June 11th, 2000

Eight feet walking.

Eight hands, eight ears (though two were mere husks, no function other than to look beautiful and to catch the kisses of the wind.) Eight arms, eight legs, four heads, four bodies, four hearts.

One direction.

Two futures.

Days like this one are served well in memory. Remembered perfectly, more perfectly than perhaps they actually were. Recalled through bright hues and muted tones. Salad days; worthy of a future, worthy of an existence beyond the now. Stored carefully away for fond (if sometimes sore) recollection. The sun was high in the sky and looked down upon the earth with a certain amount of satisfaction. For these were the months of summer. This was a time of endless smiles, ice-cream and paddling in warm, shallow waters. Of lush green grass, untrodden and fresh-faced. A time where all things aspired to reach for the sun, all things on the earth grew up, grew tall, grew fat. All things knowing, surely knowing, it would not be long until the colder months took hold and cut things down. Soon some of the hearts would understand this clearly. Some would soon understand, with some intimacy, great cruelty at the hand of winter.

Robert and Laura Kelly were walking on a pathway through a large city park. Laura’s hand was in his back-pocket. He loved how they’d walk like this. Holding hands was for high-school sweethearts and children. Sophia was holding onto Laura’s other hand, pulling herself forward, so as to keep up with the adults. She was swinging on her mother’s arm like a pendulum, back and forth, up and down. She found this a very agreeable way to travel. She could see both her feet thrust forward at the same time, like the front half of a galloping horse, her full weight on her mothers untiring arm. A second of unfettered joy, the tiniest moment of weightlessness, a glimpse outside the firmness of gravity’s hold. Though, of course, she did not understand gravity, she understood what it meant to be rid of it.

Out in front a young boy was picking up a small rock, throwing it ten feet forward, chasing after it and then repeating. Much like a puppy will chase its own tail, this was, to the boy at least, a highly ranked, if not futile, form of self entertainment. It was fun and as such he was giggling to himself as he did it.

“Stop it Nathan,” Sophia cried, “stop it!” She let go of her mother's arm and, using her own legs and feet this time, ran forward and stood in in front of Nathan. He looked at her from his crouched position over the rock. Sophia made a few shapes with her hands and gestured something that Nathan appeared to understand. Then Nathan, seemingly undeterred by Sophia’s silent protest, picked up the rock and threw it a few feet out in front, charging off after it again.

“Leave him alone Sophia,” only the mildest sense of annoyance was detectable in Laura’s voice, “he’s not hurting anyone.”

Sophia stood facing her mother, her hands on her hips, her bottom lip slightly protruded. How Laura adored her, how she loved her. She could see so much of herself in that little body, that little avatar of grace and potential. Sometimes she would lay awake a night, staring at the cracks in the ceiling of their Chelsea apartment, living through (in her mind) all the things her daughter had yet to see, had yet to experience. Her first kiss, her years in high-school, her driving test, all the broken and mended hearts, all the things she would do with her life. Yes, Laura would live that for her time and over again. In the small hours of the night when all things, welcome or otherwise, came about.

“What about the birds Mommy?” Sophia could sound very grown-up when she wanted to, “he might kill one of the birds.”

“He’s not going to kill anything So.” Laura was trying not to laugh at the logic on offer, she extended her arm out in front of her, a stick waiting for its carrot, “Come on,” she said, “let’s have you fly again.”

Sophia however, was in no mood to play carrot. She turned her back and started skipping down the path after her brother, less concerned now about the welfare of birds, more in wonder of where they slept and what they dreamt of. Laura pulled Robert in closer as he reached around her shoulders with his long slender arm and kissed her gently on the side of her forehead. She loved how their bodies fitted together, how they matched so well. Like two great continents, separated by years of tectonic will, now, in this moment, reunited.

Pangaea.

She loved how perfect they were, and how simple perfection could be. Perfection is all about perception, she would often say to herself. All circles are perfect from a certain distance. Only under closer study do they lose their form. Simple didn’t mean casual or uncaring. This was, to her at least, the kind of simplicity you find when things that were built to work together, come together. This was a well made (and well maintained) machine. This was meant to exist.

“He doesn’t hear at all anymore,” Robert’s voice seemed deeper, darker than usual, “he couldn’t even hear her shouting.”

“We knew this would happen,” Laura could sense the agony in Robert’s words, “it’s always been just a matter of time.” She hugged him a little harder. “Just look at him,” she knew exactly what she wanted to say and had been meaning to say it for a while now, “he’s a healthy, happy, young boy.” Laura shuffled around in front of Robert, stopping him in his tracks. She placed both her hands on his shoulders, she could feel the tension hiding within them. Just under the skin. “So what if he can’t hear?”

“But he’ll never hear music, or Beethoven.. Or,” Robert looked up for inspiration, “the wind in the damn trees.”

“So he’ll find joy in other things. Through the tools he has. Through rocks.” Laura glanced down the path towards where their son was playing. A subtle smile was on her face. “Music or Beethoven?” the smile on her face broadened, “interesting.”

Robert looked down at his wife, her logic unshakable as always, the constant antidote for self pity, he kissed her on the lips. “Listen, Kelly,” he whispered, “I love you.”

“Good,” Laura replied unblocking Robert’s path taking him by the hand, swinging it back and forth in an exaggerated, carefree way, as they continued down the path, “so you should.”

Eight feet walking. Four souls heading south on a path through a city park. The city park. New York, New York. One family, one great connected landmass. Soon to feel the might of the unfathomable, insatiable tectonic forces that lurked in the darkness just ahead. Something awful was coming.