posted on Mar, 3 2004 @ 07:02 AM
Tammy loved her weekend trips to Chicago with her mom and dad, and her little brother, Nicolas. She would come back on Monday to her 3rd grade class
with tales of excitement: how a police chase would zoom right past them, or how they would run across the street, dodging the taxi cabs, as they drove
their fares to destinations unknown.
She remembered hearing about 'terrorist' alerts on TV, asking her daddy what that meant. Is it really unsafe to go to the city? Her dad
responded, " there are people who hate us sweetie, but don't let it get you down. We will keep living our life as usual. As soon as we start letting
people tell us where to go, trying to make us afraid of doing the things that we have always done, that's when they win. You may not understand now,
but you will when you're older."
It was Saturday, and Tammy and her family pulled into the parking garage at, looking at her watch, exactly 10:43 a.m.. Tammy was especially
looking forward to todays plan. The Field Museum of Natural History was having a display about the Egyptians. Not that she knew exactly what an
Egyptian was, but she sure did like looking at their mummies, and golden trinkets.
After exiting from the car, Tammy's dad pulled the stroller out of the back of the Jeep. He set Nicholas into it, as Tammy made faces at him.
They walked out onto Dearborn Street, as dad began to hail a taxi.
Not too far away, Tammy heard a loud sound, kinda reminded her of one of those firecrackers dad used to let off at the 4th of July. What did he
call them? Oh yeah, M80's. Then she heard another, this time a bit louder, followed by police sirens. She looked up at dad. His face, though
impassive, had a slight look of concern about it. She glanced towards her mom this time, almost at the same instant hearing another M80, seeing her
mom's eyes widen in horror. That's when she felt the heat on her face. An unbearable heat, as she was knocked over, sprawling on the sidewalk. She
began to cry, looking for her dad, who was laying on the sidewalk too, not moving, and still holding little Nicolas. He wasn't facing her, but his
clothes were charred to the point of blackness. He could see Nicolas' hand from behind her dad's body. Was that a finger missing? She couldn't tell
from all black and redness about it.
But the screams, that's all she could hear now. Screams and sirens. Her mother was over her, clutching her in her arms, yelling for anyone,
anyone to come help them. Tammy, though, could not stop staring at her dad, afraid of what he looks like on the other side. Silently telling him to
"get up daddy, please get up. You and Nicolas will be ok."
This Monday, there will be no tales at school. No police chases, or near death experiences with crazy taxi drivers. No mummies, wrapped in that
awful rotten cloth. And no golden trinkets.