So it's inevitably coming up, isn't it? The day all of us Americans dread, the one day that Muslims like me wish we could just skip altogether. Like, we go to bed on the night of September 10 and wake up on the morning of September 12, not fearing being attacked out of hate for people of our religion, which is not bad just because a few bad apples ruined our reputation. Life doesn't work like that, though. All of us, even the New Yorkers that saw it live and Muslims that have absolutely nothing to do with the terrorists, have to live and suffer through the twenty-four hours of September 11.
At least it will be sort of a good day for the souls of the Twin Towers. I've heard news about the fascinating identical twin girls ever since the attacks, and apparently they have had their minds set on working for a history museum ever since they were toddlers. Now, the front page of this week's New York Times declares they've just been hired at the 9/11 memorial, which is going to open on September 11 of this year of 2011. The two reflecting waterfall pools don't have a museum to go with them yet, but the Towers said in an interview by NBC that they both have a plan to work in the one that is apparently going to be completed in either 2014 or 2015.
It's not September 11 quite yet, however. The date is Tuesday, September 6. My two brothers, my little sister, my parents, and I are packed in a man cave, watching sports. Well, it's technically a woman cave, since it belongs to my sister Fatima. This is a part of her apartment that she likes to call the Arena. It's a completely sports-themed room, making it my favorite one in her home. It holds some old Nebraska Locusts jerseys and sticks and pucks of mine, plus some Rangers, Yankees, and Jets memorabilia. We're watching the Yankees battle it out with the Orioles in New York, with the score tied at 0 in the bottom of the third inning. We are Skyping my older brother's best friend, who lives in southern Saudi Arabia but is on vacation in Russia. He's been a gigantic Yankees fan ever since he heard of them being in the World Series after 9/11.
"Oh, come on, Posada! Hit the baseball hard!" He cries as a man named Jorge Posada steps up to bat. Jorge does two practice swings before getting in the proper stance, waiting for the pitch.
"Yeah, score! We Yankees fans don't deserve a scoreless game after a four-hour rain delay!" My big brother Yosef complains, opening a can of beer. Everyone starts talking at once as the Baltimore pitcher winds up his arm and throws the ball at Posada.
The crack of Posada's bat as it slams the ball way into the cheering crowd at Yankee Stadium makes us all stop talking abruptly. We realize Posada has scored a home run.
"YES!" My older brother shrieks. My little brother, who has been a Mets fan for almost all of his fifteen-year life, grunts and crosses his arms.
"That ball is GONE!" Mom and I add.
"It is OUT OF HERE! GO! GO! GO! RUN YOUR ASS TO HOME!" My dad finishes, jumping up and down on his feet as his face turned red.
As Jorge Posada rounds third base at an unimaginable speed and approaches home plate, the score on the TV switches from 0-0 to 1-0 in favor of New York. We all scream and cheer at the sight of the lead, and we hear others in Fatima's small apartment building doing the same. The good old Yanks are winning the baseball game!
"Now increase that lead and we'll be safe!" Fatima talks to the television, waving her hand in the air. Everyone else mumbles and nods their head in agreement.
Suddenly, there's a loud knocking at the door. Mom goes to open it for whoever is there. When she does that, we all see a middle-aged Saudi Arabian man by the name of Ahmed is standing in the doorway. Ahmed is an Arabic teacher and one of our best friends that we have made so far in New York. Mom welcomes the kind man into the home and leads him to the Arena, where the rest of us all sit waiting.
"Ahmed has something special for you guys," Mom singsongs in a cheery tone.
"Hi, folks," Ahmed says in Arabic. He then switches to English and continues, "I have something to give all of my friends, including you, Omar, when you get back from Yare-Yaw-uh, Russia. Now is the time I will show you all my gift. I do hope you seven will enjoy this."
Ahmed reveals what he carried into the apartment, which he had been holding behind his back until now. They are event tickets of some sort.
"What does that say?" Dad squints. Someone shouts something super loud in Russian in the background of my brother's friend's Skype video while Ahmed asks, "Can you read what the tickets say on them, Mr. al-Hashim?"
"Now I can, oh my!" Dad puts his hand to his mouth in shock. "Oct...Oct...October 18th, New York Rangers at Vancouver Canucks! Seven front-row tickets! Oh, but it's at Rogers Arena in western Canada, Ahmed, so it's going to be an away game."
"I know that, and uh..." Ahmed looks sort of uncomfortable all of a sudden. "You're going to have to endure a five-and-a-half-hour flight to Vancouver International. I am very sorry about that. But don't worry, I paid for all of the round-trip plane tickets too."
"Ahmed, it's totally alright," Mom sighs. Ever since 9/11, all of us have been a bit scared of planes. "Wait, those seats are in the front row! And you bought round-trip plane tickets from Newark to Vancouver? Exactly how much did that cost, Ahmed?"
"Um, just under five thousand American dollars," Ahmed reaches up into his turban and scratches his straight black hair.
"Ahmed!" My brothers gasp in unison. My sister puts her hand to her chest.
"You paid that amount of money just so that we could all go together and see our favorite team out in Canada?" Fatima asks. "You shouldn't have! Thank you, Ahmed. We'll be very excited for that, and I am sure you and all of us will have a great time. Oh, and the city Omar is staying in until the ninth is called Yaroslavl. Yah-roh-slav-el."
"Yah-roh-slav-el," Ahmed repeats carefully. He ends the conversation with, "Alright, I have to go. I'll leave these tickets in The Arena, so remember they are there. Goodbye!"
We all wave and shout our goodbyes in Arabic. After he leaves, all of us in the Arena return to watching the Yankees and Orioles game.
Ahmed's gift is extremely kind and considerate, but it doesn't change two things. One, that we have to face their worst fear—flying when people think we are terrorists about to hijack the plane—two more times in the months of September and October alone. Plus, Omar has already flown once to the country of Russia, and he had to switch planes three or four times to get there. In a few days, he will be returning on another plane. Then, there's the trip to Vancouver and back next month.
The second thing, September 11 is coming up fast. Too fast.
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Triumph {The Manhattan Trilogy #3}
General FictionNorth Tower. It is shocking to her that it's the year 2011. It's already been ten years since her death! Yes, sometimes she has nightmares about it. She's mostly moved on, though. She has a wonderful boyfriend that she is sure she wants to marry som...
