasty backlog building up.
>
> "That guy, the terrorist... he put himself there, didn't he?"
> he asked, but he didn't even really need to see me nod to know he was
> right. Remember, perspective... of course you build your own bits of
> heaven and hell. Who else could do it as well?
>
> "Okay, but what about the tests?" he asked. I think he knew,
> but I think he wanted to hear it. Well, if he did, then I sure wanted
> him to hear it so why not?
>
> "Well, you always knew you'd miss some of the important ones,
> right? You always knew sometimes someone would die and you couldn't
> do a thing about it. But you knew you weren't useless, even though
> you felt that way after you lost one, because you knew you were going
> to keep on trying.
>
> "And you always knew there was a chance you'd hit something
> too big for you, and then, bang, you're gone, and there's one less
> person to help. But you knew that it's not a failure when can't do
> the impossible. Failure's only when you give up on the important
> stuff that really is possible.
>
> "And finally, when you realized that poor bastard was already
> in a hell of his own making, and knew he couldn't hurt anyone ever
> again, sure you tried to help, because you never asked if the people
> you protected deserved your help.
>
> "You lived well... you died well. And, you loved well.
> There's nothing else anyone will ever need to know about you to know
> where you belong."
>
> Yeah, I was right. He knew it. But I was also right that
> he'd wanted to hear it, and what's a few minutes of my time next to
> making one of our heros happy?
>
> But I was getting antsy about the backlog. I guess he knew
> that because he jumped right into his final point.
>
> "Can I help?" he asked, gesturing back to you folks. I smiled
> sadly and shook my head.
>
> "Not for a long time. It takes lots of practice."
>
> "Can you, then? Can you at least take them a message?"
>
> "It's the least I could do," I said.
>
> "Tell them... tell them to remember me. And my brothers. And
> all the people that were in there. That's just wrong, and they have
> to stop it. But not by killing more of my brothers, and more innocent
> people, wherever they live."
>
> "It might take a war. People die in a war, you know," I
> reminded him.
>
> "Yeah... but they can try. They can make sure that no one
> innocent suffers unless it just can't be helped. They can do their
> damnedest to take down the bad guys, hard, and lay off the rest as
> best they can."
>
> "I'll tell as many folks as I can. I can't promise they'll
> listen... but I'll do my best," I said.
>
> He was really starting to 'get' things now, because he felt
> what I said, just like I meant it. He heard the silent "just like you
> always did" at the end of my promise. He was still worried about all
> the people he wouldn't be there to protect anymore, but, well... Never
> mind. You don't need to hear the P word again, do you?
>
> So, as he "walked" off, I got back to my post. Off in the
> distance I could see a man cut badly, thinking he was still struggling
> with a highjacker, not realizing the battle had already been won, with
> the crash of a plane far from its target. Well, I'd been hoping for
> Meatball, so I could tell him about the flowers, but who could ask for
> more than helping a hero land comfortably?
>
> Well, I could... I could ask that the message I promised to
> spread will be heard. I really hope someone's listening.
