A Message of Hope?
I remember the tranquilized campus that week; the solemn air and genuine smiles. It was like no one wanted to talk about it, but we all knew each person we passed had something to say, so we just smiled - with sincere compassion - at everyone. Acknowledging each others' feelings. Receiving consolation from their smile.
We went in to chapel that Thursday seeking hope from our revered president. (If there was one unanimous feeling at that school it was respect for Dr. Conn; I never heard of anyone despising him thoroughly). We all felt a little lost, helpless, inneffective, far from home, and scared. We didn't want to hear about how the End Times were upon us to repent; we wanted someone to tell us everything would be okay.
We'd been tough: those of us who were more fortunate. Tough for the ones we knew whose dad worked at the Pentagon. For the ones whose girlfriends were working at the Capitol. For the ones whose families lived in New York. I had been tough. Calm. Composed.
Tylere and I tucked ourselves in the row towards the back with all of our fellow upper-classmen and eagerly searched Dr. Conn's words to assuage the conflicting emotions.
The message was forthcoming and well delivered. Just like all of his messages and class lectures. No notes. At the same time extemporaneous and premeditated. Smooth yet personal.
The warmth of a sense of compatriotism among the tiny school-body permeated the auditorium, and I allowed a small trickle of tears to finally come. Which gave way to sobs. I lowered my face into my hands and wept.
Silently, Tylere's arm came around my shoulders. His bony hand rested uncomfortably on my shoulder, but as he felt the weakend tremble beneath, he tightened his grip. He eased my head over to his shoulder and we both forgot about how uncomfortable our emotions made us feel, and we simply embraced the emotion.
After my weeping subsided he continued to softly rub my shoulder, and he kept his shoulder under my inclined head, instead of rigidly pushing me away as was his manner.
My friendship with Tylere had never involved events of this nature; we were conversation companions purely. Music buddies. Grammar nerds.
Then on September 11th we heard the news, and moments later ran into each other. The realization that our sensations were kindred made us inseperable. There was so much talk circulating through every group, but we found in each other people who didn't need to talk. Just observing things together, listening together, we knew our thoughts were understood.
We both knew that our mutual understanding was a gift from our hearts to each other.
Today a package arrived with the audio transcript from September 13th, and I listened again. I hoped I would cry again. I hoped that the memory of my friend, the memory of that event, the memory of our grief and comfort would give me a release but it did not.
I'm still dried up inside.
But it reminded me that even though I carry Tylere in my heart surrounded by affectations of my own creation, there is a substantial foundation for the way he carries me in his heart. When I've worn out my fantasy. When I've settled the case I have for my projections on our future, there will remain something to hold on to.
