Shoot Club: after September 11, 2001
(The following short story appeared on Quarter to Three on September 18, 2001.)
On September 11, 2001
I woke up to the sound of the TV in the front room. It was Trevor, watching something. He doesn’t live with me or anything. But there he was, watching the World Trade Center bleed smoke.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Something that matters,” he said, without turning around.
We watched. It didn’t occur to me to wonder why he was here.
“I better go see how my Mom’s doing,” he said and then he was gone. I kept watching. When I finally stepped outside to check the mail, nearly ten hours later and still in my robe, I noticed the front door was still locked from the inside.
It could have been a dream or something. Trevor being here, watching the coverage. Maybe it was just some sort of narrative device. I didn’t really understand at first. But it makes sense now. The people we know, how we know them, how we look at them. Those rules are a little different now.
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