Part 12 (1/2)

Planes going into buildings.

Planes going into buildings.

Planes going into buildings.

When I no longer had to be strong in front of you, I became very weak. I brought myself to the ground, which was where I belonged. I hit the floor with my fists. I wanted to break my hands, but when it hurt too much, I stopped. I was too selfish to break my hands for my only child.

Bodies falling.

Staples and tape.

I didn't feel empty. I wished I'd felt empty.

People waving s.h.i.+rts out of high windows.

I wanted to be empty like an overturned pitcher. But I was full like a stone.

Planes going into buildings.

I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to lie in my own waste, which is what I deserved. I wanted to be a pig in my own filth. But I got up and went to the bathroom. That's who I am.

Bodies falling.

Buildings falling.

The rings of the tree that fell away from our house.

I wanted so much for it to be me under the rubble. Even for a minute.

A second. It was as simple as wanting to take his place. And it was more complicated than that.

The television was the only light.

Planes going into buildings.

Planes going into buildings.

I thought it would feel different. But even then I was me.

Oskar, I'm remembering you onstage in front of all of those strangers.

I wanted to say to them, He's mine. I wanted to stand up and shout, That beautiful person is mine! Mine!

When I was watching you, I was so proud and so sad.

Alas. His lips. Your songs.

When I looked at you, my life made sense. Even the bad things made sense. They were necessary to make you possible.

Alas. Your songs.

My parents' lives made sense.

My grandparents'.

Even Anna's life.

But I knew the truth, and that's why I was so sad.

Every moment before this one depends on this one.

Everything in the history of the world can be proven wrong in one moment.

Your mother wanted to have a funeral, even though there was no body. What could anyone say?

We all rode in the limousine together. I could not stop touching you. I could not touch you enough. I needed more hands. You made jokes with the driver, but I could see that inside you were suffering. Making him laugh was how you suffered. When we got to the grave and they lowered the empty coffin, you let out a noise like an animal. I had never heard anything like it. You were a wounded animal. The noise is still in my ears. It was what I had spent forty years looking for, what I wanted my life and life story to be. Your mother took you to the side and held you. They shoveled dirt into your father's grave.

Onto my son's empty coffin. There was nothing there.

All of my sounds were lock inside me.

The limousine took us home.

Everyone was silent.

When we got to my building, you walked me to the front door.

The doorman said there was a letter for me.

I told him I'd look at it tomorrow or the next day.

The doorman said the person had just dropped it off.

I said, Tomorrow.

The doorman said, He seemed desperate.

I asked you to read it for me. I said, My eyes are crummy.

You opened it.

I'm sorry, you said.

Why are you sorry?

No, that's what it says.

I took it from you and looked at it.