Post by mey on Dec 11, 2011 20:34:25 GMT -5
*The past ten years had been a struggle for Mey to get back on her feet. Her Foster parents owned a small apartment about ten blocks away that every Fall the parents and one child would get to stay in, but even that far away, dust had covered every square inch outside. The Monday night before, Mey and her Foster Parents had come back on a plane from Virginia, leaving her Siblings back home. She had been feeling the effects of the pretty smooth flight even after getting off. Flying was definitely not her thing. She was 13 years old, feeling sick, but woke up in time to see her Uncle who had stopped by before going to work. He came in around 8:40 am to show little Mey where he worked. He pointed out at the two tallest skyscrapers and said "That one on the right, Tower 2, is where I work. Floor 63." She was drinking a cup of hot chocolate to help her wake up and trying to calm her sick stomach and rubbing her throbbing temples, when a sudden horror swept across the land. A gulf of flame spouted from the tower she had been staring at and debris started falling everywhere. Stunned, Mey started shaking, the half full cup falling to the wooden floor.
Mey remembers the rest of that day as clear as crystal, having had vivid nightmares about it for years after. The floors that were hit in the second tower were where her uncle would have been had he gone to work that day on time. So many of those people, all gone. Very few had been found by authorities, and none in whole pieces. The dust that had covered Lower Manhattan had taken months to clear, everyone working together to clean their city. Mey's parents had made sure to stay in their apartment the whole day till someone came knocking on the door. Two people had been sent by the police to scout the area for anyone who needed help or could help. They, along with thousands of others, began their mourning process with cleaning up.
Mey's parents never came back to the apartment, the memories too vivid for them. But Mey wanted to live there so she could watch the rebuilding of the 9/11 monument. It was three years later that she moved in, at age 16, to finish high school and find a job. She was now a waitress in a small, but prestigious diner in Lower Manhattan that produced just enough tips to allow her to stay in the apartment.
The nightmares had eventually gotten less horrid and less terrifying, allowing her to sleep again soundly. She had never truly been a supporter of the war, though she showed her country pride around patriots. War never solved anything, but zealots don't ever listen.
On the ten year anniversary, Mey had made sure to get off work and be at the ceremony. They only allowed her in because she went with her uncle, who had many friends who had died that day. Memories had flooded back, but now, instead of feelings of horror and sadness, were feelings of completion, of the wonderful feeling of putting the dead to rest. She never really made many friends in the past ten years, scared that something bad would happen again and she would have to go through the sorrow again. No friends, no special people in her life. Just her family back in Virginia.*
*Today was Mey's night off, and instead of going back to her apartment, she took the subway downtown where all the shops are. She had her list of Christmas gifts for her family and was determined to buy everything tonight. But she had to stop at her bank first. Cash her check then head to the shops. But as soon as she got to the bank, a strange feeling came over her to look in her Safety Deposit Box. She had them open it for her and looked inside. There were a few trinkets, lots of important papers and such, but nothing of extreme value. She looked through things, mostly documents about the Police Investigation when she was found in her parents' basement, birth certificate, passport, etc. She finally got to the bottom, where there was an old envelope that had never been opened. On the front was written a date and she realized this date had already passed. The date was May 2006, when she was 18. She put the box down with its other contents and opened the envelope.*
Dear Mey,
By now, you should be about eighteen years of age, though I'm sure you've forgotten this letter and found it much later in life. I am sure you remember meeting me when you were fifteen, in that park? You were with your foster parents, enjoying yourselves. Your father threw that frisbee too far and it landed quite literally in my lap. What a coincidence indeed.
You ran up to me with your smiling face and apologized for your father. It was no trouble and I gave it back to you. Instead of going off to play with your parents again, you stayed and asked me if there was anything you could do to help me, because I am unable to walk. I told you there was nothing you could do but smile and be a happy child. So you asked if we could talk and be friends. Your parents arrived and thought I looked suspicious, but you told them to go eat the picnic they had brought, that you were making a new friend.
We talked for two hours, about my life, about your life, about the world around us. But do you remember the question I asked that caught you off guard? I asked what your opinion was on mutants. I'm sure you had heard of them, but you did not know. Eventually, you told me that if they did not hurt people on purpose, that they did not bother you. I smiled, which made you smile back. Unexpectedly, you gave me a hug and ran back to your parents who were ready to go.
I would like you to know the truth about me. I wrote this letter after you left and, as you should remember, gave it to you the next week, the last time I would ever see you I thought. I did not want you to read it as soon as you could, because you would not understand, but now that you have matured and gone through life a few more years, I know you are ready.
Dear one, I am one of the mutants I talked about. I care for and teach young mutants who are developing their powers and do not understand their new found gifts. I am sure by now you have heard of those mutants who desire nothing but the destruction of humans? We are here to protect humankind from those extremists, though we are looked at as the same evil mutants. But it is not so. I believe in understanding what has been given to you, and using that to uplift and protect life, not destroy or control it.
When you gave me that hug, because of my own gifts, I saw something within you, something hidden deep that you won't let out. It involves your past, which I could tell you strive to push it out of sight and out of mind. I am telling you that by doing this, you are blocking something great inside of you. You have great potential that you cannot even see and until you face your past, you will never become what you were meant to be.
At the bottom of this letter is the address of the school I teach at. I trust you to keep this letter safe and I trust that you will not betray us. I hope to see you again and help you change your life for the better.
I am very excited to see you again.
Charles X.
*Mey sat there, feeling a thousand different feelings wash over her. She remembered that day, though it was a little foggy. That man seemed to be trustworthy, a random guy in the park who was in a cool looking wheelchair that she talked to for a few hours. Her parents sat watching the whole time and were a bit worried when she gave him a hug, but she assured him he was safe. They had gone back the next week and he was there again, parked in the same spot, listening to the rustle of the leaves. This time he had a letter, but he told her to wait to read it until the date that was written. He left soon after, and Mey kept that envelope secret and safe.
But now, reading what he was, having watched the news and following the politics about the mutants; she didn't know what to think. He trusted her with this information, with an address that seemed sacred to her. She did not want to disappointing this friendly man she had met so many years ago, so she memorized the address, then pocketed the letter. Mey put the box back, left the bank and tried to decide whether to go to the address, or shop for her family as intended. She stood outside the bank, people walking past her in herds, the frigid wind sending chills up her back.*
Mey remembers the rest of that day as clear as crystal, having had vivid nightmares about it for years after. The floors that were hit in the second tower were where her uncle would have been had he gone to work that day on time. So many of those people, all gone. Very few had been found by authorities, and none in whole pieces. The dust that had covered Lower Manhattan had taken months to clear, everyone working together to clean their city. Mey's parents had made sure to stay in their apartment the whole day till someone came knocking on the door. Two people had been sent by the police to scout the area for anyone who needed help or could help. They, along with thousands of others, began their mourning process with cleaning up.
Mey's parents never came back to the apartment, the memories too vivid for them. But Mey wanted to live there so she could watch the rebuilding of the 9/11 monument. It was three years later that she moved in, at age 16, to finish high school and find a job. She was now a waitress in a small, but prestigious diner in Lower Manhattan that produced just enough tips to allow her to stay in the apartment.
The nightmares had eventually gotten less horrid and less terrifying, allowing her to sleep again soundly. She had never truly been a supporter of the war, though she showed her country pride around patriots. War never solved anything, but zealots don't ever listen.
On the ten year anniversary, Mey had made sure to get off work and be at the ceremony. They only allowed her in because she went with her uncle, who had many friends who had died that day. Memories had flooded back, but now, instead of feelings of horror and sadness, were feelings of completion, of the wonderful feeling of putting the dead to rest. She never really made many friends in the past ten years, scared that something bad would happen again and she would have to go through the sorrow again. No friends, no special people in her life. Just her family back in Virginia.*
*Today was Mey's night off, and instead of going back to her apartment, she took the subway downtown where all the shops are. She had her list of Christmas gifts for her family and was determined to buy everything tonight. But she had to stop at her bank first. Cash her check then head to the shops. But as soon as she got to the bank, a strange feeling came over her to look in her Safety Deposit Box. She had them open it for her and looked inside. There were a few trinkets, lots of important papers and such, but nothing of extreme value. She looked through things, mostly documents about the Police Investigation when she was found in her parents' basement, birth certificate, passport, etc. She finally got to the bottom, where there was an old envelope that had never been opened. On the front was written a date and she realized this date had already passed. The date was May 2006, when she was 18. She put the box down with its other contents and opened the envelope.*
Dear Mey,
By now, you should be about eighteen years of age, though I'm sure you've forgotten this letter and found it much later in life. I am sure you remember meeting me when you were fifteen, in that park? You were with your foster parents, enjoying yourselves. Your father threw that frisbee too far and it landed quite literally in my lap. What a coincidence indeed.
You ran up to me with your smiling face and apologized for your father. It was no trouble and I gave it back to you. Instead of going off to play with your parents again, you stayed and asked me if there was anything you could do to help me, because I am unable to walk. I told you there was nothing you could do but smile and be a happy child. So you asked if we could talk and be friends. Your parents arrived and thought I looked suspicious, but you told them to go eat the picnic they had brought, that you were making a new friend.
We talked for two hours, about my life, about your life, about the world around us. But do you remember the question I asked that caught you off guard? I asked what your opinion was on mutants. I'm sure you had heard of them, but you did not know. Eventually, you told me that if they did not hurt people on purpose, that they did not bother you. I smiled, which made you smile back. Unexpectedly, you gave me a hug and ran back to your parents who were ready to go.
I would like you to know the truth about me. I wrote this letter after you left and, as you should remember, gave it to you the next week, the last time I would ever see you I thought. I did not want you to read it as soon as you could, because you would not understand, but now that you have matured and gone through life a few more years, I know you are ready.
Dear one, I am one of the mutants I talked about. I care for and teach young mutants who are developing their powers and do not understand their new found gifts. I am sure by now you have heard of those mutants who desire nothing but the destruction of humans? We are here to protect humankind from those extremists, though we are looked at as the same evil mutants. But it is not so. I believe in understanding what has been given to you, and using that to uplift and protect life, not destroy or control it.
When you gave me that hug, because of my own gifts, I saw something within you, something hidden deep that you won't let out. It involves your past, which I could tell you strive to push it out of sight and out of mind. I am telling you that by doing this, you are blocking something great inside of you. You have great potential that you cannot even see and until you face your past, you will never become what you were meant to be.
At the bottom of this letter is the address of the school I teach at. I trust you to keep this letter safe and I trust that you will not betray us. I hope to see you again and help you change your life for the better.
I am very excited to see you again.
Charles X.
*Mey sat there, feeling a thousand different feelings wash over her. She remembered that day, though it was a little foggy. That man seemed to be trustworthy, a random guy in the park who was in a cool looking wheelchair that she talked to for a few hours. Her parents sat watching the whole time and were a bit worried when she gave him a hug, but she assured him he was safe. They had gone back the next week and he was there again, parked in the same spot, listening to the rustle of the leaves. This time he had a letter, but he told her to wait to read it until the date that was written. He left soon after, and Mey kept that envelope secret and safe.
But now, reading what he was, having watched the news and following the politics about the mutants; she didn't know what to think. He trusted her with this information, with an address that seemed sacred to her. She did not want to disappointing this friendly man she had met so many years ago, so she memorized the address, then pocketed the letter. Mey put the box back, left the bank and tried to decide whether to go to the address, or shop for her family as intended. She stood outside the bank, people walking past her in herds, the frigid wind sending chills up her back.*
