Murphy died on August 31. Chase had a peculiar habit of reading obituaries in the local paper. He felt a bit more educated learning about those in town with rich life experiences. And, he had recently thought with a chuckle, this tied in rather nicely with his attraction to cemeteries. On Sunday, September 2, he abruptly stopped, mouth agape, placed his coffee cup on the table, and stared at the headline: “William R. Murphy, 1932–2001.” Though no picture accompanied the obituary, Chase knew it to be his old boss. Born in Brooklyn. Moved to town in 1960. Business owner. No surviving relatives. To be cremated in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. No services planned.
“Linda!” he shouted from the living room toward the kitchen. “Linda, come here a second!”
“Sure. What is it?” she asked, concerned at the tone of his voice.
“Look here! Murphy died!”
She studied the obituary in silence and then noticed her husband’s morose posture. “You okay?”
“Well, yeah, I guess so,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s just strange, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems like the end of a depressing chapter, the official end of an era in some way. Not that it hasn’t been dead for years, but Murphy was the last connection to it.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“It doesn’t affect me one way or the other. Just kind of sad, I suppose.”
“Hon’, it says here that he had no surviving relatives. Did you know that?”
“Oh yeah, sure. That’s the other unfortunate part.”
“Well at least you were able to speak with him at the wedding.”
“Yeah. That’s a good thought.”
Chase spent the next week buried in work, thinking often of Murphy and of the old days, noticing again how death seemed to magnify a person’s accomplishments, though he knew full well that his old boss’s wallet was fattened by other people’s drug habits. He did own a couple of businesses in town; however, he told Chase long ago that they produced minimal returns. His was a lonely life with a lonely ending.
A few days later, Chase’s world was rocked again. Frank called him about five minutes before nine in the morning.
“Chase! Do you have the TV on?”
“No. Why?”
“Turn it on! The World Trade Center just got hit by a plane!”
“What?”
“Turn on the news! I’ve gotta get back!”
Chase hurried to the television, shouting for Linda to come to the living room. They watched the World Trade Center in flames. Then, just a few minutes after nine, another plane crashed into the South Tower. Newsmen frantically attempted to make sense of how commercial planes could be used in a possible terrorist attack. Linda wept. Chase comforted her. He held her close and stroked her hair but couldn’t think of any meaningful words to say. Mesmerized, they kept their eyes focused on the screen in horror and numbed shock, completely confused, seeking answers to their unspoken questions.
Frank called again. “Chase, are you watching all this?”
“Yeah. It’s unbelievable! What do you think’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Some sort of an attack it looks like.”
“Terrorists?”
“Sure seems that way. They’re saying another plane is out there as well.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Hey Chase, this is serious stuff. You guys want to come over? I’m going to take the day off to be with Allie.”
“I need to check on Amy and Ryan first. I’ll let you know.”
He called the school, and the secretary told him all the children were in the cafeteria, waiting for their parents to pick them up. Chase and Linda jumped into the car and raced over.
Their kids had seen the news and wanted to learn more after climbing into the back seat. Chase said that they didn’t know much at this point, that it was just some sort an attack in New York City. Amy began to cry when she noticed her father’s panicked face. Ryan followed. Reaching back to comfort them, Linda said, “There’s nothing to worry about. Everything will be all right.” She hoped that was true.
Chase and the family burst into Frank’s house without knocking and found him and Allie huddled on the sofa, staring at the television. They joined them, Linda holding Amy and Ryan tightly. With live coverage of the Pentagon in flames, Linda decided to take the children home to protect them from the horrific images.
“Okay,” Chase agreed. “I’ll stay here until we get a better idea of what’s going on.”
Fifteen minutes later, the South Tower collapsed, followed shortly by the crash of Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. The news anchorman spoke of possibly ten thousand dead in the attacks. Though the numbers decreased as reports came in, the three of them remained troubled and anxious.
“This is terrible,” said Allie, staring straight ahead. “These are innocent people, going to work. How could anyone do such a thing?”
“Well I’m sure they’re terrorists,” Chase said, “and they hate us. Innocence means nothing to them. They’d love to take out as many of us as possible.”
“But what did we do to deserve this?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Nothing. I’ve heard that they call us the Great Satan, which I guess means we all deserve to die, at least in their minds.” Chase looked over at Frank. “What do you think we’re going to do?”
“You mean the US?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never been for war, but this time I hope we bomb ‘em all.”
“Where would we start?”
“Who knows?”
An hour later, Frank dropped Chase off at his house. Linda had the radio on to stay informed while distracting Amy and Ryan with on old Disney movie. She jumped up from the sofa when her husband came through the front door, immediately wrapping her arms around his waist. Chase quietly filled her in on what he had seen, and the two sat hand in hand, listening for new reports as they absentmindedly watched the movie.
Later that night, Chase retreated to the living room to reflect upon the day’s significance. Could it be that the nation had believed a lie about itself? Maybe a lie about its invincibility? And if so, could the nation reject such a lie and change its way of doing things? He wasn’t sure, maybe even about the lie. But he did know that this event underscored the need to remain vigilant, ever aware of the power of his own personal lies, perhaps exposed and broken, but still awaiting opportunities to reassert themselves if he assumed total freedom from them. Chase felt strong in the knowledge of his growing transformation but realized that he was not invincible himself and that relapses were possible, perhaps even probable.
The next Sunday, Linda helped the kids get ready for church. “How do you know what they’re supposed to wear?” Chase asked cynically as he watched.
“Do you really care?” Linda replied.
“Guess not. Just wondering.”
“Well could you at least lend a hand by fixing us breakfast?”
“Cereal?”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
Chase went off to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee and staring at five boxes of cereal in the pantry. He made his choice and placed the box and three bowls on the table with a gallon of milk. Linda had mentioned taking the children to church, and after the attacks she insisted the time had come. She couldn’t understand his annoying stubbornness given all of his other changes over the years and found it particularly baffling at a moment such as this. Chase told her maybe another time, just not now. She had also suggested a closed-mindedness on his part, an unwillingness to learn anything new. He answered that religion offered nothing. Frustrated by her husband’s intransigence, Linda gave up the verbal battle and chose to go alone with the children.
“So you’re sure you won’t come with us?” Linda pleaded once more as the three entered the kitchen.
“Yeah, come on, Daddy!” said Amy.
“Oh, your daddy’s, uh, well, pretty busy this morning. You guys have a good time. I’ll be here when you get back.”
Linda raised her eyebrows and tightened her mouth. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll find something.”