It was a foggy night. The effects of it caused an almost neon tracing to the lights of New York. The suspension slammed hard in it’s interaction in the sin of the city’s roadways.  I was in my world where typically no one could hear my thoughts and I was used to that.

How could a tale of the dirty city and damaged ground be heard in a vacuum that never allowed sound to move? In the days since I carried the light across the vast expanse of my youth, I lived in a very strange place, preparing for a war that seemed to only exist on the pages of novels.

Saturday after Saturday, I toiled to be ready. There was an isolating affect to these days, and I was determined.  I wondered what it would be like.  I was afraid of what it would be like. 

In the history books, 100 years later, a cluster of conflicts can look like a single event.  Over a quarter century has passed. I now wonder if that is what happened here, when I made a left turn off the bridge that seemed to be a few feet off the ground.  The railing yielded and I found that I was at least a half mile high and it was too late to do anything about it.

The explosion happened at 11:37 PM. I was permanently knocked off course and as the years continued, I moved further away from where I was going. Three years into unknown space, I heard them yelling, “get out of the cities, get out of the cities, get out of the cities!”

I worked hard right up until 5 hours before the clocks chimed that time was up.  For a little while time stopped.  We all floated in space, quiet, completely still, listening for the slightest disruption in reality.

Then like a story of an impossible night, 3 years of anticipation gave way to Monday morning and nothing was different.  Relief, confusion, and a feeling of what now.  In the wake of it all someone heard words that seemed could never be heard. I remember standing in a bus station against a wall and noticing that a year just went by in a moment, but that was nothing compared to what was coming.

For the last 10 years there was trouble brewing in the distance.  8 short months would pass, the next event knocks me off course again. Every day, I kept waking up in new realities. I would wonder when it would stop, but as I was learning, this was becoming what is normal.

This time, my losses, efforts and scars would carry us in through the difficult days ahead. Not long after, add someone to really protect to the mix and things really got interesting. Then I am poised, one knee, one hand on the ground, ready to strike as bad news rains like newspapers on the front step.

In the seven years prior to Liam being born, life kept mutating in extreme convulsions, preparing me to deal imperfectly with what would come next and next and next. I still don’t understand much of it, and I feel that sorting it out in words can help me to get to writing about what I really want to, the moments of raising Liam and Noah that went by faster than any other part of my existence.