Making Faces

by Amy Harmon

In the days and weeks following the attacks on 9/11, life returned to normal, but it felt wrong, like a favorite shirt worn inside out--still your shirt, still recognizable, but rubbing in all the wrong places, the seams revealed, the tags hanging out, the colors dulled, the words backward. But unlike the shirt, the sense of wrong couldn’t be righted. It was permanent, the new normal.

“But September 11th was two months ago, Fern. And he’s still not over it.” Fern looked up at the gray-streaked sky hanging heavily above their heads, tumultuous with the predicted storm. The clouds were churning, and the winds had just started to kick up. It was coming. “None of us are, Bailey. And I don’t think we ever will be.”

but not understanding is better than not believing.”