Title: These Four Scars
Author: PwnedByPineapple
Summary: Ten years later, and he remembers. A small tribute to my people and my country.
Rating/Warning(s): T; none
Recommended Listening: "The Citizens" by Avalanche City
"and the lights on the streets go dark, but all the heaviness is in my heart."
Alfred F. Jones isn't really sure how or why he's there.
The park is a simple, beautiful place, dotted here and there with clusters of trees and shrubs, and the late afternoon sun casts everything into cool shade. There's a playground nearby, and Alfred can hear laughter on the breeze, delighted and innocent. It makes him smile a bit, to hear his littlest citizens so blissfully happy, but the characteristic expression is soon taken over by a more uncharacteristic countenance, a frown that transforms his face profoundly.
Today is the tenth anniversary of the most infamous day in his recent history, and Alfred isn't sure of anything right now.
He'd been at the opening of the memorial in New York, of course; he wouldn't have missed that for anything. But he hadn't stayed long. Something about it had undone something inside him - the beautiful waterfall, the names... it had been almost too much. He can't quite remember the details, and all he knows is that he'd ended up here... at this place, this quaint little park tucked away somewhere in the vastness of his lands.
He's sitting on a bench beside the running track, but there aren't many of his people out today. He watches those few that are with a melancholy look in his eyes, and even though he wants nothing more than to join them, to be among them, that same something from before holds him back. Instead, he remains where he is, absently rubbing the scars that twinge today.
Two side-by-side on the very top of his forehead, hidden by his bangs. They are identical.
One very near his heart. It is small and roundish, with five vague sides.
And one on the inside of his left forearm, thin and long.
Eventually, as the sun begins its descent into the west, Alfred drops his head with a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he just needs to go home. Maybe there's something about ten years that means he needs to be alone...
"Hey, don't be sad."
Startled, Alfred lifts his head and find himself confronted with a firm little face. He instinctively knows several things about this girl simply from looking at her - her nine years of age, her name, her relatively healthy condition. She and Alfred stare at each other for a moment, determined versus bemused, until Alfred gives her a smile. "What makes you think I'm sad?"
"Because you look sad," the girl says, and there's a very audible 'duh' hidden in there. "You should try to be happy."
"Oh, really?" Alfred says, even though he knows better than to argue with nine-year-old logic.
The girl nods, quite serious. "There's a lot of things to happy about," she explains. "I know today is a very important day, but you shouldn't cry."
Alfred doesn't know what surprises him more: the fact that she knows exactly what's bothering him or the realization that he is, in fact, crying. He reaches up to gingerly touch his face, and his fingers come back damp. As he wonders when that could have possibly happened, he hears a voice calling the girl's name, and a woman jogs up to them, looking relieved, exasperated, and concerned all at once.
"There you are," the woman says to the girl, gently grabbing her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. "Don't go running off like that!"
The girl patiently allows her mother to hug her. "But he was sad, Mom," she says as the woman pulls away, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I had to do something."
The woman takes one look at Alfred's face and appears mortified. "I'm so sorry if she bothered you," she says apologetically. "She likes to think of herself as a little philosopher."
"No," Alfred says with a shake of his head, hurriedly wiping at his face to get rid of the sneaky tears. "Actually, she's right. You're really smart, you know," he adds to the girl.
The girl looks up at him in consternation, unconvinced by his act. "It's okay," she says earnestly.
He smiles at her, then at the woman, who's regarding him with just as much concern. "Are you... are you okay?" the woman asks hesitantly, and Alfred wonders just why it's so difficult to make his smile look real today.
He shrugs, unable to answer with a positive. "Oh, you know... just the date," he says quietly, reluctantly, and the woman's eyes immediately light with understanding. He notices how her hand reflexively reaches for her daughter's shoulder and rests there.
"I see," she says softly. "Did you lose someone?"
The question almost makes him laugh - a deranged urge that tells him he needs to let that harmful something out lest it fester inside him. But he can't quite bring himself to. All he does is nod, once. "And you?" he asks, because he knows his citizens well.
He isn't surprised when the woman also nods, looking down at the girl. "Her father was a firefighter," she says quietly.
Alfred draws in a quick breath, and his mind automatically traces the surname back to that day; he knows the names of the firefighters well, and it takes him only moments to know who the missing member of this family is. He finds that his breath catches in his throat, and he wants to say something, anything - a thank you, an apology, condolences. But nothing wants to come out, and his face twists in trying to hold emotion, and the woman understands.
The girl is still distressed over Alfred's state. To his surprise, she takes his hand, frowning up at him in sincerity. "It's really okay," she says. "I didn't know him, but my dad was brave, and he helped people, so I can be happy about that. I know the person you lost was brave, too."
To Alfred's embarrassment, the simple words draw forth a choked sort of sound from him, and on impulse, he crouches down and pulls the girl into a tight hug, closing his eyes as they start to burn. "Thank you, sweetie," he whispers. "You are so right."
The girl wraps small arms around him in return and pats his head, seemingly satisfied. "Of course I am," she tells him. "Doesn't that feel better?"
"It does," he answers, with a laugh that's more like a sob. Awkwardly, he withdraws, sniffing and glancing apologetically up at the woman, but she merely lays a hand on his shoulder, smiling sadly.
"Sorry," Alfred says, rubbing at his treacherously watering eyes once more. He rises, and the woman's hand slides down to take his. It doesn't matter that he's nothing but a stranger to her and her daughter; they are like family in that moment, sharing in their mutual loss.
It's been ten years since Alfred's indulged in emotion like this, ten years since he's allowed himself to appear as anything other than strong. Maybe there is something significant about ten years. Maybe he doesn't need to be alone, and maybe it's okay to show that it still hurts. All he knows is that he needed this, needed them - his people.
"Just a question," he says to the woman. "... Why here?"
She gets a faraway look in her eyes, and he knows her thoughts are far in the past. "My husband loved this place," she answers, after several long moments. "He walked here every time he got the chance. It's almost as if I can feel him here. And, well... we come here every year. To remember him."
Alfred nods in understanding, then looks down at the girl, who smiles up at him, pleased. "Thank you," he tells her again. "You were just what I needed. You're a regular little hero."
"I'm glad you feel better," is all she says in reply.
And when Alfred F. Jones parts from them, leaves that peaceful little place with its shadowed trees and its blazing evening sun, he still doesn't know how he ended up there, but he thinks he may know why.
"and the colors on the leaves are gray, but I hold Heaven in my heart today."
Notes: I was too young to remember much of what happened on 9/11, yet I wanted to pay tribute somehow, and this is the best way I can. This is for all those brave and wonderful people lost on that day and for their equally brave loved ones. And for my beautiful country, which I will always love. God Bless America.