When my mind wanders, I can’t help but think about where I was at that moment exactly one year ago.  Retracing every step I took, everything I did.  I can still see the cramped cabin- two beds, two nightstands, a small television in the corner, a desk with a tall mirror, a tiny bathroom to the left, two small closets by the door with two life-vests and two suitcases belonging to my sister and I; the art all over the walls- green on deck 7 with a picture of Adam right outside our door; the glass staircase leading to the sundeck restaurant with a replica of the statue of David; The view of all 9 floors from the glass elevator, the over-the-top architecture everywhere, the faces of the four boys in detail, down to his snapback and red plaid button-down shirt, and the face of one of their mothers’- was it disappointment, or denial?; the guns on the officers’ belts, and the faces of the ship’s next occupants, confused by the presence of the FBI and Baltimore police on the boat and four boys being handcuffed; the face of my sister- her makeup completely cried off, her skin blotchy, eyes swollen, beyond exhausted, completely defeated.  I can still feel the tension and relief of knowing the trip would be over the next day, the feeling of being out-of-place at the show and casino; the feeling of dread watching my sister consume drink after drink after drink; the feeling of uneasiness and simultaneous comfort leaving her at the bar and going to bed; the feeling of confusion and panic at the sound of the phone ringing at 5:04 am; the feeling of relief quickly turned to panic at the sight of her; the feeling of complete confusion at the sight of the white uniformed security guards filling our cramped cabin; the feeling of questioning as she gave one of the guards her clothes from the night before in a plastic bag; the feeling of complete and utter shock as she told me her story; the feeling of remorse; the feeling of sinking, drowning, and all-consuming anguish when the thought “It’s my fault” came to mind; the depression that soon followed, and finally the acceptance months later, yet the fear still lingers.  I can hear her voice, hear his voice, hear the sound of the ocean and the children laughing as they run off the ship.  I can hear my sister’s pain- a stark dichotomy to the cheery voice of the captain thanking us for choosing his cruise line and dismissing us from the ship.  I can still smell the salty air, smoked-laced clothes, stale hallways, spilled alcohol, and her perfume.  At that moment I was no longer a child and saw the world with new eyes.  At that moment, innocence was lost and invincibility no longer existed.

8:08 am  •  17 July 2012  •  2 notes