He turned his head in scrutiny, looking at her, an inquisitive smile forming across his mouth. His hands and knees touched the wooden floor. His eyes ...et her feet. ‘Good boy.’ He liked how she elongated the word ‘boy.’ It made him feel like one of her dogs. He half wished to see the words come out of her mouth, but he was plenty content being at her feet. ‘Turn around.’ As he turned, he felt her weight on his back. He made to turn his head but her soft hand guided his gaze forward. ‘Crawl.’ She. I was twelve on 9/11/2001. It felt like I had lost my father for an eternity after the towers came down. It was actually less than six months, and he never left physically. He told me later that he was clinically depressed and sort of checked-out of life for a while. He felt that he should have done something, that he could have stopped the attacks from occurring somehow. His office that he normally guarded zealously was often open during that time and I would see him watching videos repeatedly. More

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