Josette's Diary

His name is Christian, but that doesn't matter. How is it that I get tongue-tied when I see him. My heart flutters when we meet and forget trying to speak to him. I am so distracted, all I can do is stare. His face remains a mask, his features still and unmoving, yet I feel him watching me. I know he wants me just as I pine for him. It's nothing said, just felt and yet he knows I belong to Gaetan, one of the most powerful vampires in the city. Does it matter to him?

It's his dark eyes that consume me. When I look into them I feel like I am being swallowed up like the inky, dark ocean on a moonlit night. I want him to devour me; skin and bones, flesh and blood; heart and soul. I have never felt this way about another man, and yet, I find this impossible to tell him. It seems so trite and meaningless. You say little yet read my thoughts, finish my sentences. It's unnerving yet comforting as we stand and stare at one another, across the room, across time, familiar and yet so different, silent and yet so full of emotions.

I sense he has been through the fire and come out the other side, despite his youthful appearance, despite his poise and calm. I want him, no matter the cost.

Is this love or madness?

It's that time again

Every year I say to myself, another year has passed so I won’t feel the sadness and loss this time. Once September rolls around with muted sunlight and cooler air, it hits me all over again. I get that knot in my stomach as I am thrust back to the moment when I heard the mention of “a planning hitting the World Trade Center” and I thought it was a private, two-seater that had the ungodly bad luck of hitting a skyscraper.

My mind reels as I remember that day, as crystal clear as that morning sky. Well….. Here we are eight years later and I still don’t believe it. Sounds crazy I know, but as time goes by I find it harder to reconcile and to understand. Perhaps because we have not caught the mastermind behind these attacks, or that the sight where the towers stood seems so undone. There seems to be such little closure even now.

I still ask myself what if it happened again. I think about loved ones and my only thought is how do I round them all up and where do we escape to? How do all the people I love live happily ever after? Where would we all go? I swore after 9/11 that I would keep a packed suitcase under my bed, along with water, walkie-talkies, boxes of contact lenses and a mental note of what I would take with me in case I had to evacuate.

Call it denial, but all my empty luggage is stacked up in the basement and although I have lots of bottled water, I have yet to buy walkie-talkies or extra contacts, and how could I possibly ever discern what I would take with me? I have too much stuff! Plus, where would I put all of my family…I mean there are a lot of us! I guess we could take over a hotel or something, but where would we meet up and eventually live? Some of us like the beach, and some of us like the mountains. How would we choose?

So, I spend the day reflecting, praying and trying to come to terms with it. I reach out to family and friends, thanking them, feeling nothing but gratitude. I let them all know what they all mean to me. I still get choked up. It always seems to be a quiet day, no matter where I go and what I do, there’s a stillness in the air, a solemn, somber feeling as I muddle through the day, and yet I still have hope for our future and a belief in the inherent goodness of humanity.

I can’t see it any other way…maybe that’s why I can’t pack my bags or hoard extra contacts, or plan my escape route. It can’t happen again, I ask. Can it?