<\/p>\n
Martha and I are extremely different. She is shy and soft spoken. I am not. She is blonde. I am a brunette. Martha is a Republican. I am not. She lives in Long Island. I live in Manhattan.
\nBut we both lost our firefighter husbands on September 11th and have shared the secrets of our loss that forged a friendship as deep as it is unlikely.
\nFor about ten years after our husbands died we vacationed with our kids together. Martha has three children. The oldest is the same age as my son, Aidan. Our travel styles are different too. Martha is adventurous. On a beach vacation she likes to scuba dive, snorkel, parasail, water ski and windsurf. I like to watch her from my beach chair.
\nOver the years we learned to take turns choosing destinations to accommodate our divergent needs. On the Spring break of 2004, it was Martha\u2019s turn. She chose Bush Gardens in Virginia to satisfy her middle daughter Kelly\u2019s desire for adventure and her youngest son Patrick\u2019s obsession with animals. This would be combined with a trip to Colonial Williamsburg for her oldest son Sean who loved history. Aidan and I went along for the ride. Coincidentally, I had been to Colonial Williamsburg with my late husband Dave and his family who all shared a love of history. On that trip, I annoyed my in-laws by putting \u201cYe Olde\u201d in front of every place we visited. We stayed at the Ye Olde Econolodge and ate at the Ye Olde Cracker Barrel.<\/p>\n
On the morning of our trip, Martha arrived at my house in Staten Island early, her mini-van idling in the driveway as she sent her son Patrick, five years old to knock on my door. His face, a shrunken freckled version of his father\u2019s, looked expectant as he hopped from one foot to the other. \u201cI have to pee,\u201d he said rushing past me and calling back \u201cand my mother has a bladder infection.\u201d
\nAidan climbed into the van, thrilled to be watching a DVD in a car, something I never let him do. I cherished our \u201ccar talks\u201d and refused to have them disrupted. For Martha though, having three energetic kids not only required DVD players, but an arsenal of juice boxes, Nintendos, Costco sized bags of potato chips, tissues, wipes and IPods. Watching Martha stick a tiny yellow straw into a juice box driving 80mph on the Jersey Turnpike was as masterful as any Cirque Du Soleil act I had seen.
\nWhen the kids were tuned out on headphones, Martha and I talked about the firefighters at our husband\u2019s firehouse, how some had left, how others had gotten sick, how all of them had changed. There is something about a long car ride that opens one up in ways that don\u2019t happen elsewhere. Martha cried when Yesterday from the Beatles played on her IPod. I cried when Yellow by ColdPlay played.
\nThe combination of DC traffic and bladder pit stops made us arrive too late to visit Jamestown, the countries first English settlement, but not too late to visit the gift shop which stayed open a half hour longer. We let the kids loose in the narrow aisles filled with colonial hats, Jamestown keychains, quills and arrowheads. To avoid arguing, Martha insisted they all buy the same item. After a long debate, they decided to buy muskets.
\nAs the tour buses departed, and the sun cast long shadows on the wide lawn in front, we let the kids run wild, shooting each other and collapsing dramatically to the ground.
\nMartha lay on her back, her thin dark blonde hair spreading out on the grass. \u201cI dreamt about Tommy last night,\u201d she said.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t like dreaming about Dave\u201d I said, pulling at a thick blade of grass remembering dreams that were so vivid, I could practically smell the smoke on Dave\u2019s denim shirt. When I awoke, I had to remind myself he was gone.
\n\u201cIt was so strange. He walked in the house like he had never left and I was panicked.\u201d Martha began.
\n\u201cWhat did Tommy say?\u201d
\n\u201cNothing. He just stared at me. I screamed at him. Where have you been? What are you doing here?\u201d
\n\u201cOh man,\u201d I mumbled biting my lip.
\n\u201cI felt bad for Joe,\u201d she added. Joe was Martha\u2019s boyfriend a detective who she met at a wedding. So many of the widows were dating, getting engaged and while I had a few relationships, I felt like I was pretending to be single. My heart had only lightly scabbed over while there\u2019s seemed healed.
\nThe kids were long shadows now, breathless in the fading light. Patrick ran toward us, his pale cheeks red.
\n\u201cThey keep shooting me!\u201d Patrick whined.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s what you\u2019re supposed to do!\u201d Martha said sitting up.
\n\u201cWe only shoot him when he whines\u201d Aidan explained.
\n\u201cSounds like a good plan. You only shoot if someone whines. I\u2019m hungryyyyyy,\u201d I demonstrated. On cue, Patrick and Aidan shot me.
\nWe ate at a local diner and checked into the Ye Old Comfort Inn situated on a strip of hotels.
\n\u201cI\u2019m not tireddd\u201d Patrick whined as his brother shot him one last time before we all went to bed.
\nMartha knocked on my door the following morning at 6 am. Traveling with Martha was like being with Chevy Chase in a vacation movie. She was alone in her unbridled enthusiasm to get the day started as the rest of us dragged ourselves into the van yawning. I was not looking forward to Bush Gardens. I hated rides. When I was four, my father bribed me with a bag of Doritos to climb into a potato sack and descend a long plastic blue slide. I was so frightened I peed in fear, leaving a long wet streak on the slide and an abrasion on my ass that lasted for weeks.
\n\u201cLets go!\u201d Martha chirped.
\n\u201cI\u2019m not doing anything until we go to a Ye Olde Starbucks.\u201d I mumbled.
\nOne Venti latte and three hundred dollars later, our group was in Scotland waiting on line for The Loch Ness monster roller coaster. I volunteered to take Patrick and Aidan to see the Clydesdale horses. Patrick wasn\u2019t tall enough and Aidan inherited my fear of rides.
\nAs the sun rose higher, it became unseasonably hot as we circled around to Ireland and France. By the time we arrived in Italy four hours later, I was sunburned and chafed, two giant scabs forming on the inside of my thighs.
\n\u201cI want to go on the Pompeii ride!\u201d Patrick whined. Sean, Kelly and Aidan shot him with their muskets.
\n\u201cC\u2019mon. Come with us,\u201d Martha pleaded lining up with Patrick. \u201cYou haven\u2019t done anything all day\u201d she added.
\n\u201cI ate a funnel cake,\u201d I tried reluctantly joining them only because I was hot and wanted to sit down.
\nAn acne riddled teenager summoned us into a fake log pulling the metal bar over us, Patrick\u2019s head barely reaching the top. He was only five months old when Tommy was killed along with Dave and ten other men from Squad One.
\n\u201cI\u2019m scared,\u201d I said as the flume creaked up a steep conveyer belt.
\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be okay.\u201d Patrick assured me patting my hand.
\n\u201cI have to pee again,\u201d Martha sighed.
\nWhen we reached the top, two giant doors swung open revealing a burning, lava-ridden, Italian town. I slid closer to Martha when a plaster column pretended to fall on us.
\n\u201cThis is bizarre,\u201d I whispered to Martha as I felt my cheeks redden from the heat.
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cAlmost three thousand people died in Pompeii. They\u2019ll probably have a 9-11 Coaster some day\u201d
\n\u201cThat would never happen,\u201d Martha insisted.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s what the people of Pompeii thought,\u201d I said as the doors flung open and our flume was catapulted straight down into a giant wave of water. The cold water hit the raw skin on the inside of my thighs, making me scream. It was a sound that Martha mistook for joy.
\n\u201cSee, I knew you\u2019d like it,\u201d she said laughing. I walked in a straddle toward the parking lot.
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you?\u201d Martha asked as I waddled toward the van. I pulled up my skirt and revealed the two round circles of what resembled raw hamburger meet.
\n\u201cJesus! We need to get you something!\u201d she grimaced.
\n\u201cIt hurts,\u201d I said, startling at the four musket shots behind me.
\nAfter a stop at CVS; Cranberry pills for Martha, Gold\u2019s Medicated Powder for me, we headed back to our rooms. I moaned with relief as I shook the powder that fell like snow on my thighs.
\nThe following morning, Martha let us sleep a whole hour later before piling us back in the van to drive to the Visitors center at Colonial Williamsburg. After another long line and more overpriced tickets we were shuffled into a movie theater to watch an outdated colorized movie called The Story of a Patriot. On the screen, overly made up men in white tights and pilgrim shoes spoke stilted dialogue about whether to align themselves with the British or the Revolutionaries. After 45 minutes, I convinced Martha to let me take a fidgety, bored Patrick to the bathroom.
\nAutomated faucets had just been introduced and Patrick and I played with them watching the water magically turn on and off. Then we watched our skin flap like flags in the new Dyson hand dryers.
\nAscending the wide carpeted stairway, I felt a wave of panic as I spotted crime tape encircling the movie theater, a half-dozen security guards and police officers looking grim. I quickened my pace toward the entrance squeezing Patrick\u2019s hand.
\n\u201cMa\u2019am. You can\u2019t go in there.\u201d A security guard said blocking us,
\n\u201cMy son is in there.\u201d I stammered.
\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry ma\u2019am. We have an emergency\u2026.\u201d As I fumbled in my bag for my cell phone, Martha exited the theater doors laughing hysterically, her delicate hand cupped over her mouth.
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d She tried to answer but was laughing too hard.
\n\u201cYour seat\u2026\u201d Martha began\u2026\u201dwas covered with your powder and you left this trail\u2026\u201d She gasped for breath. \u201cThey think its Anthrax.\u201d
\nNow my hand was cupped over my mouth. \u201cYou should tell them,\u201d Martha added.
\n\u201cNO! I said. \u201cI can\u2019t\u2026\u201d I stuttered pulling Patrick toward the shuttle busses waiting outside. \u201cC\u2019mon kids! Lets go!\u201d
\nA short ride later, we arrived at Colonial Williamsburg, a 301acre living history recreation of an 18th century town. It was early spring and cherry blossoms bloomed fragile and pink down the main Street while yellow forsythia reached their yellowed arms out of every pocketed place. Memories of being here with Dave flooded in. As if reading my mind Martha said,
\n\u201cTom would have loved this.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m hungryyyyy,\u201d Patrick whined followed by a spray of musket fire.
\nThe restaurants were packed and so we bought boxed lunches and parked ourselves in the middle of a wide, green field in the center of town. The kids ran through the grass shooting each other. We watched laughing as dozens of other kids joined the battle, lining up on either side of us. Even a young fife and drum musician joined the fight.
\n\u201cI told you we shouldn\u2019t picnic on a battlefield,\u201d I joked as Martha and I quickly moved to a safer spot as an endless stream of kids joined in with same overpriced muskets and coon caps.
\nAfter lunch, Martha agreed to take the kids to the arsenal, while I went to tour the George Wythe house alone. George was one of the most import men of the Revolution and the first law professor in the United States. A handsome African American was our tour guide and, a re-enactor who spoke as if a slave. \u201cMy master freed me and taught me how to read and write. Very rare for them days.\u201d
\nWhen the tour was over, I walked down the stairs, the leaded windows thick, distorting the sunlight, as I heard the re-enactor say,
\n\u201cI hope you enjoyed my story Missus,\u201d. I turned back to see the actor was handsome with round brown eyes and strong muscles that strained the seams of his burlap slave shirt.
\n\u201cThat was great,\u201d I answered smiling \u201cI was curious though\u2026.\u201d I continued as we exited the building toward a picket fence, \u201cDo the re-enactors get paid well here?\u201d. The slave stopped and smiled, his teeth white and his cheeks forming into dimples.
\n\u201cOh I don\u2019t knows \u2018bout dat. I jus\u2019 pick\u2019n un cotton over yonda\u201d he said sounding like a character from To Kill a Mockingbird.
\n\u201cI get it. You can\u2019t break character or you\u2019ll get in trouble right?\u201d I asked, the crowd finally thinning.
\n\u201cYes\u2019m missus\u201d he said gesturing to me to follow him a little way down the path. When he saw the coast was clear, he leaned in and whispered. \u201cWe get $15.50 an hour plus benefits, paid vacation and a 401K.\u201d He spoke like a well-trained Shakespearean actor.
\n\u201cWow. That\u2019s great.\u201d I whispered back.
\n\u201cAre you an actress?\u201d he asked.
\n\u201cI was in my other life,\u201d I said vaguely.
\n\u201cWell, there\u2019s a personnel office about five blocks that way or maybe I can tell you more about it over a drink later,\u201d he said and I stared back at him, slowly realizing he was asking me out.
\n\u201cI wish I could. I\u2019m with a bunch of kids\u2026on vacation\u201d I said exhaling, wishing I could say yes.
\n\u201cAnother time then,\u201d he said tipping his hat the way they do in old movies and then he walked away, falling back into character as some tourists approached for the next tour. \u201cAlright Missus. I thank ya kindly for a comin\u2019,\u201d he said winking at me.
\nI walked quickly down the cobblestone street when realized I was late to meet Martha. A wave of excitement filled me. Something I hadn\u2019t felt in years as I approached Martha breathless and smiling.
\n\u201cHow was it?\u201d she asked as I bit my lip. \u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cI just got hit on by a slave,\u201d I whispered and she laughed squeezing my hand as we gathered the kids for the shuttle bus home.<\/p>\n ","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Martha and I are extremely different. She is shy and soft spoken. I am not. She is blonde. I am a brunette. Martha is a Republican. I am not. She lives in Long Island. I live in Manhattan. But we both lost our firefighter husbands on September 11th and have shared the secrets of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-841","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n