Plum Crazy

To Those I Knew

The memories come. Faces; voices; scenes play out in my head. Sometimes unbidden. An overheard word or phrase. The back of somebody’s head, although that happens less frequently now. I am transported back in time, to a when that seems so much simpler. All the things that bothered me in the then seem so trivial. Although in truth most of them still bother me in the now. I wish they did not.

To all of you, this is my memorial. My testament that you lived and that your life still has effect, even in your death. No music. No speeches. A simple recounting of memories.

Jim – So quietly sitting in your cubicle outside my office. A shy smile. That off-site meeting where you went up to the D.J., twice, to make sure he played that song I wanted to dance to (“White Lines”). I wish now I had taken more pains to say hello to you every morning. But know this – I always thought you were one of the gentlest souls I ever met. I still do.

Rosa – Quick to smile. Slow to complain. I used to wish you were quicker to complain so that I could have helped alleviate the situations that were upsetting you. When you would bring Amanda with you to work. How she used to hide behind you, shyly peeking out at the rest of us. Amanda with all that hair; a mini-Rosa we used to call her.

Jennifer – Usually so very quiet, but with that biting, sarcastic wit that always came as a shock to break your otherwise stillness. How hard and long you worked to pass your CPA. You never gave up until, at last, success a few scant months before your life was robbed.

Patti – You always seemed so serene. Yes, I knew that Dan would drive you nuts. He drives us all nuts sometimes. Who ever knew that “angst” could be a verb? But your life with Warren and your children, Colby and Jordan, always seemed to keep you in balance. I wonder what keeps them in balance now that you are gone?

Jon – One of the first people I met when I was new to the job. Dancing with you at the holiday parties my first years there. I never will forget.

Barry – To know you was to know you couldn’t have been anything but a retired NYPD detective. How you loved to schmooze. If only we could schmooze once more over my hamentaschen or latkes, the ones you liked so much. I still make them. I don’t think you ever knew that a friend told me you had commented to him that I looked “hot” while dancing at one of the holiday parties. I never told you I knew. I figured you would just be embarrassed. Don’t be.

Linda – You of the matching Coach purse. But yours always seemed so much lighter and less lumpy than mine. You were more organized; never carrying around mounds of things “just in case.” Perhaps you knew that “just in case” didn’t really matter.

Kevin – Always on the same schedule. You for your cigarette. Me for a drinkable cup of coffee. The conversations in the elevator. I promise you that I always have liked your old boss, Bruce. I still do.

Gary – How I admired your ability to make the tough decisions and carry them out in a way that didn’t alienate people. That negotiation where Michael would constantly get up and walk out mid-sentence. How you laughed when I said he had the worse case of adult ADHD I had ever seen. Nothing has happened to make me revise that opinion. How much you loved your daughter, and how proud you were when she was cast as an extra in the Memphis Ballet’s production of “The Nutcracker.” Does she still dance? I hope so.

Bernard – Why were you even there that day? Why weren’t you safe in Toronto? How shocked I was to find out days later that you were gone. It never even crossed my mind that you were there.

Greg – With your face like a cherub. You always seemed so cheerful. But then that one time I was walking down the hall on 99. I must have surprised you when you weren’t expecting to see anyone you knew. To my great shock, you were not smiling. The only time I ever saw you without a smile on your face. I didn’t know if I caught a glimpse of a Greg few ever saw or if it was an anomaly. Now I’ll never know.

Joe – I know. I know. Joseph. But you first introduced yourself to me as Joe. By the time, 4 years later, you told me you really preferred Joseph, the force of habit was too strong. So Joe you will forever remain to me. Yours is the face, the voice I remember most vividly. The lunches at Johnny’s. Asking me to teach you about classical music. How sheepishly you confessed to me that you listened to that one piece I told you to trust me on even though you didn’t recognize the composer. Your recognition upon hearing its opening notes – “Ahh, the Theme to 2001.” And the crushing embarrassment when, seconds later, Mike, of all people, walked by your office and said, “Oh, Also Sprach Zarathustra.” We all had to start somewhere, though. That after-work black tie event. Me walking out of the building in my evening gown, my hair done up in a bun with a pearl bun holder. I saw you from afar say “Wow” to Brad. How flattered I was that it always came as a shock to you to find out I was 2 years your elder, not your younger. Each time. Each of the 4 or 5 times. Thank you for that. The cocktail party the week before the attack. That silly little company logo key ring you gave out as party favors. I was planning on making merciless fun of you for the rest of your life for that. How could I know then that the rest of your life would only be 6 more days?

And all the practical jokes. That Tiffany’s box all tied up with the ribbon, with the slip of paper with only the word “dumbass” written on it nestled on the cotton inside. That was all Frank’s idea, but it was brilliant. How you loved that. You kept it on your desk for two years. But it was all my idea to send you that picture of a jail cell with “Who’s your daddy? Love, Hyman,” written on the back. Given your theory about Hyman and how you had disliked working for him, it seemed so perfect. I know you kept that one too. I did tell Frank, though, that if HR ever came to him about those doll parts, I was going to deny all knowledge. Even for Frank, that was weird. Did you ever think anything could be too weird for Frank? And now he’s buying a house in the suburbs. The authentic angry young man settles down.

But the thing I most appreciated about you, although I never told you so, was that you were one of those rare men who never badmouthed his wife; one of those rare men who not only loved his wife but very clearly liked her and liked spending time with her. The affection in your voice and on your face when you spoke of her. I will count myself one of the luckiest women around if a man ever speaks of me with half the affection with which you spoke of your wife.

And to the others I did not know as well – Still I can see your faces. The memories don’t come as often or as vividly. But for all that you still had an effect on me. So this is to Janet, Kermit, Jack, Nina, Mary, Kevin, Rich, Cecile, Ed, Mary, Alex, Elaine, Sue, Dan, Palmina, Bill, Erwin, Dolores, Frank, Vince, Steve, Warren, Valerie, DaJuan, Rebecca, Carol, Dan, Gene, Nancy, Miah, Joel, Cheryl, Patrick, Jim, Margaret, Sal, Jonathan, Joanne, Chapelle, Frank, Ralph, Art, Tom, Astrid, Mary, Bill, Jimmy, Harry, Norma, Phyllis, Garo, Barbara, Malissa, and Eve. And to all my other colleagues I did not know but who were killed. I witness to the world that you were and are.