When the Dust Settles

Last week, as a new school year began on this campus, The New York Times carried several items.

1. The Bush Administration has secret information supporting its claims that Saddam Hussein poses an unacceptable threat to the world...
2. About 110 Pakistanis held in Afghanistan on suspicion of having fought for the Taliban will be released...
3. The senate kicked off a contentious debate Tuesday on president Bush’s blueprint for a Homeland Security Department...*

It seems they left out some rather important news.  There were at least three stories that did not appear.  Though they affected far fewer people, they were surely fit to print.  All three events appeared here, on this campus.

(I have changed the names to protect the innocent.)

1. In Dorward Hall Alaysia Salvia, 18, took a break from her Accounting homework and turned on her radio, trying to find some good music.  As she hit the CBC station, she could hear the sound of a woman calling home and leaving a message.  She said, “the other tower has been hit, we are evacuating.  I’ll call you again.”  Then a second call from the same voice, “I am on the stairs, it’s crowded, but I think I’m going to be ok.  I’ll see you if I get down.”  Another message simply said, “Something has gone wrong here on the plane.  I love you.  Be strong.  Enjoy your lives.”

Alaysia turned off the radio, set her head on her pillow, and stared up at the ceiling where she had pinned an American flag.  At once her body rose from the bed, slipped out the window, across campus, over the state of Maine, through New England and arrived in New York City 358 days earlier, where she set to work.  In a matter of minutes, she intercepted four planes, set them safely on the ground, and turned over eighteen hijackers to the authorities.

Alaysia shook her head and started to get up from bed.  Seeing the picture of her 9th grade summer camp friend on her trunk next to the bed, she picked it up, tried to brush the dust from it, and held it close to her chest.  She set her head on her pillow again, thinking about the fun they might have had.  Once more her body rose from the bed, slipped out the window, across campus, over the state of Maine, through New England and arrived in New York City 358 days earlier, where she set to work.  She pulled 118 people, including three children (two on her back and one in her arms) from the wreck.

All this made Alaysia rather tired.  She slept for a long time.

2.  The New York Times also did not report the strange event in Torrey Hall.  On the first day of Introduction to Humanities, it seems that two professors appeared for the same class.  Though they looked and dressed exactly alike, they were clearly different.

According to students interviewed later, the one professor said, “In this class we will be studying the history of humankind in all of its wonder, from the paintings on the Lascaux caves to the music of Louis Armstrong.”

The other said, “In this class we will be studying war, famine, hatred, genocide, destruction, and greed.”

The one said, “We will study Dante, Shakespeare, Michelangelo, Mozart, Shelley, and Picasso.”

The other said, “We will study Hitler, Idi Amin, Pol Pot, Muammar Gadhafi, and Slobodan Milosivic.”

The one said, “We will discuss important ideas, such as democracy, progress, freedom, revolution, and love.”

The other said, “We will discuss the Native American genocide, African-American slavery, Japanese-American concentration camps, the Ku Klux Klan, the Molly McGuires, Sacco and Vanzetti, and Matthew Shepard.”

The one said, we will begin our course with a reading from James Thurber’s “The Last Flower:”

This time the destruction was so complete
That nothing at all that was left was in the world
Except One Man, One Woman, and One flower.

The other said, we will begin our course with a reading from T .S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men:”

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

The two professors apparently decided to discuss their differences with a walk to the water fountain.  A minute later, only one professor returned, patting the dust from his blue jacket and straightening his tie.  With a streamlined syllabus, class resumed.

Similar events were noted in Intro to Sociology, World History, and six other classes.
3. The New York Times also did not report a third item.  This one took place on the hill just outside of Sennett Hall overlooking Powers Hall, the flagpole, and Route 1.

According to reliable sources, two young people, Jamie Wisocki and Bret Burnes, sat next to each other around nine in the evening.  Michelle said, “It’s hard to understand, I mean my father had a ton of money in the stock market.  He lost most of it.  We had to sell our house.  Now they live in this generic apartment with bland neighbors.”

Brett said, “Tell me about it.  My mother hasn’t smiled in twelve months.  She has a candle lit by the window.  She kneels at it for at least an hour every day.  She’s praying that they will find her college roommate’s body.  I can’t tell her that all the digging is done.  She won’t listen.”

“One of those little candles in a red glass thingy?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah.  I wish she’d pray for me,” Brett replied.  “I am going to need all the help I can get, if I am going to be teaching in high school in a few years.”

And Jamie added, “Who knows what I will be doing in a few years.  Probably visiting my little brother in jail.  For the past twelve months all he does is get in fights.  He used to hug his Barney doll at night, now he just stabs it with his Swiss Army knife.”

Brett drew in a deep breath, rubbing some dust off his shorts, “I don’t know where this world is headed.  Oh, no.  I sound like my father.”

After a minute of silence, Jamie’s hand reached for Bret’s.  It fit there very nicely.

Bret’s eyes turned to meet Jamie’s.

They said nothing to one another.

They said everything to one another.

They could see a flash of headlights from route one, as a tan Subaru climbed silently west.  Jamie and Bret did not know that in the car were two people, one with a white rancher’s hat and holding the wheel, the other with Birkenstock sandals and finishing the last of a bag of baby carrots that were labeled “best if used by 9/11/2002.”

Jamie and Bret did not know that 50 years ago to the day that the two people in the car, Jack and Melody sat on a very similar hill some miles away, and talked.  On that night, she was calculating aloud how the three dollars a week she made at Woolworth’s would not be enough to keep food on the table, especially since her father would drink it up before she could ever get to the grocery store.  On that night, he was trying to figure out a way to tell her that he had just received his papers to be shipped off to Korea.

Jamie and Bret did not know that Jack and Melody were headed for new careers in Portland, a new start.  They should have retired years ago, their friends had told them.  But they didn’t listen.  Their retirement portfolios had dwindled to nothing in the past year and her mother’s medication was costing them a fortune, so they needed the cash.

As they passed the sign that said “Welcome Back UMM Students,” Jack released an uncomfortable sigh.  Melody’s hand found Jack’s on the gear shift, nervously digging the dust out of the seams of the leather.  Her eyes caught his in the rear view mirror.

They said nothing to one another.

They said everything to one another.

The New York Times did not report these stories, nor did they report many others in many other towns in this country and others, stories that were pieces of dust drifting down from the Twin Towers, from the Pentagon, from the trees of Shanksville; specks of dust that have settled in our minds, in our hearts, in our souls; traces of dust that can not be cleaned up, dug out, or wiped away.