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Prayer for Ben
Mar. 11th, 2002 01:43 amThe sushi shop where he'd take me to eat whenever I worked there is still there, near William Street. He was the only supervisor, in five years of freelancing as a proofreader, to whom I'd described the process of my entering the field: two hours' study with an apartment mate, followed by a great deal of, err, creative interviewing. I have an extremely eccentric memory; I'm not certain I could name the firm he worked for, but I'll always remember the crinkle of his eyes as I told him that, and his smile. He reminded me more than a little of Larry Kramer- a reposed, calm, good-humored Larry (if there is such a thing.)
I remember very clearly the last time I thought of him: I was walking through the St. Louis airport, en route to visit Scott and Pam and Julieanne, and I flashed on how he'd once told me that Minoru Yamasaki, who'd designed the towers we were sitting in, had designed the St. Louis airport as well. I looked down the nigh- infinite length of that airport, sighed at the weight of the suitcase in my hand, and had a snarky laugh at the thought.
I don't remember why I didn't make it on staff there; as I recall, I wasn't as resentful of the uncertainties of temping as I later became. As may be, I remember our last sushi lunch, and knowing it was the last lunch- and, indeed, the last time I ever saw him. If I'd taken that job, would I have ever been there that day? Would I have made it? Did he? I'll never know. A friend of mine was one of the Guardsmen at the site, afterward; after we'd talked about memorials, and mourning the dead, he gave me a small vial of dust from the site, which I have, which will remain with me as long as I remain. I look at it now, and can't help but wondering- are you there, Ben? I hope not- I prefer to think of you enjoying another too-long sushi lunch, with gently crinkling eyes.
...I'm still not sure if watching as much as I did of that documentary was a good idea; physically, my body is convinced it's September again. Neck and shoulders tense; weird rumbles of tension through my system. Wound up walking outside, in the cold, for the better part of a hour, in a T-shirt and jeans. Home; Van Morrison; tears. And... thanks, you- I very much needed a hug tonight, even an e-one.
I remember very clearly the last time I thought of him: I was walking through the St. Louis airport, en route to visit Scott and Pam and Julieanne, and I flashed on how he'd once told me that Minoru Yamasaki, who'd designed the towers we were sitting in, had designed the St. Louis airport as well. I looked down the nigh- infinite length of that airport, sighed at the weight of the suitcase in my hand, and had a snarky laugh at the thought.
I don't remember why I didn't make it on staff there; as I recall, I wasn't as resentful of the uncertainties of temping as I later became. As may be, I remember our last sushi lunch, and knowing it was the last lunch- and, indeed, the last time I ever saw him. If I'd taken that job, would I have ever been there that day? Would I have made it? Did he? I'll never know. A friend of mine was one of the Guardsmen at the site, afterward; after we'd talked about memorials, and mourning the dead, he gave me a small vial of dust from the site, which I have, which will remain with me as long as I remain. I look at it now, and can't help but wondering- are you there, Ben? I hope not- I prefer to think of you enjoying another too-long sushi lunch, with gently crinkling eyes.
...I'm still not sure if watching as much as I did of that documentary was a good idea; physically, my body is convinced it's September again. Neck and shoulders tense; weird rumbles of tension through my system. Wound up walking outside, in the cold, for the better part of a hour, in a T-shirt and jeans. Home; Van Morrison; tears. And... thanks, you- I very much needed a hug tonight, even an e-one.
