Lacy

There is a woman crying out. To whom, she is not sure, for her faith in a God is shot. Only she can't seem to figure out why she is crying, or why she is mad at God. She is still, kneeling in a grassy area of her daughter Lacy's favorite park, the one right outside their home. Lacy invades her every thought; her perfect skin, her bright future, the man she will one day marry. Lacy is seven years old today, on September 11, 2003. The woman watches her daughter run and play, this way and that, to her and then away again. Observers look at the couple oddly, as if there were anything wrong with a woman taking her daughter to the park. They are all there doing the same thing, what are they judging her for? What is it that makes her situation so tempting to stare at?

The lady chooses to ignore the spectators, and keep her eyes on the only being that has ever completely absorbed her love. Lacy is now swinging with the other children, but they pretend not to notice. Lacy is so beautiful and sweet, why are these children so cruel? Lacy gets up and begins to run after an older child skateboarding. Afraid that Lacy would irritate him, she got up and called to her daughter to come along. They would go home now. But Lacy continued to run after the boy, zig-zagging on and off of the path. She called louder, but still the girl kept running. There was a crowd now, surrounding the woman. This reminded her of another time and place, years ago now, when the same thing happened. Lacy began to run, and did not stop for anything. The image was forming in her mind as if she were there all over again.

It was Lacy's fifth birthday, September 11, 2001. A week ago Lacy was wondering if her daddy would be home for her birthday. No, she was told. It was going to be a surprise, but they were going to see daddy in New York! They would go to his apartment and stay with him. He was taking the day off of work to spend Lacy's birthday with her and her mommy. Lacy could not wait. She couldn't stop jumping and smiling and smiling. She told everyone she saw in that week's time frame. The morning of her birthday she and her parents got up early to go to breakfast. They were almost ready to go when there was an explosive noise outside their apartment. Lacy got scared and ran to her father's arms, but he passed her to her mother and told them to stay put, he would go outside and find out what had happened. When a few minutes had passed, Lacy's mother took her in her arms and went outside to find her husband and find out had happened.

What she saw when she reached the crowd was incredible. In front of her eyes she could see on the World Trade Center towers falling. Just...falling. She could not see her husband anywhere. She tried to inch into the crowd...a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life. She was surrounded by people, not able to move. There was murmur of a plane, hitting the tower and causing the collapse. Lacy said she heard the sound of another plane, but her mother said that was just the building. Or the crowd. Or maybe her head...how could you hear anything in this mess? She was desperately scanning the crowd for her husband. He had to be there. Somehow Lacy broke free of her arms and ran, did she see her daddy? Lacy! No! She didn't listen, just kept running. No, Lacy! Come back! Lacy! She tried so hard to run after her daughter, but when she was finally successful at breaking free of the crowd she tried so hard to become a part of, she couldn't find her daughter anywhere. Lacy! She scanned every where her vision allowed her to see, but nothing. And then...a plane. Another plane. And it was heading down...down...towards them. The crowd dispersed, everywhere there were people fleeing from the explosion sight. Everyone was running but her. She was fixated in one spot, her eyes busy looking for her loved ones.

She was found still occupying that one spot when the paramedics took her. The only thing she could say to them was her precious daughter's name. When the doctors double checked to make sure she was healthy, physically anyway, they let her go. She spent weeks being as close as she could get to the wreckage site, searching for signs of her family, of what happened, where they ran off to, and why. Why? At home, all her life revolved around the news, who was found when and where. But she never heard news of them, never caught that they were found in the debris; dead or alive.

Now two years have passed, and back at the park the image of Lacy fades along with the memories of the event that almost certainly killed her husband and daughter, her life as she always knew it. But just as the country will rebuild its pride and deal with its loss, so will she. She got up, made her way through the crowd of women holding on to their children as to not get too close to the crazy lady who had none to hold and protect, and she got in her car, crying as she drove home. Happy birthday, Lacy.

by Lindsey McCoun