You know that moment. The moment you press enter or tap the screen and nothing happens. You reboot, thinking your screen froze. Then the realization hits you… the internet is down.
At that moment, the earth stands still.
I live in a large city and have underground electrical and internet/cable lines. Outages are a rarity, and they usually last only a brief time when they happen. Then the big one comes along. The outage takes down a grid and, worst of all, takes out the modem. An electrical surge, bad signal, something caused it, but the modem is dead.
On top of that, with the increasing use of streaming services and the trend away from cable services, I have YouTube TV. Or in this case, I don’t have YouTube TV, which relies on Wi-Fi to operate.
Now, what to do? You place a phone call to the internet provider, have a few choice words, and are told, “It’s an outage, back up in twenty-four hours.” Then you find out that the internet tech gurus repaired the outage, but the modem is dead. Another twenty-four hours before the modem arrives by those once efficient delivery services.
(As an aside, I would like to mention that my phone malfunctioned in the midst of this and is not recognizing the servers for Facebook, Messenger, YouTube TV, etc. Such a serendipitous occurrence adds to the fun. I have phone and text, so that could be worse. However, I can’t get this solved until the modem comes in and I have Wi-Fi—but I digress,)
So, what to do as I wait? I remember the days before the internet, even before pagers and fax machines. We used a landline phone to call our family, friends, and whoever else we needed to speak with during the dark ages. Imagine, we were tethered to the wall and had to stay in one spot! We wrote letters and paid bills by mail using an envelope with a stamp, which often required a walk to the mailbox and raising that cute little red flag to get the mail carriers’ attention.
We have become accustomed to instantaneously chatting with the people we love, friends, and acquaintances on the internet. Who has time for a phone call when we can take thirty seconds to say what we need to say? We pay bills, check the news and weather, watch sports, watch space launches (okay—I’m a nerd), all at our fingertips, whether by desktop, laptop, pad, or phone. When that convenience goes away, we begin to realize how much the internet affects our lives.
The loss of internet access can interrupt manufacturing lines, shipping, infrastructure, schools, fire and police services, hospitals—and Uber. There is little that the internet doesn’t touch. While these businesses and services hopefully have backup plans to work manually, it is a considerable inconvenience and can have consequences.
Writers can continue with little interruption. We might not like to use pen and paper, but it works when needed. As long as there is electrical power and Microsoft 365, the writing continues. However, there are some issues.
Back in the olden days, we also did research at the library. We went there, looked up books in the card catalog, and followed the ‘yellow-brick” Dewey Decimal road to the shelf holding our desired tome. We could ask the librarians at the reference desk (the smartest people I knew as a child), use microfiche, or maybe we were fortunate to have a set of encyclopedias at home.
Today’s writer has the world’s knowledge at their fingertips. As a pantser style writer, I rarely do research before I write. I might research an area or a specific timeframe to begin the book. Most of the time, as I write a scene, I might need a drink that tastes bitter enough to hide the flavor of a bitter-tasting poison. Off to the search engine to find the perfect cocktail. There is one, by the way.
Immediate answers are not available to me now, and as I have taken this downtime to write quite a bit, it is frustrating not having that instantaneous information at hand. But I won’t let that stop me. I highlighted the area in a pretty color and will address that when the internet returns.
I talked to a friend about this predicament, and we discussed this was like an EM event. There is always talk of an electromagnetic attack on our infrastructure and the dire consequences that could befall us without the tools we are used to having.
The fact is, we fret about the occasional and often annoying short outages, be it electrical power or internet, but we should never forget that things could be worse. Should we be prepared? Yes. Will we be? I doubt it. The second the service returns, we forget the difficulties when unavailable.
We should remember.
—–
Addendum: If you are reading this, I have internet again.
Images are free-use and do not require attribution. Image by Tapani Hellman from Pixabay
Never Ask
D. A. Ratliff
The canoe rocked gently against the walkway in the old boathouse as wake from a passing boat disturbed the stillness of the lake. Steven Armstrong stared at the canoe, thinking of how many fun days he and his best friend Daniel Morton had spent first as youths and then on college breaks and recently as adults fishing from the old boat.
He jumped into the boat and sat on a narrow wood bench worn from years of use. Memories flooded into his head, and he smiled as one image after another from years past flicked through his thoughts.
Good times. Always good times. Then Danny had to ask. He should have never asked.
~~~
Steve and Danny stood outside the entrance door to their new headquarters. Three stories tall, constructed of concrete and glass, the modern design reflected the innovative computer software company ArmMor that the pair started after college. Their inaugural program called ArmMor revolutionized online security for financial institutions, and a newly released version had proven more secure and served a broader base of customers.
After five years of incredible growth, they had taken the company public, and now three years later, they were moving into their signature building. Steve glanced at his parents, who beamed with pride. They sacrificed a lot to help Danny and him start the company. It gave him tremendous pride when he could repay them and buy them a new house. Danny had done the same for his parents, who had also helped them as best they could. Danny was thrilled as he and his wife Ellen were about to have their first child. Life was good for them all.
The partners cut the ribbon with a flourish and beckoned everyone inside for a celebration. Flowers and elaborate decorations decked out the expansive lobby, the catered food was plentiful, and the bar poured drinks freely. A jazz combo played background music. Steve, who never shied from the limelight, was in his element.
He rarely admitted it, but Danny was the programming genius. Danny’s innovative code writing breakthrough created almost foolproof security protection. Steven grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one gulp. He gazed at the partygoers and chuckled. He and Danny both knew he was the reason they were successful. His marketing genius, leadership, and charm were why ArmMor was the darling of Wall Street and rolling in cash. This business was his baby, and he was going to enjoy it.
Danny spotted him and walked over. “Great party, bud. Never imagined we would get here when we were out on the lake in your grandad’s canoe dreaming of success as only kids could. Remember the days at Stanford when we holed up in that cramped apartment writing code between classes.”
Steve shook his head. “We had a crazy idea….” He stopped at the look on Danny’s face. “You had a crazy idea, and I just helped you run with it.’
“But you helped write the code, and you knew how to get the word out and sweet-talked those investors into supporting us. We wouldn’t be here without your skills in programming and marketing. We make a good team.”
“Yeah, Danny, that we do.”
Danny’s wife Ellen, Director of Internal IT Services, joined them. “Great party, boys. I’m proud of you.”
“We were talking about those days at Stanford and that small apartment. Spent some long hours there, and you were always with us, studying and helping write the code and bringing us food.”
Ellen nodded. “And making sure you got to class.”
“And reminding Steve here which girl he was last out with.”
Steve laughed. “You were the keeper of my black book. I am forever grateful.”
“I only kept you straight on who you were dating at the moment to keep you from getting killed.”
Steve chuckled. “Yeah, not sure how I survived then.”
“Or now.” Danny bobbed his head to the right. Steve followed his gaze to see the curvaceous marketing director, Grace Fortner, heading his way.
He grinned. “Looks like my day is getting better.” Walking away, he joined Grace, slipped his arm around her, kissing her hard, as Danny and Ellen watched.
~~~
“What were you thinking?”
Steve looked up from his desk as Danny strode in, slamming the door behind him. He’d seen his friend angry before but not quite this demonstrative. Slamming doors was not Danny’s normal behavior.
“Would you mind telling me what got you all ticked off?”
“Ticked? Ticked doesn’t cover this.” Danny took a couple of rapid breaths, then threw a document onto Steve’s desktop. “We’re being sued for sexual harassment by three women who claim you were ‘inappropriate’ on several occasions. Inappropriate? How many times have I told you to keep your pants zipped in the office? I don’t care what you do outside of here, but this has to stop. This is going to cost us money and credibility. Johnson Technologies is breathing down our necks with a similar and cheaper version of ArmMor. I need you on your toes, not on your back in bed with half the women in this company.”
Steve picked up the court document and skimmed through it. “Don’t worry about this. I’ll make this go away.”
“How? The recount of your many moments of childish behavior is pretty graphic.”
“You think I’m stupid? I have these gals on tape, consenting to everything. Remember, we live in a one-party consent state, so the videos I have are admissible in court and prove these women were willing. The attorneys will offer them a few thousand each, and no one will ever remember.”
“Who are you? I knew you were sex-obsessed in high school and college. And when we started the business, Ellen warned me that your inability to control your urges would hurt the company. She was right. That you can fix this suit because you recorded the women you took advantage of makes me sick to my stomach.” Danny dropped his head, silent for a few seconds.
When he looked up, Steve saw venom reflected in his partner’s eyes. Danny’s voice was more telling as he seethed with anger. “Listen to me, Steve. If you continue this despicable behavior in the office, I will go to the Board and have you removed.” He pointed to the document. “Fix that and then never mention it again.”
~~~
The company’s twenty-fifth anniversary was a huge affair. ArmMor had weathered threats from their competition and remained at the top of the list of most influential IT companies globally. Now housed in a thirty-story building downtown, the company employed nearly a thousand people, many of them computer engineers creating software for the future.
Danny served as Chairman of the Board and CEO, and Steve as Chief Operating Officer, both only in their mid-forties. They stood together on a podium, surrounded by their executives. This time Steve insisted on a full orchestra, and several big-name stars were performing. Nothing less than an enormous champagne fountain and food prepared by a Michelin star chef would do for this event.
Steve basked in every single second of the celebration. He knew the company would never have reached its current glory without him, but he knew what they all thought of him. He didn’t care. Not one person in the expansive lobby that night would have been there without him. They owed him for their success.
Danny was making remarks, and with each syllable he uttered, Steve felt as if a bullet tore through his chest. The conversation he had with Danny after the Board elected Danny chairman remained etched in his mind. He had left the Boardroom, seething from what had occurred. He had expected to be elected CEO, having agreed that Danny would be Chairman of the Board. But the Board turned on him. Danny caught up with him at the elevator.
“Steve, wait.”
“For what? Do you want to stab me in the back and watch me bleed? You sure didn’t mind virtually stabbing me.”
Danny grabbed his arm, and Steve jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Stop this, Steve. You know why the Board didn’t vote for you. You’re always in the limelight for the wrong reasons. For god’s sake, man, remember the photos of you on that billionaire’s private island with a bunch of naked twenty-year-old gals. You’re lucky the Board didn’t fire you.”
“My personal life is my own business.”
“Not when it impacts the company. A lot of people depend on us for their livelihood. Your behavior hurts this company, and the Board has to answer to the stockholders. That is why you are not CEO.”
“Your professional opinion is noted, as is your personal opinion. From this point on, we are no longer friends.”
The elevator arrived, and Steve turned without saying another word, leaving Danny standing in the corridor.
The crowd yelling “Salud” brought him out of his musings, and he realized Danny had finished his speech, grandiose in his opinion. Steve took a step forward, intending to say a few words when Danny turned from the mic and walked away with a glance at him. He tamped down his anger and decided he was glad it was over. He could get back to mingling with the models he had invited.
Steve was holding court on one of the lobby couches when Danny walked over and motioned for him to join him. Building anger filled him as he crossed the distance between them. He had known Danny too long and could read his expression. Danny had something to tell him, and he knew it was difficult for his—friend. Somehow, that word didn’t seem to fit anymore.
“What do ya want, Danny boy?” Steve exaggerated a slur because he knew it would rile Danny.
“You’re drunk. I told you to rein it in at business functions.”
“Lighten up, Mr. Chairman. It’s a party.”
“Look, I know you are mad that I didn’t let you speak, but the Board decided that you will no longer be the spokesperson for the company. You will retain your title as COO and Marketing Director. From this point on, Avery Tatum will be the voice of ArmMor.”
Danny turned and walked away. A thought entered Steve’s mind as he stood alone in the middle of a partying crowd. He knew what he had to do.
~~~
Special Agent Neil Grayson leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, strained by hours of staring at numbers on a computer screen. A stack of files labeled ArmMor Software sat on the corner of his desk.
The FBI received referrals from the Internal Revenue Service and the Securities and Exchange Commission concerning suspected misrepresentation of the company’s financial condition and fraudulent trades designed to hide losses.
He dialed an extension. “Marie, get Deana March at Justice on the phone and tell Brad, Ashley, and Craig to come to my office.”
When his team arrived, he patted the stack of files. “Getting a search warrant, then we go fishing.”
~~~
The FBI team arrived at ArmMor headquarters at eight a.m. on the nose. After serving the warrant to Danny, the numerous agents spread out through the company departments, looking for the information noted in the warrant.
Steve arrived a bit after nine a.m. He picked his way through four television satellite trucks and a horde of rabid reporters, who hurled questions about the FBI raid at him. Company security pushed through the crowd, and with strong arms and large bodies, surrounded him, escorting him inside.
Director of Security James Hardin met him at the executive express elevator. “Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Monroe asked me to escort you to the executive level as soon as you arrived.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
Hardin pushed the button for the thirtieth floor. “The FBI executed a warrant for financial, trading, and operational files.”
Steve nodded, and the men didn’t speak until they arrived at the executive level. Stepping out of the elevator car, he cringed at the sound of Danny’s voice.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for the last hour.”
“Sorry, went out for breakfast and turned my phone off. What’s going on here?”
“What’s going on is that the FBI waltzed in here this morning with a search warrant for our records.”
“We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I know that. So why are they here?”
“Competitors rattling our cage?”
Ellen walked up. “The FBI wants records off the main server. My team is doing their bidding. What is going on here?”
Danny never took his eyes off Steve as he answered. “Someone is trying to ruin us, and they’re doing a pretty good job of it.”
~~~
After the FBI took records away, weeks, months passed without any word on the investigation. ArmMor’s team of lawyers remained in conversation with the Justice Department but couldn’t get any prior information. The indictment of Daniel Monroe for embezzlement of over ten million dollars of funds and manipulation of stock to hide assets from investors sent the stock market reeling.
Danny insisted he was innocent, but the evidence was overwhelming. His lawyer suggested entering a plea deal with the Feds, but Danny was adamant about his innocence and wanted a trial.
~~~
Shaking off the memories of his past, Steve stepped out of the canoe and headed to a storage locker. Opening it, he pulled out a tarp and duct tape. Blood smeared on the sleeve of his sweatshirt triggered a more recent memory.
He’d felt like a row on the lake before the weather turned cold and drove to the lake house, where his grandparents had lived. They left the house to him and, well, he had found it quite convenient for numerous romantic trysts and wild parties.
He was tinkering with a camping light to take with him in case it got dark when the door to the boathouse creaked. He knew who it was and turned around.
“Danny, what brings you here? I was about to go out for a row, beautiful afternoon. Want to come with me?”
“No. I came to ask you why you did it. Why did you set me up?”
“What are you talking about? Set you up?”
“Don’t, Steve. I checked the backdoor that only you and I knew about. I know you hacked into our system, diverted the funds to the Caymans, and covered up the stock transactions. You know we are the best programmers in the world. I can tell you manipulated the code. Why did you do this?”
Steve glared at Danny before he spoke. “You dare ask me that? We wrote ArmMor together, but we would have never become successful without my marketing skills and personality. But you—you and the Board, kept me from my rightful place, then took away my spotlight. That’s why.”
“We didn’t do that to you. You did it to yourself. How many women did we have to pay off to keep them from talking? How many restaurants and hotels did we have to pay damages to when your parties got out of hand? Too many.”
“That never kept me from doing my job, and that was to make us famous and to make us money, But you got self-righteous and didn’t want to admit what I did for this company.”
“Steve, I’m sorry, but you are not getting away with this. I can prove what you did, and I will.”
Danny turned, and Steve reached for an oar leaning against the wall. He brought the oar as hard as he could down onto Danny’s head, and his friend crumpled to the deck.
Steve composed himself and pushed aside the image of what he had done minutes before. With no emotion, he slipped on disposable gloves that he used when cleaning fish, took Danny’s keys from his pocket, rolled his lifelong friend into the tarp, and secured it with nearly a roll of duct tape. He dragged the body to the canoe and shoved it inside. Spotting two old anchors, he grabbed them along with a coil of rope, dropped them inside the canoe, and pushed away from the dock.
He rowed about a mile into a deep and very secluded part of the lake and tethered the canoe to a tree in an area where many underwater roots would help keep the body submerged. He attached the rope to the anchor, tied them around the body, and dropped the body into the water with a great deal of strain and effort. Satisfied no one would ever find the remains, he headed back to the boathouse, where he scrubbed the deck and the oar with bleach.
Once finished, wearing a clean pair of gloves, he drove Danny’s car to a public boat ramp about three miles away, deserted at that late hour. Steve left the car, keys in the ignition, and walked back to the lake house. He retrieved his car and returned to the city.
As he drove away, he felt relief, not remorse. A slight chuckle passed his lips. Danny should have never asked.
~~~
A month later, the family held a memorial service for Danny. Steve sat next to Ellen and her children as the minister prayed for Danny’s sins. The assumption was that Danny, guilty of the charges in the indictment, had taken his own life or perhaps disappeared with the funds he stole. Whatever they wanted to believe was fine by Steve. He would play the dutiful friend to his childhood buddy’s widow for appearance’s sake, but he planned to remove her from the company as soon as he could. And that would be soon. On Monday, four days after the service, the Board would meet, and he would become chairman and CEO. That was what he deserved.
~~~
A buzz from the lobby informed Special Agent Neil Grayson that he had a visitor. When he saw Ellen Monroe entering his office, he tried to cover his shock.
“Ms. Monroe, please have a seat. I am sorry for how things are for you and your family.”
“Thank you, but I am here to clear my husband’s name.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“When my husband and Steve Armstrong wrote the ArmMor program, Dan embedded a backdoor code which gave him access to any copy of the program sold. Should a company be hacked, which was unlikely using the software, he could get in and follow the trail. Only he and Steve knew about the code. After the indictment, Danny decided to investigate if someone had hacked the system and set him up. Someone had, and only one person could have accessed the code. Steve. He set Danny up to take the fall for his crimes.”
“Can you prove it?”
Ellen nodded and pulled an iPad from her purse. “Danny arranged for our attorney to keep a package for me and that one month after anything happened to him to deliver it. I received it yesterday morning. Dan told his attorney it was a farewell to the children and me. And it is, along with all the proof necessary to show Steve framed him.
She opened the file and handed Grayson the pad. When he pressed enter on the video, Danny’s image appeared. “To the FBI, I am Daniel Monroe, and I have proof that my partner Steven Armstrong committed the crimes attributed to me.”
Ellen pointed to the pad. “Steve killed Danny. I know he did. It is time he gets what he deserves.”
Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require
Flight of Fancy
D. A. Ratliff
Aristotle Elena Rossi stepped off the bus and promptly sat down on the bus shelter bench. She was half a block from home, an apartment above her family’s restaurant, but was reluctant to face them. No one would be happy about her news. Not anyone alive anyway.
She leaned back against the glass shelter wall and gazed toward the sky in time to see a commercial jet appear in the space between the giant skyscrapers. Seeing a plane always tore at her heart as it represented both tragedy and hope.
How was she going to tell them? She uttered a nervous laugh. It wasn’t certain, but it was possible, and she had to tell them. As the plane passed beyond her view, she closed her eyes as her thoughts drifted to the meeting with Dr. Bryant, her advisor, who messaged her to see him after her last class.
“Sit down, Aris. I have some news.”
He handed her a document, and upon reading the heading, she gasped. The National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, School of Philosophy. She raised her eyes to Dr. Bryant, afraid to read further.
“Yes, you are a finalist for one of the fifty positions in the program. Congratulations.”
Aris sucked in a breath. “I never thought I would get this far.”
“I know the odds were long, but your grades are excellent, your knowledge of the Greek philosophers as strong as any faculty member at CUNY, and your submissions essay outstanding. I’m not surprised.”
“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. Thanks.”
“My pleasure. It’s my understanding the committee will meet shortly after the semester ends, and the finalists’ grades along with a recommendation from faculty will count toward the final selection, which they will announce by July 1st.”
As she rose, Dr. Bryant added, “Aris, I hope your family realizes how important this is to your future.”
“I hope so, too.”
Looking again at the now-empty sky, she dreaded what awaited her. No time to linger, she headed down the block to her fate.
Papa Nico’s Greek Restaurant, known as one of the best Greek eateries in Manhattan, was preparing for dinner. She shoved open the door and stepped inside, the spicy aroma of tonight’s special wafting toward her.
Her ya-ya Sofia sat behind the cash register. “Ah, Aris, my favorite granddaughter.”
She kissed her ya-ya on the cheek. “I’m your only granddaughter, but I love it when you say that. Where’s Mama?”
“She’s in the office with Dorothea, tallying up the lunch receipts.”
“Thanks. I need to talk to her, and then I’ll be back to take the phone orders.”
Walking along the corridor past the restrooms, she faltered and nearly ran but remembered her father’s final words, which gave her strength. She rapped on the office door.
Her mother, Medina, beckoned her in. “How was school? Hard to believe you almost finished with your freshman year.”
“Good.” She paused. “Mama, I need to talk to you.”
She glanced at Dorothea. She wanted to talk to her mother alone and hoped her aunt would catch on. Her aunt did, but her mother shook her head. “No, stay. We are family.”
“Mom, last semester, Dr. Bryant talked to me about a program that offered a semester of study in philosophy. I decided to pursue it, filled out the application, and submitted the required essay. Dr. Bryant informed me this morning that I’m among the finalists for one of the fifty slots in the program. I’ll know in July if they select me.”
“Darling, that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?”
Here it comes. The moment she feared. “The program is at the University of Athens, in Greece.”
The color drained from her mother’s face. “In Greece? You would have to fly there. No, no — you’re not getting on a plane. That’s final.” Her mother fled the office.
Tears spilled from Aris’s eyes, and Dorothea rushed to hug her. “My little one, I know it’s difficult, but your mother has never gotten over your father’s death. You know that planes frighten her, and she is only trying to protect you.”
“She has to stop. All of you have to stop keeping me trapped because of what happened to my dad. It’s not fair.”
“You’re still a child and…”
“I am eighteen and old enough to make my mind up.”
“My precious Aris, they only want what’s best for you.”
“No, all of you want what’s best for yourselves. That’s to keep me here, in the restaurant. Pappouli only agreed to pay my tuition if I studied business and forgot philosophy.”
“You are studying both. Papa allowed you to follow your whim.”
“He only wants the family’s dream for me, not my own. No more.” She spun and stormed out. They were not going to defeat her dreams—her father’s dreams.
Her shift ended at eleven p.m. After she helped clean the dining room, all Aris wanted was to escape upstairs to her room. She gathered her coat and books from behind the counter when her grandfather called to her.
“Aris, come here.”
She followed him into the dining room, where her family waited. The rattling of pans and the sound of the industrial dishwasher told her that her uncle Zander, Dorothea’s husband, and their son Alex, who was still in high school, remained in the kitchen cleaning up. Zander rarely involved himself in family squabbles. Her mother, grandmother, and aunt sat together at a table.
Nico Persopoulos stood before an empty chair and motioned her to sit. Years of habit spurred her to obey.
“Aris, your mother tells me you have applied for some study program at the University of Athens. As you know, I willingly pay for your education in business so that you’ll take over the restaurant when I am gone. This foolish wish to study philosophy will get you nothing in life. I am only looking out for your best interest. As for your mother, she suffered a great loss. While I never thought your father was good enough for her, he was a successful restaurant equipment salesman and helped here in our restaurant when he could.”
Her chest hurt as if her grandfather had punched her. “I lost something too. I lost my father. All I ever had of him were the philosophy books he left me. He vowed to take me to Greece to see where Aristotle, Thales, and Zeno lived. He wanted us to walk where they walked. He told me how much fun we would have…”
Her grandfather interrupted, speaking in an agitated voice. “Your father was a dreamer. Always had his head in the clouds and his face in those books. Your mother was foolish for naming you what he wanted, and now every day, you’re reminded of his obsession. This foolishness is not practical, and I forbid you to go on this flight of fancy.”
Her heart shattered, and she clenched her fists until her nails pierced her palms. “I’m over eighteen. You cannot stop me.”
She rose and picked up her books. Running toward the back staircase, all she could hear was her mother’s sobs.
~~~
Spring semester exams were a week away, and mid-morning, Aris grabbed a coffee and pastry for breakfast and sat at a bare wood table in the dining room. She was reading from a textbook on ancient philosophies.
The doors from the kitchen opened, and she raised her eyes to see her mother entering with fresh tablecloths. She had avoided her family as much as possible since she told them about the program, citing a need to concentrate on her studies. Being alone with her mother was the last thing she wanted.
Dropping the tablecloths onto a nearby table, her mother sighed. “I thought you would be at school by now. You’ve been hurrying out of here every morning for a month.”
“You know I have an early morning class, Mama, but canceled today because of exams.” She got up to get more coffee. The kitchen was busy prepping for lunch, and the smell of cinnamon and Greek oregano was filling the dining room. A wave of nostalgia swept over her. This restaurant had always been her home, but it was time for more.
As her mother busied herself spreading the tablecloths, Aris continued to read, waiting for the shoe to drop. Her mother would say something. She knew it. She did.
“Aris, you owe your grandfather an apology and an explanation of your behavior.”
“I did nothing wrong. All of you knew what I wanted to study since I was a child.” She took a breath. “For your information. I spoke to the scholarship department. There is a good chance I can secure an academic scholarship. If so, I’ll be changing my major to philosophy only. If the University of Athens program chooses me, the scholarship will remain mine for when I return.”
“I forbid you to go to Greece.”
“It’s one semester, Mama. Then I’ll be back.”
“No, I won’t let you travel that far.”
“You can’t stop me. I am old enough to do what I want.”
“No.”
“You remember what my father said. You played it for me when I was little. I memorized every word. But when you realized that I shared his passion for Greek philosophers, you hid the tape. Never let me hear his voice again.” She was shaking so hard that she gripped the edge of the table. “You kept the only thing I had of my dad from me. He died one month before I was born, and all I had was a recording of his voice and his books. And you hid the answering machine from me.” She picked up her book, plate, and coffee cup. “I’m going. If I get the opportunity, I am going.” Turning toward the kitchen to take her dishes, she heard her mother sobbing once again.
~~~
Aris was covering as cashier while her aunt took a break. With their relationship strained, the family spoke only when necessary regarding the restaurant. Only her grandmother had asked her how her exams had gone. Thankfully, they had gone well.
Daydreaming about Greece, Dorothea startled her when she returned. “Sorry, and sorry, I’m late. I had something to do. Listen, when you get off tonight, come to my apartment. I have something to show you.”
It was nearing midnight when Aris knocked at her aunt’s third-floor apartment. Opening the door, Dorothea grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in.
“I don’t want anyone in the family to know you’re here. I have done something that will get me into a lot of trouble with my parents and your mother.” She smiled. “To be honest, I don’t care if they know but not until you know everything. Sit.”
They sat on the couch, and Aris noticed her aunt sneak a nervous glance at a small cardboard box sitting on the coffee table.
“First, I want to tell you about your mother. When your father died on that terrible day, your mother lost part of her soul. Papa didn’t like Theo because he didn’t want to work in the restaurant. His grandparents owned one, and he grew up working for them. He took his skills and began working for a company that sold equipment to restaurants. It was how he met your mother. Papa bought a new oven from him.
“Then 9-11 happened, and our world came to a standstill. Aris, your birth five weeks later was the joy we all needed but short-lived because of your mother’s illness. Medina was already in a deep depression from losing Theo, and it only became worse after you were born. You don’t remember, and we never told you, but she spent eight months in a private hospital. Mama and I used to take you on the train to Queens to the hospital, hoping she would react. She developed such a phobia to planes that they installed blackout curtains in her room so she couldn’t see the planes from LaGuardia.”
“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me this?” Aris hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaken to her aunt as it did to her.
“Because Papa wouldn’t let us. She was his baby, and I never faulted him for protecting her more than any of us. The love between your parents was deeper than any I have ever seen, and as much as I love Zander, our love couldn’t compare. Your mother lost part of her soul that morning and never recovered. Her fear of planes and flying is deep-seated now and why she is fighting you. She feels that she is losing you to the same things that Theo loved. She is losing him again through you.”
Her aunt took a deep breath. “I heard you tell your mother that she had taken your father’s voice away from you. I knew you needed to have this with you and that we all need to face the fact that you are also Theo Rossi’s daughter, and his passion lives on in you.”
“I will not forgive her for that.”
Dorothea picked up the box and handed it to her. “I knew where Papa hid the answering machine.” As Aris opened the box, she continued. “I thought you should have the message from your father. I checked. It works.”
“I can hear him again?”
Dorothea nodded, and Aris threw her arms around her aunt. “Thank you.”
Leaving her aunt’s, she snuck into her apartment and quickly got ready for bed. Plugging the machine in, she slipped under the covers, pulling them over her head. She turned the volume down as low as possible and listened to her father’s final words. She was crying in her pillow as she heard her mother come in.
~~~
The next night after closing, she summoned the family to the dining room. After wrestling with her emotions, she had decided what to do.
“What did you want to say to us?” Her grandfather stood defiantly with his arms crossed.
She reached into her school bag and removed the answering machine. She heard her mother gasp but calmly plugged in the device.
“Mama, I know this will be difficult, but all of you need to listen.” She pressed play. The tape was old with a bit of static, and her father’s deep voice was raspy and labored.
“Medina, by now, you may know what has happened, but my love, I won’t be coming home. A plane struck the Tower, and there is no way out of the restaurant. I need you to tell my parents that I love them. Nico, Sofia, Dorothea, Zander, thank you for bringing me into your lives. I beg you to take care of my Medina and our daughter.
Please, Medina, know I will love you for eternity. You are the love I wanted, and you have given me joy. I am sorry I will not be there to raise our daughter. Please give her the name we discussed, Aristotle Elena, and call her Aris. Please play this message for her when she is older.
Aris, this is your father. I am so sorry I am not with you, but my love is with you always. Your mother will tell you of my passion for ancient Greek philosophers. I want you to share that love. I have many books for you to read and had hoped one day to take you to Greece, where we could walk where Aristotle and the others walked. You must do that someday and know that I walk with you. I love you.
Medina, live your life and make our daughter happy. I will always lov…”
Silence met the end of the message. Aris paused before she spoke.
“This is why, if I am accepted, I will go to Greece—for my father.”
Aris took the answering machine and left hearing not only the tears of her mother but the tears of all.
~~~
Summer school started as Aris nervously awaited the committee’s decision. Two weeks had passed since she played the tape for her family, and tensions remained strained, but she was resolute. She had made her decision.
It was July 3rd, and no word. Riding home on the bus after class, the lack of news discouraged her. As the bus rolled to a stop, she vowed to go to Greece regardless. Lost in her thoughts, she stepped off the bus, shocked to find her family waiting for her.
Her grandfather stepped forward, handing her a letter. “Dr. Bryant is a kind man. He allowed me to bring the news to you. Go ahead. Read it.”
Aris ripped open the letter to read the words. Congratulations, you are among the students selected for the program. Tears welling, she raised her eyes to her smiling grandfather.
“You were right all along. We were trying to protect you and your mother and failed you both. Your mother is going to see a psychologist so she can come to terms with what happened.” He handed her another envelope with an airline logo. “You are going to Greece.”
Medina hugged her. “I’m frightened for you to go, but it’s what you should do.”
Ya-Ya Sofia clapped her hands. “We made your favorite cake, yiaourtopita, to celebrate. Let’s go home.”
They walked toward the restaurant, her arm linked in her grandfather’s, as her mother, grandmother, and aunt excitedly discussed buying new clothes for her trip. Aris glanced up to see a plane passing above her.
She smiled. She was going to Greece to walk among the philosophers with her dad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note: When I first saw this prompt, the events of 9-11 didn’t resonate until other authors mentioned it. Their comments triggered a memory, and once that memory surfaced, I needed to honor it.
A friend was a union organizer for the restaurant workers union. Shortly before that day, she had organized the workers at the Windows On the World restaurants atop the North Tower of the World Trade Center. After the attack, she spent the day with friends as no one wanted to be alone. When she returned to her apartment that evening, a message was waiting for her on her answering machine.
The restaurant worker she had worked closely with during organizing had left her a message. He told her he called his wife to say goodbye. His message to my friend was to say thanks for her friendship, dedication, and hard work for their organizing effort. He wanted her to keep up the good work.
I have never forgotten his story and thought this was a way to honor all the victims of 9-11.
This story was written for the January 2020Write the Story! prompt The Write the Story! project is a monthly prompt provided by Writers Unite! It is intended to give authors writing experience and outreach to grow followers to their Facebook pages, blogs, and websites.
D. A. Ratliff Author 