The Elements of Zion: the Vine, the Branch, and the Thorn

Never Forget

I still remember the day with a sharp clarity, as though it had just unfolded before my very eyes. The sky had been a deep azure, with not a single cloud in sight. It was one of those days where everything seemed to be in harmony. My father – a Vietnam combat veteran who had seen horrors I could not imagine – had the kind of unwavering strength that made it nearly impossible to think of anything that could shake him. That was, of course, until danger threatened our family.

Amid the nondescript chatter and undercurrent of nervous energy at the local DMV, I found myself suspended in a moment of anticipation, waiting for my name to be called for the license test. The palpable anxiety of the crowd reverberated through the room, resembling a beehive. As my number echoed through the loudspeakers, that's when it happened. The room's TVs, typically streaming mindless daytime programming, suddenly cut to a breaking news report. Images of smoke billowing from the Twin Towers in New York City filled the screens, an ominous harbinger of the tragic events unfolding in real-time. A wave of fear and confusion washed over the room, transforming the previous murmur of anticipation into a palpable gasp of collective dread. Amid this tumult, a sudden vibration from my pocket jolted me back to reality. As I pulled out my phone, my heart pounded in my chest; it was dad.

"Where are you?" The worry in my father's voice was palpable.

"Is Mom okay?"

"Don't ask questions right now. Just do what I ask. Tell me where you are."

"I'm at the DMV, remember?" I stammered, my fingers clenched tightly around the phone. "I was just about to take my license test when the news came on every TV. Dad, what's happening—"

"Stay put. I'm on my way." And with that, he hung up.

As each second ticked by, the news spread like wildfire through the waiting room. The scenes unraveling on the television screens left us all spellbound in a horrific trance. The piercing sirens outside seemed to echo the chaos that was unfolding within.

It felt like mere moments before I heard his tires screech into the parking lot. I sprinted towards the car, and jumped in without saying a word. We weaved through the streets, carving a path through the chaos. The radio blared that the World Trade Center's South Tower had been struck by a second plane, and moments later, the North Tower collapsed.

My father called my mother over a dozen times, each one going unanswered. With each unfruitful attempt, the tension in the car grew suffocating, as if the very air around us was attempting to snuff out the remaining hope we clung to.

"You were on a mission to find her," said the Gardner as he pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

"We made it as far as the Brooklyn Bridge, but crowds start pushin' outta the city like roaches. Tried to push in further, but the cops shut us down. We're watchin' this whole mess unfold, the city goin' nuts in front of us... And that's when..."

"You got the phone call..." said the Gardener. The scent of roses hung in the air, concealing the lingering trace of ash on my mind, and the rustle of leaves gently twirled around adding to it's effect. How did he know?

I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something about the old gardener made our meeting seem like a moment destined to happen. He had a presence about him, a sense of knowing that was far different from the doctor who had merely nodded and moved on. This man, with soil-crusted hands and eyes like deep wells, had intent. He wanted to hear my story.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and closed my eyes, allowing the memories to carry me back to that moment. "Even to his dying day, Dad never spoke a word about what Mom said to him last. I just remember him standing there, statue-still, like he was soaking in the sound of her voice for the last time."

It was like a scene in a movie playing out in slow motion. Overwhelmed by the cacophony of sirens and screams, he held the phone as if it were a lifeline. "Everything got quite fast as Dad started sayin' a prayer. He mumbled along with her voice, faint as a whisper, but the words were the same ones we always heard."

My breath caught, and the tears threatened to flow as I continued. "Then, like the clock was tickin' down, he rasped out how his love for her would never die. You'd never know anything was wrong by lookin' at him. Just... handed me the phone, cool as a cucumber."

" At that moment, you knew this was your final farewell." he said.

I couldn't help but nod, the memory too raw. "Held the phone to my ear and said 'Hey, Ma.' She answered with 'Hey, honey.' Then she gets serious and says, 'Listen up close, son. I need you to hear this.' She goes on about how proud she is of me, you know, the whole 'you done good' thing. And then, she drops this one: 'No matter what life throws at you, trust in God to light the path, and everything will fall into place. It'll all work out in the end. Remember that, okay, kiddo?' I could practically hear her sniffling back tears as she said her goodbye. 'Love you more than words can say, Isaac...' "

In that moment, I was utterly dumbfounded, unable to process what was happening before me. It felt as if someone had pulled the world out from under my feet, and my mind screamed in denial. This can't be real. This is a nightmare. I couldn't find the words to speak.

"Stood there, on the edge of the bridge, just watchin' everything go to hell," I murmured, my voice barely a whisper. "Right in front of me, the south tower just...pancaked. Mom was still in there, you know, swallowed whole."

As the words hung in the air between us, time seemed to pause, a heavy silence enveloping our conversation before he finally responded. "Spirits don't crumble, Issac..."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, my damaged soul rebelling against his cryptic statement."Screw all that BS about the afterlife. Ain't buying it for a second. After that, I went into the military hoping to settle the score, you know, even things out. Instead, it just messed me up worse. All we did was slug it out with some invisible boogeyman, and now that damn thing follows me everywhere."

"You ain't wrong there, son," he rumbled, his voice like gravel through a tin can. "Worst part about a fight is when you can't see your opponent. Like a sucker punch in the dark. Yeah, a lot went unseen that day. A whole lotta evil slithering around, like a snake in the grass, things most folks wouldn't believe."

"I know what I saw that day," I scoffed.

The Gardener still standing there looked down at me, a solemn expression gracing his features. "Hang in there young fella. Your path, it's still hidden in the fog. But one thing's for sure - it'll test you, push you to your damn limits. Just remember, the sacrifices you made, they weren't in vain. You carry that with you, son. That, and the knowledge that you got the grit to weather whatever storm's comin' your way."

My gaze fell, unable to meet his, as I stared down at the grass beneath me. I didn't know how to react to his words. What did he mean by evil? Deep down, I couldn't help the feeling that I was part of that darkness he spoke of. And as for more bad weather? I didn't need any; I'd had enough. This day had managed to devastate what was left of my spirit, and there were no signs of respite from my tormented thoughts. I looked up again, ready to respond with a jaded remark, but he had vanished without a trace.

Biting down on my lip, I gritted my teeth muttering to myself, "Wish I had the eyes to see that evil..."