Page 31 of To the Moon and Back
Certainly not like a park. Yet that was how it looked. Trees and grass, open and inviting. Jenna hadn’t known where to start. She wasn’t sure she would do more than sit in her car and look at the place from a distance. But something about it drew her inside.
Jenna paused the memory. She was still walking, but now she stared up through the leaves of the trees overhead, and suddenly she remembered another detail. In those first few minutes at the memorial, she had been struck by something deeply profound. What had happened to her parents didn’t happen to her alone. It happened to the whole country. To everyone old enough to remember April 19, 1995. Of course, that had always been the case. But Jenna hadn’t registered the fact until the moment she saw the scope of the memorial.
The significance of it.
She kept walking along the Schiller Park path, still slower than before. And as she did she gave herself over to everything about that distant memory. How the air had smelled of sweet jasmine planted near the pathway. The way the bronze walls stood, reaching to the sky with their time stamps.
9:01. That was the one Jenna could see from the parking lot. The minute before the bomb went off. The last minute her parents were still alive. With every step she took, every breath, the memory of her long ago visit came to life a little more.
Until finally she wasn’t walking in Schiller Park at all. Rather, she was getting out of her car and crossing the memorial grounds. The sky had been cloudy that day, too, so Jenna wore a lightweight navy raincoat and a white knit beanie. She paid the admission fee and slipped through the gates unnoticed. The museum had displays with enormous photos of the horror.
Jenna didn’t want to see any of them. That wasn’t why she had come. She could go online anytime and see images of the bombing. No, she was here for one reason. To honor the memory of her parents. To stand where they stood in their final moments on earth.
The empty chairs called to her first. They were each lit, translucent almost, one for every person killed in the attack. But almost at the same time she was drawn to another part of the site. The spot where most people milled about.
A stretch of fence that bordered one side of the grounds.
Jenna wandered that way and only then did she understand why so many people were there. The chain link was covered with cards and letters, photos and flowers. Things left in honor of those who died.
The entire stretch was quiet and reflective. Here, the memories were a living, breathing thing. Until that instant Jenna hadn’t known the fence existed. That she could’ve brought letters or cards there in her parents’ memory. Or that she maybe should’ve been visiting the site every year.
Jenna stepped back and took it all in, just watched the people around her. Some of them stood in one place and didn’t move, not a step to the right or to the left, their gaze fixated on some object or photo, something written. Others walked slowly, reading the messages, caught up in the offerings.
Most people seemed to be by themselves. On pilgrimages of their own.
It was then, a few minutes after she’d found a spot near the fence, that Jenna saw him. She thought he was older, twenty, maybe. Twenty-one. He was tall, tan with dark hair and muscled shoulders.
What’s he doing here? she thought. Even now she remembered catching her breath as he walked closer. His attention was on the fence, as if he were looking for something. Or reading the letters left by other people.
Just as he was about to pass by, their eyes met.
Jenna wanted to look away. She’d been caught staring at him, after all, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t break contact with the stranger if her life depended on it. He slowed and then sauntered toward her.
“You’re new.”
She pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. “You’re new. I’m here every year. I’ve never seen you.”
She shifted, captivated by him. “You mean . . . you know these people?” Her glance moved along the fence. The visitors were a mix of different ages. “Are you all . . . like from a club or something?”
He looked more intently at her. “You could say that.”
Jenna wasn’t sure what he meant, so she held out her hand. “I’m Jenna.”
“Brady.” His fingers felt warm against hers. He crossed his arms. “If you’re here . . . today . . . something tells me you’re in the club.”
She looked at the fence. “What is it? The club?”
For a long time he said nothing. He slid his hands into his pockets and stared at the people around them. Like he was studying them. When he turned to her again the walls in his light brown eyes were down. Just a little. “Why are you here, Jenna?”
“I’ve never been.” Her answer was quick. She didn’t just tell people her story. Not so soon.
He nodded slowly. “That’s it? You’ve never been?”
“Right.” She tilted her chin and looked at him straight-on. “Why are you here?”
That’s when he pushed up the sleeves of his cream-colored sweater. He held out his arms. “Look.”
