Since 99

Woefully lofty sentiments, faded treasures of earthly personage whisk-fully spirited towards Godly presence, declarations of patronage amongst unity … yup, On Christ in heaven~On God encompasses all … I remember. 

I most definitely remember, remember clear the feelings of decaying normalcy horrifically fast-fading in realistic sight. — sight not summoned, sight not wanted —

In reflective remembrance, this the type of memory that equates thematically to every personalized traumatic experience lived, cycloned into a mother-nature curated plus delivered storm of visible oddity. Visible oddity which historically now has “stained plus tormented” for eternal remainders. 

Wes Barston sips “Whiskey-Ly” one octane fueled cup of Valdez greatness. Hand-of-left occupied glee-fully cancerous by one Marlboro light cigarette currently housing an over-hanging cherry suspense-fully leveling; an OCD’ers triggering nightmare. 

Mr. “Lefty sip morning Whiskey” now takes an aggressive fork-carve into his precision shaved toasted almond & Thyme-topped egg white omelette, chewing steady plus dichotomy driven. Dichotomy driven amongst tastebud delight as memories, plus one engrossing story awaits 12 anticipative patrons connected through aliment, willfully halted by suspense. 

He drinks, swallows, inhales, exhales, pauses, then quips … 

‘Finished 7-9, missed the playoffs for the first time since ninety nine’. 

The entire 12 instantly chorus into laughter as he delivers the chant with a comedic ring devilishly likening; prose & timing booming Burr-like, (resembling Lenny even).

However, sentiments quickly shift as he explains that this playfully antagonizing statement (presented in sports jest by his twin brother Thomas, being he’s a somehow Commanders fan but more-so an impassioned Giants hater) was the playful resultive-statement made jovially famous as result of one catastrophic moment in time. 

—Moment in time—

“What a dope, brisk New York morning”. “Developed dews enforce full divorce from air as nature glides and permeates with a champions optimism causing an instant city glow as well posthumous Y2K fright after smoke”—Much a combo—

Said thoughts of “Morning dopeness” gallop glorious as I match mental energy amongst 6-mile-purgatory; a morning run a ritualistic must before work for this 24 year old California of Berkeley graduated college corporate world newbie.

One would question I seem, a 24 year old college graduate? With a judging [too] steaming brew of disdain the likes of a raging Ruth Ann grilling the beguiling Jack Dawson with an aristocratic widows fury. However 2 years off to travel the world served a much needed occurrence before diving frame-forward into towering 9-5 consistency.

After college, as stated previously, I took two years to travel the world. Tanzania, London, Switzerland and Dubai a short listed visitation Talley. With world travel conquered I eased precise into an entry level position located in the North tower of the twins.

New York now as such owning my preference, the tower north more than suppling my job content, I ease comfortably into a life much preferred, ended with plenty bar filled nights of whiskey and intellectual jabs.

This brings me to my brother Thomas who moved to DC young and like myself, took two years off after college (attended Georgetown U) then landed a gig decidedly anticipated at the Pentagon in Arlington, Virginia.

We formed a loving childhood rivalry equating in sports, causing endless verbal sparring battles over NFL driven clashes. Him a die hard Washington Redskins fan, me, a maniacal big apple crusader. Once almost going to blows; emphatically embarrassed in retrospect. However though, outside of that one ego cruised, juvenile-driven mini melee, we remained good on fronts all.

I finish my run, engage a shower, then head for work. As lower manhattan is none to far, far to close, I brisk-step to the nearest morning cafe, precision-shaved toasted almond & Thyme-topped egg white plus a cup of coffee boasting a special additive, (habit learned from bro). I then grab all edible essentials and enter the North tower, eventually reaching my office.

3 rings from my desk phone demand focal attention as I answer. “What up bro, still wagoning those disgusting New York Clients, clients cause we stay serving you divisional rejects”! I shoot back, “and you know I am, but tell me this bro, why is it 2001 and y’all best QB option still looking Joe (god damn) Theisman”? Both erupt into laughter.

Thomas, (now Orwellian-referenced), tucked Oceanially surveyed through (1984 like) Pentagonal managerial optics. Thomas was a tall Caucasian fella with stylish black specs of Kent proportions plus an affinity for K-9’s and aesthetically gifted female company.

It is now presently 8:02 as I alert Thomas, “alright you friggin’ Knoxville special, I gotta get to work”. —We part—

I shoot the top levels to accomplish tasks. Accomplished. Now done I, head back down to the main lobby to attend to a front desk issue. Once attended I head back towards the elevators, pause then …

Im puzzlingly lost in fisherman frustration, locked in “floated” admired conversation with none other than Spencer Tracy, and Felipe Pazos. “Wait”! “This is not real, moreso an excerpted situation from my favorite book, what’s going …

“Sir” … “Sir”, quick snap back to reality. “Sir, can you hear me”? I quickly regain my senses as well land to my feet. I ask the generous stranger what has happened. He replies with a presidents seriousness, “no one’s exactly sure yet but there was a loud crash plus explosion in the building”.

I quickly realize my “Old man and the sea” encounter was the result of whatever just torpedoed the building, landing me unconscious momentarily. For how long not really known. With senses gathered, I press urgent towards the front door exiting expeditiously. As I exit, I stride urgent, glance back then witness as the entire building collapses. All that life lost, All those lost souls. I weep.

—Life flashes reflective, mortality presented deathly—

I escaped with my life that day, never once taking occurrences for granted. I call my mom, dad, plus all essentials. After senses collecting, I make it to a TV where my attention is taken hostage by the news headline: BREAKING NEWS, plain crashes into the Pentagon. Desperately I search to locate a working phone to call Thomas.

I reach a land-line (after finally reaching home) frantically dialing that 10-number communication portal with no avail. In no way could I handle the news of my brothers death as I retreat thoughts. Off sudden my house phone rings, I exhale as I bask in audio delight, Thomas’ voice ringing “living” over the line.

“Thank God in heaven bro” he exclaims as he details how a terrible car accident made him late for work, causing him to miss the entire horrific ordeal. Although thankful for renewed life, we both lament such a disastrous event plus loss there of.

A couple of months later and once again after lamenting, we reflect on the year which resulted in catastrophic tragedy. Always the antagonist Thomas reflects then sends the stinging dig which eventually became his phones message recording:, ‘finished 7-9, missed the playoffs for the first time since ninety-nine’.

Even amongst dire bro could find alleviating remedies through humor as, with all this going on he’s still found a way to dig at my Giants.

Heftily Haunting However as, 2 months later, Thomas and 3 of his friends were killed in a car accident. How ironic as a car accident saving his life during 9-11, is the exact same thing that took it.

Wes looks up and eyes 12 raging seas erupting before him as he himself tearfully concludes. He remembers still that day, much moving with child-like impulses as results are readily known. However I care not, I call still, that 10-number communication portal.

Ring, Ring, Ring, Ring … (answering machine picks): Finished 7-9, missed the playoffs for the first time since ninety-nine.