Of course I remember where I was at the time, Mr.Conti's class, sitting next to Drew. But 9/11 didn't really affect me personally until the summer afterwards, when my father joined U.S. troops already stationed in Afghanistan. That summer marked the last time I trusted my mother, whom I still held the last desperate scraps of affection towards, despite all that had occurred in the previous 3 years.
With father gone, she became our sole guardian, charged with the simple task of taking care of her own children. She moved into our house from Syracuse, and for all of one week, we were a family. Apparently she was unable to sacrifice feeling uncomfortable in my father's home in order to stay with her own children, and soon moved back to her apartment, her visits dwindling from every other day, to just weekends, to weeks without seeing or hearing from her. I suspect the real reason having more to do with being unable to score anything harder than ditch weed in Watertown. Lord knows I haven't been able to.
It's not that my brother and I were helpless, or unable to fend for ourselves. We were 15 and 16 at the time, and we did manage to run the household with a surprisingly competent hand. We cooked, we cleaned, we paid bills. My brother didn't have his license though, and we were confined to where we could walk. It was a very lonely summer. It was also scary. I had my second grand mal seizure, right in front of my brother. As usual I didn't remember a thing, but we had to wait 2 hours until my mother answered the phone, and another hour waiting for her to drive up to take me to the hospital. Looking back, it's easy to see that the seizure was probably caused by low blood sugar, an unfortunate side effect of my mother's careful grocery shopping, which consisted of a palette of dried ramen noodles.
I can't say I remember much at all of the summer, and it frightens me a little. I recall listening to cd's in father's bedroom, and perhaps mother's boyfriend at the time as she dropped off our food for the month. I guess there's not much else worth remembering. I suppose, in a way, that summer led to my situation as it stands now; if mother hadn't done such a shitty job, father wouldn't have sicced the Pinkerton's on my brother and I, and it's unlikely father would have met Wanda without them.
Seven years later, and not much has changed. I'm still shiftless, irresponsible and lazy, I haven't spoken to my mother in going on 4 years, and my father is still in the desert, albeit in Iraq this time.
Also, if anyone wants to be a reference for a couple jobs I'm trying get that would be fucking awesome and I would totally suck your dick man*
*not going to suck your dick sorry manEDIT: