The New York Project

3. Chaos

"So, I was thinking, do you want to go to Ground Zero?" asked Robbie the next morning, at breakfast.

Victoria swallowed one bite of her pancakes before answering.

"Oh, um, I've already been there, after it opened. I don't wish to see it again. I reckon I don't need this to remember."

She seemed almost embarrassed for not wanting to go, and kept on staring at her coffee in a Star Wars cup.

"You're right. We'll never forget. Well, I was just a baby when it happened, so..."

"Of course, yet I'm sure you don't need the reminder either. It's now printed on our brains. I often ask myself the same questions: how could something like that have occurred? Which series of events and decisions have led to that day? To such a pure demonstration of hatred?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Right. And I think of the moment I would have to talk to my kids about it. How can you explain something like this to a child?"

"I don't know..."

It was a rhetorical question, yet she answered it anyway – albeit in a distractful tone. His maturity amazed her. He was only eighteen and was already thinking about what to tell his children about 9–11, whereas she was eight years older and didn't even consider the possibility of having a child, period.

"I can't help you on this one, since my only memory of that day corresponds to my fear for my father. My mum and I waited for hours to hear from him. We were thousands of miles away, on the other side of the ocean, and these terrible images were continuously streaming on TV. 'My papa works there', I kept repeating, at school, then at the hospital during my mother's shift."

She shivered at the thought and let her pancake become stale and her fried eggs cold.

"Okay, we'll head to Brooklyn instead, it's a bit less intense," declared Robbie, after a minute, to make her smile again.

***

Once there, they kindly commented on the beards, haircuts and clothing styles of the locals. After a long stroll, they ended up in a cute coffee shop.

"Yum, this is a very good latte, maybe the best I have had on this continent, so perhaps I should choose a place here instead of Manhattan," Rebecca joked.

"Ah, ah, yeah, why not. This is a decent area, less crowded than the island. Granted, some people look a bit weird."

"Oh, it's nice, I love people who own their looks and their tastes. And I come from London, so nothing can surprise me in the streets."

She was playing with her unicorn-shaped spoon.

"Fair enough. You lack a few more tattoos and piercings, and a drastic haircut for fitting here, though."

"You're right. I could shave one side of my head and keep my hair as long as possible on the other side."

He made an adorable face.

"Don't do that."

"Why? I've always liked that style. You don't?"

"Not really. Well, I'm sure you'll still look lovely, but, seriously, don't do that."

She laughed and sipped her drink. It seemed as if his cheeks had turned a bit pink; she decided that it was because of the heat of the summer, and not because he had just complimented her.

"Okay, I promise. The commute for the Midtown headquarters of my publishing house wouldn't be ideal anyway."

"Yeah. Manhattan it is, then."