Banana, Bacon

Walk down to the Museum of Natural History, then take the subway to Columbus Circle.

Eddie could hear his mother’s voice in his mind as clear as if she were speaking to him now, even though he hadn’t spoken to her for years.

Make sure you take the A train to Columbus.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Make sure you take the B train to Columbus.

Which one was it? He strained his mind, trying to remember. This was a trip he made nearly daily as a kid, but 15 years is long enough to forget even the most important facts. He was already forgetting the smell of the deli across the street, and the taste of the hot chocolate. They always advertised it as the best in New York, and he had always agreed. No, almost the best. His mom’s was better. She always sang Christmas songs when she made it, even if it was in the middle of spring. He could still hear her singing “Jingle Bells” in July, which always made the neighbors a little upset. He couldn’t remember the neighbors very well. How long would it take to forget them completely? How long would it take him to forget his mother?

It’s the B train first, then the A train. Just remember, BA as in banana, or bacon.

Eddie smiled. That always used to make him laugh. The first few days of riding the subway, he would spend the whole trip just repeating “banana, bacon,” and giggling uncontrollably. No one ever sat by him because of this, but that was fine by him. He’d need the extra seat for mom after he picked her up from work.

Get off at Columbus Circle, then take the A train to Chambers Street Station. Then walk towards the two big buildings right next to each other.

The twins? He’d always ask.

Yes, the giant twins. She’d always reply, before dropping him off at school with money for the subway and the deli. He just had to find his way to Central Park, which was pretty easy, and then follow those directions. He never got lost, and he was almost never late. He always made sure to be on time to pick up his mom.

Because if you are late, how will I know how to get home? I need you to show me where to go.

Really, mom?

Yes, Joey. Now go inside; I think the bell is ringing.

Okay mom. I love you.

I love you too.

The memory faded as he saw his younger self walk through the doors to his school. He was 9, or maybe 11. No, 10. He shook his head, trying to remember. He searched his mind for any detail, any small part of his past he may have missed or taken for granted. There was so much to remember, and even more to forget. He struggled to find missing pieces for so long that he lost focus and nearly missed his station. Right before the doors closed, he hopped out of the train and into the station. He gave his deli money to a homeless man and his dog; the deli had burned down 15 years ago anyway, along with the twins and...he pushed away the memory. It was the one thing he wished he could forget, and the one thing that he never could. He swallowed the lump that had formed so ungraciously in his throat and headed up the stairs to the street.

He realized slightly too late that he couldn’t direct himself based on the giant twins anymore, because they were no longer standing. He hailed a taxi to give him a ride.

“Where to?” He spoke in a gruff voice, as if Eddie was annoying him by making him drive around the city. He looked like the kind of guy who would throw someone out of the taxi for breathing too loud. Eddie made sure to breathe through his nose to be quieter, even though it smelled like the taxi hadn’t been washed in weeks. 

“Uh, the giant twins, please.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. That’s right, no one called them that but him and his mom.

“Sorry, I meant the memorial. The 9/11 memorial.”

“Alright. $2.50.”

He handed the driver the money and gripped whatever handholds he could find as the taxi sped down the street dangerously fast. They swerved through traffic, ignoring pedestrians, bicycles, and basic traffic laws. When they finally got the memorial (which only took about 2 minutes), Eddie nearly flew out of the taxi, trying not to throw up. The driver sped away before Eddie could even tip him. Still dazed from the trip, he stumbled into the memorial.

He caught his breath. The memorial was so vast, so huge, so full of names. He felt the need to throw up, but this time it wasn’t because of the bumpy ride. Black granite stretched for hundreds of feet, filled with thousands of names of victims. There were a few other people visiting the site, but the names which would never be called again made him feel more alone than ever before. He tried to steady himself on the black stone, but it felt wrong to lean on such a solemn site. Besides, his hands were too shaky to grab hold of anything stable. He looked down at the name he had just grabbed. Joshua Todd Aron. Who was he? What did he do to deserve the fire? What did he leave behind? Every name had a story. Sure, some of these names belonged to cheaters, thieves, liars. But maybe Joshua Todd Aron was somebody’s hero. He fought back tears and sought out the name that really mattered most to him. The monument wasn’t arranged alphabetically, so it could take a while to find. He searched for the names that began with B.

Bailey, Baptiste, Bantis.

Take the B train first, then the A train.

He wandered past rows and rows of trapped stories, all ended too early.

Bacchus, Badagliacca, Baeszler.

BA, as in banana.

More names.

Or bacon.

More stories. More tears, more smoke, more wreckage littering the streets and clogging the gutters.

Baksh, Balkcom, Bane.

He was watching the news that day. He was watching as the fires burned, and he had felt the smoke suffocating him, even as far away as he was. He was watching as the second plane hit, and even his 10 year old self knew that this was serious. He remembered how quiet it got in the room, and how the T.V. blared sirens and screaming. The adults were crying, the kids were all so confused and sick, but everything was quiet, as if the world wanted everyone to see and hear exactly where it all went wrong.

Barbosa, Barbuto, Barkow.

Banana, bacon.

It was so unfair. She had escaped the fire, hadn’t she? She had made it out, but she only lasted for another month. One month was all he had to say goodbye, and it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough for him.

Barnes, Barnes, Barnes, Baron

I love you, mom.

I love you too, Eddie.

He stopped. He ran his fingers over his mother’s name, as if willing it to disappear. He wished he could turn back time, that his mother could be standing next to him. Maybe then they could cry together, and it would be okay. But the name didn’t disappear, and there was no turning back.

Renee Barret-Arjune.

He fists shook as his eyes betrayed him, sending tears in torrents as a soft rain began to fall. He felt the whole world watching him, waiting to see if he could stand it. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, it couldn’t be real. For years he had tried to push past that moment, when she let go. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not then. He fell to his knees, and he wished he could be with his mother again.

If you are late, how will I know how to get home? I need you to show me where to go.

He stood up, wiped his tears, and walked out. Some people were staring at him, but he didn’t really care. He had to keep going. He had to find where to go. For his mother.