#but we all knew something was up because it was a glorious september tuesday and they cancelled recess to keep us inside

[marisatomay]

online buddy of mine (born in 2004) said “i strongly suspect the vast majority of ‘I'll always remember where I was on 9/11’ stories are not true. I simply don't believe that 75% of people were watching the news live at 8:45 in the morning on a Tuesday when the strangest thing happened.” and like. okay. we can talk about the aftermath in the 22 years since 9/11 and the horrific and evil jingoism that ruined countless lives in decades-long wars all we want. but i cannot overstate enough that 1) we still very much had a monoculture in 2001. most americans would watch either the today show or GMA. 2) as soon as that first plane hit every news station in the country was covering it. schools and businesses and break rooms turned on every tv. every radio. anything that had the ability to broadcast the news. (smartphones weren’t a thing. cell phones and the internet existed but they were new and fragile. unreliable. your best bet was still to sit there and watch. or listen.) and we all sat there and watched the second plane hit and the pentagon hit and the towers collapse and flight 93. so, yes: basically everyone who was alive and old enough to form lasting memories in 2001 remembers that day and the coverage. even people who weren’t near a tv or radio in real time remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. they probably even remember the reason why they didn’t hear about it in real time. i was 5 years old in my first week of first grade and i remember it. it was like. the biggest thing to happen in this country since fucking. pearl harbor. bigger. there’s no need to downplay that.

#personally: my school intentionally kept us in the dark and didn’t dismiss us so i didn’t find out until i got home #but we all knew something was up because it was a glorious september tuesday and they cancelled recess to keep us inside #and all of the teachers looked shaken and some kids were picked up by their parents. #i still remember the look on the face of the mom of one of my classmates. we would later find out that her dad (my friend’s grandpa) died. #but they didn’t tell us what was going on and i think they made the right choice. #didn’t want to traumatize thousands children more than necessary. i think they were right. #i still remember exactly where i was and how my parents told us though #and i remember all of the coverage after. all of it.

[hereidinathoreauwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV), Come From Away - Sankoff & Hein Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Zoey Clarke/Joan Characters: Zoey Clarke, Joan (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist), Annette (Come From Away), Beulah Davis, Beverley Bass, Claude Elliott Additional Tags: Crossover, Angst and Tragedy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, two people end up stuck together somewhere and oops they're in love, Developing Relationship, mentions of 9/11, the author is clearly just mashing together two things they very much enjoy and seeing what happens, Zoey and Joan are closer in age, college!Zoey, Gander (Come From Away), References to Come From Away Summary:

For Zoey, it was a return home from a study abroad program, back for her final semester at San Francisco State. For Joan, it was a business trip meant to fix her marriage from imminent destruction.

But when history crashed across the world on that fateful day, their lives were thrown together as they took refuge in Newfoundland and tried to cope with tragedies personal and global.

ZEP and Come From Away crossover. Because I said so.

She just wanted to get home.

Zoey Clarke tripped on her way to her seat, nearly smacking an angry-looking dark-haired first-class woman in the face. Mumbling an apology for the near-mishap, Zoey darted towards Economy, face burning.

It had been six months. Six glorious months of baguettes, and croissants, and the view across the Seine, and coding with her French classmates in two languages until the early hours of the morning. But she was finally going back home to California.

Zoey finally settled into her seat (an aisle seat) and threw her backpack into the overhead. She carefully tucked her computer case under the seat in front of her.

She’d barely settled herself before the cabin address began.

 “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard this American Airlines flight 846 nonstop service from Paris to Los Angeles. My name is Captain Bass. We have an estimated flight time today of roughly 11 and a half hours and we are due to arrive in LA at 2pm local time on Tuesday, September 11th. Please sit back and enjoy your flight.”

Zoey closed her eyes as they taxied; nervous but a small part of her relieved.

She’d be home soon.

***

Meet you in LA.

Joan Bennett scowled at the SMS on her phone screen. That’s it. That was all he’d been able to muster up. Skipping out on their anniversary in Paris entirely for some stupid reason. He hadn’t even called.

She sat back in her seat as the cabin address came on, eyes already closing as the standard pre-flight information was given.

LA was his last chance. If Charlie couldn’t buck up and actually give a damn about their marriage this time she was going to…

Joan pursed her lips, resolve faltering. You’d be all alone. Despite his many, many shortcomings, Charlie was still a warm body alongside hers (on the nights he was actually home). He was still a partner in this unfriendly world. And the thought of being without him…

She drifted into an uneasy sleep as they took off towards America. Towards the man she didn’t know how to love.

 “L…ladies and g…gentlemen…p..please, please fasten your seatbelts and put your tray tables up…we are preparing to land.”

Zoey blinked awake, confused. Were they in LA already?

Glancing around, she saw several others looking just as confused as she was. Zoey glanced at her watch. It had barely been five hours since they’d left Paris.

“What’s happening?” She asked the man next to her.

He just shook his head.

Zoey tightened her seatbelt and sat back, heart racing as the plane began a slow descent. She glanced over her neighbors and saw a tiny strip of land surrounded by vast ocean.

They weren’t falling. But something about this just didn’t quite feel right.

***

The plane touched down and Joan stared out the window. This wasn’t LAX. It was some rundown airport surrounded by trees.

“Where the hell are we?” She demanded.

“Newfoundland.” The flight attendant informed her, seeming distracted. “Nothing to worry about madam.”

“Any idea when we’ll be on our way?”

But the woman didn’t answer her. She vanished into the cockpit.

Joan heard hushed voices and some kind of chatter on the pilot’s radio.

She frowned and pulled out her cell phone.

As she dialed a number, she glanced out the window again.

It was then that she registered the dozens of other planes lined up in haphazard rows. And the long line of cars beyond the airport, stretching out along the winding country road.

What was going on?

***

Seven hours later, Zoey felt like she was losing her mind. She’d tried to ask the flight attendants questions or chat with her neighbor but no one seemed to know anything or be willing to share if they did. No one around her had a phone so she couldn’t even call her parents to let them know about the delay.

Her unease had only grown when the captain announced that complimentary drinks were going to be provided. Alcoholic drinks.

In Zoey’s limited experience, businesses only gave alcohol away on holidays and during the shittiest of circumstances. She doubted it was a holiday in…wherever-they-were Newfoundland.

As her fellow passengers got drunker, they got louder. And the plane only got hotter and more stifling.

An hour after the drinks, someone finally cracked open the airplane door. It did little overall but something was better than nothing at this rate.

Zoey couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to move. She needed to plug herself into her code and block out all this madness.

Her neighbor had joined the drunken revelry at the back a half hour ago. Scooping up her computer, Zoey wriggled out of her seat and made her way towards first class. There might be more leg room up there at least. And it was further from the drunk singing.

***

Joan wanted to kill somebody. They’d been sitting on the ground for over seven hours by this point, not including the five hour flight beforehand. And still, no one was telling them what was going on.

At least the free vodka was taking some of the edge off. But if she didn’t get off this plane soon, she was going to lose her mind. Or strangle a flight attendant.

“Excuse me…?”

Joan turned and saw the klutzy redhead from earlier pointing at the empty seat beside her. “Do…do you mind if I sit here? I need to get some work done and the back of the plane is filled with a lot of singing drunk people.”

Joan eyed the stranger, seizing her up. She was younger than Joan by maybe a decade and looked even younger in her bright shirt. An even brighter cardigan was tied around her waist. Her smile was soft and hesitant, like she was afraid to offend or even exist.

Joan shrugged. “No, of course not.” She was way past the point of caring. They were stuck in a plane in the middle of nowhere. Not like things could get much worse.

The woman took Charlie’s empty seat, giving Joan a soft smile.

“I’m Zoey.” She was clutching a laptop like it was a lifeline. That was the only reason Joan engaged with her.

“Joan.” She replied.

“H…how are you doing?” Zoey asked, her face pinching in concern.

Joan sighed. “Wish I knew what was happening.” She bit her lip and swigged the rest of her vodka miniature. “And worried about someone who was flying today…I wish I could tell him I’m in…Iceland!”

“Newfoundland.” Zoey’s face immediately fell as Joan rounded on her at the correction. “Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to correct you!” The young woman gave a sheepish smile. “I’m hoping you’re one of those people who laugh when awkward people say stupid things.”

Joan couldn’t help but smile. “It’s fine. Don’t mind me, I’m just frustrated.”

Zoey nodded and Joan had to admire her empathy, especially under these circumstances. “Where were you coming from?” Zoey inquired.

“London.”

Zoey tilted her head, interest apparently piqued. “Really? You dont have an accent!”

Joan laughed. “I’m not from there…I’m…just working there. I haven’t developed the accent yet.” She gestured at the laptop. “How about you? What are you working on?” She normally wasn’t one for small talk, especially with strangers. But there was literally nothing else to do at this point so why not? Besides, Zoey wasn’t the worst option on the plane. Not by a long shot.

Zoey blushed and placed her laptop on the tray-table. It was a fairly expensive model but a few years old and clearly well-loved. “I’m actually a student.” She admitted. “Senior at San Fran State. I was coming back from a semester abroad in Paris. I’m studying computer science with a minor in languages.”

“Really?” Joan found herself turning towards the young woman, actually interested. What were the odds? “What are you going to do with that?”

Zoey gestured at the computer. “I’m working on my thesis: a piece of software for instant translations on emails and instant messages. I’m starting with English to French but hopefully I’ll be able to expand it.”

Joan was intrigued. “Well…this may be your lucky day…” She smiled. “I work for Google.”

Zoey’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

The next two hours flew by. They talked about everything: job prospects at Google, the finer coding points of Zoey’s software, life in London, and dog breeds. For a time, they were both able to put aside the trepidation and frustration of the long wait inside the plane.

They only stopped when the captain turned on the intercom and the voice of the president filtered through the plane.

 “My fellow Americans…”

They listened in confusion at his words: talk of victims and brave Americans rescuing their fellow citizens. Joan bit her lip, worry starting to creep in. What had happened? From the sound of it, some kind of natural disaster or explosion. But there was no way to get information while they were stuck here. Her phone was dead and anyway, there was…no one to call.

Joan turned to Zoey and was startled to see the younger woman trembling.

“Hey…” She gently touched Zoey’s shoulder, unsure if the action was welcome. “Hey, you okay?”

The younger woman smiled in gratitude but it seemed forced. “Joan…I know we just met…but…” She swallowed hard, seeming like she was looking for words. “I just…I’m all alone and I dont know what’s happening and…”

Joan touched her shoulder once more. “It’s fine.” She assured her. “I’m…alone too. You can stick with me until we figure things out.”

Zoey seemed relieved.

***

Joan briefly lost track of Zoey during the madness of disembarkation. The younger woman had slipped back to her seat as they heard they were leaving, needing to grab her bag. For all the long hours they’d been stuck, once word came down that they were finally getting off, leaving took very little time.

Joan was ushered down the aisle before Zoey reappeared. They finally left their plane and were herded through the darkness into the airport.

Joan swore it was older than she was - probably a relic from the Cold War…or World War II. Thankfully, they didn’t spend long inside.

The local soldiers guided them towards a line of school buses; keeping some flights together and splitting others up indiscriminately.

Joan glanced around as she shuffled along, wondering where Zoey had gotten to. Wondering if the vibrant young coder had fallen out of her life already. It was a shame if she had…Joan had rather liked her.

She followed other passengers from her flight onto a bus and claimed a seat about halfway down. It was cramped and squeaky. But at least it wasn’t a plane. She sat there for 20 minutes, one hand on the other half of the seat in a halfhearted attempt to save it.

But just as every other seat on the bus filled up, a familiar redhead climbed aboard. Joan’s heart jumped.

“Zoey!” She stood and waved to her, guiding her towards the empty seat. “I thought we’d lost you.” She was very glad she hadn’t.

Zoey shook her head, clutching her bag in one hand and her laptop case in the other. “No…No I just needed to get an emergency prescription filled….” Her eyes widened and she shook her hands. “N…nothing serious! It’s not like…I’m going to go crazy because I…I’m off my meds…” The younger woman deflated slightly. “I…I’ll stop talking now…”

Joan chuckled. “It’s fine.” It was…kind of endearing actually.

Zoey settled next to her. “Did you find out about your husband?” She asked. “Was he flying today?”

Joan stiffened. “Do you mind if we just dont talk about that?” She had called Charlie moments after they first landed. The conversation had barely lasted a minute before her battery died. He was safe. And he didn’t seem to care about…whatever had happened or wherever she was. But Joan was more concerned with her utter lack of relief about that revelation. Maybe once she knew just what the hell was going on, she would actually feel glad that he was safe. But right now…

“How about you?” She asked Zoey, finding she was genuinely interested in her companion’s state. “Did you manage to get through to your family? In San Francisco?”

Zoey’s face fell. “No. The pay phones were all out of order…and no one had a cell phone…I just…I just wish we knew what was happening!”

Joan was filled with a resolve so intense that it erased all thoughts of her husband. “I know. I’m sorry.” She squeezed Zoey’s shoulder, utterly unconcerned at how quickly that action had become commonplace for them. “I’ll help you find a phone as soon as we get…” She glanced up, out the bus windows and into the darkness surrounding them. “Wherever we’re going…”

Zoey smiled in thanks. They didn’t say much for the rest of the bus ride. But neither did anyone else.

***

The bus took them to a school gymnasium. Hundreds of gym mats, air mattresses, and army cots had been laid out in long rows along the floor. Some had pillows or blankets but most did not. Joan was glad she’d grabbed her airplane blanket but this still looked terrible. Were they really going to be staying here overnight? Surely they could find a better hotel. She’d gladly share with Zoey if it got them both out of here.

A woman greeted them as they ambled in, identifying herself in a thick accent as Beulah, a staff member of the school. She directed them to grab a spot for themselves and that once they were settled, they could come back into the cafeteria and watch the news on several old television sets.

As eager as she was to know just why the hell they were here, Joan decided she’d rather have first pick of the beds.

Through it all, Zoey clung to Joan’s side. She took the air mattress next to Joan’s, tucking her computer between their beds. Joan waited for her while she carefully covered the case with her blanket.

Then they went into the cafeteria.

It seemed like everyone from their flight and beyond was there, crammed into the space, trying to get a glimpse.

Joan managed to push her way through to the front, Zoey trailing behind her.

Then they finally saw.

They all stood there in front of the TVs, taking it all in in stunned silence.

Smoke, steel, dust. A plane appearing out of nowhere and…

Joan couldn’t look away. She felt…lost, untethered. Any sense of safety she’d had the privilege of ignorance about was shattered forever.

The same footage was on an endless loop, like some kind of cruel flipbook. It should have been a movie. But it wasn’t.

When the first tower fell, a collective gasp went up around the room.

Without thinking, Joan reached for Zoey’s hand. The younger woman was pale and trembling but she gripped Joan’s hand so tightly she felt her tendons re-arrange. In that moment, Joan was so glad the coder had chosen to take Charlie’s seat.

This was a history-defining moment. And all they could do was assure the other that in this moment when they could do nothing, when they were stranded thousands of miles away from all the chaos and death, they were not alone.

Some time later, after someone had turned the news off in frustration, Zoey finally let go of Joan’s hand. She turned away and pushed her way out of the crowd, towards the hallway.

“Zoey?” Joan followed her, unwilling to let her out of her sight again.

She found her collapsed against the wall. The young woman looked shaken, like her world was crumbling.

Joan kneeled beside her and placed her hands on her shoulders. “Zoey, what is it?” She asked, as gently as she could.

Zoey shook her head and swallowed. “My…my brother, David…is in law school in Manhattan…” She looked up, face pale. “What…what if he was there?”

Joan didn’t have an answer for her.

Zoey looked down. She wasn’t crying, it was more like…helplessness. Or a despair so deep it had rendered her unable to move.

Watching her, Joan felt the true weight of their situation settle heavily on her shoulders. They were stuck here in wherever Newfoundland, while there…people were dead, people were dying, the wreckage was burning.

It could have been any of them.

She could have been in the towers, visiting on business like she had been a year ago. The terrorists could have hijacked their flight and flown it off-course. Zoey could have been in Manhattan, visiting her brother. Zoey’s brother could have been on the ground.

They couldn’t do anything…couldn’t call people, couldn’t go home, couldn’t seek revenge, or help the wounded.

Zoey gave a tiny sound, something like a gasp but fainter, more vulnerable.

Joan fixated on it. It was something. Something she could do.

Maybe if she could just help this poor girl find out about her brother, everything would somehow be okay.

***

Zoey barely slept.

It felt like every time she closed her eyes, she was seeing smoke engulfing New York City streets she had walked a mere year before. The sounds of people screaming and sirens blaring echoed in her head. The creaking of her air mattress sounded too similar to the crunch of concrete.

Finally, she gave up. Wrapping herself in Joan’s airplane blanket, she staggered towards the gym doors and forced one open. A blast of cool Canadian air whipped past her, bringing her body back here, back to this strange place. Far away from there. Far away from David.

Wherever he was.

Her lip trembled as she thought of him. When was the last time she’d called? The last time she’d said she loved him? When had she last heard him laugh? Why hadn’t she cherished those moments?

The cold had stopped helping.

Now it was inside her. It was consuming her.

***

As dawn broke, a woman named Annette brought Zoey a cup of coffee. She was sitting in a chair by the edge of the room, exhausted and still lost in horrible thoughts about David. Joan was nowhere in sight, having slipped out early in the morning for unknown reasons. Zoey missed her.

“Mornin’ hun.” Annette greeted, “you hungry? We got breakfast down in the cafeteria.”

Zoey shook her head. Her stomach was empty but the thought of food nauseated her. And the televisions were still on in the cafeteria.

“Well then, do you need to change?” Annette asked, “I can get you some clean clothes if you want.”

Zoey almost refused but then she realized that these were the same clothes she’d put on the day before yesterday, underwear and all. Suddenly, it felt like they were melding into her skin. She nodded and Annette patted her on the hand before getting up to grab her a change of clothes.

It was a relief she hadn’t known she needed. But at the same time, the strangeness of it just made her miss home even more. And think about how far away she was from David and from San Francisco.

Zoey had just finished putting on the fresh underwear, slightly too big jeans, and was pulling on a plaid shirt that clashed horribly with her hair when Joan finally returned.

The older woman cocked her head at the outfit but all she said was: “Is your hair different? You look good.”

Zoey chuckled, fingering the hasty ponytail. “Thanks. It’s just super unwashed…” She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling like a different person. “Are we leaving?”

Joan shrugged. “No one seems to know.” She was still wearing the same clothes from the plane and she was fiddling with something in her pocket. Her hair was also pulled back but into a severe bun that Zoey immediately envied. Zoey opened her mouth to tell her about the free clothes but Joan seemed preoccupied. She jerked her head towards the door Zoey had stood in front of the night before. “Zoey, come with me…”

Joan led her outside the building, one hand in her pocket, the other clutching Zoey’s tightly. Zoey followed, silent but alert.

As they stood in the chilly air, Joan finally pulled out her other hand.

A cell phone. A fancy, expensive, international phone.

Zoey gasped, eyes sliding from the device to Joan’s face.

“I finally got a chance to charge it.” Joan said, sounding apologetic. “I…I wanted to make sure you got to use it first, before I offer it to the others.” She held it out to Zoey. “Go on, check on your family. I’ll be just inside if you need me.”

Hands shaking, Zoey took the phone. Her stomach was in knots.

“Wait,” She called as Joan turned to go inside. “Stay? Please?”

Joan nodded. She took a few steps back, far enough to give Zoey some privacy but never letting her out of her sight.

Her heart thrumming, Zoey dialed the number.

***

Joan watched intently as the coder used her phone. Her eyes traced Zoey’s path as she spoke rapidly with someone on the other end. She folded her arms tightly as Zoey stopped pacing and her face pinched with sympathy as she saw the young woman place a hand over her chest.

After a few moments, Zoey hung up and made her way back to Joan.

She braced herself.

“He’s…he’s okay…” Zoey let out a shaky breath. “David he…he’s with my parents in San Francisco…he wasn’t in New York when it…” Her lip trembled, a single tear dripping down her face.

Unsure what else to do, Joan only held out her arms.

Zoey fell into her embrace, her small form shaking with relief as she sobbed.

***

The next two days were torturous.

There was nothing to do. Nothing but wait. Wait for a phone to be available in the hallway. Wait for the news to show the clips again. Wait for the word that they were leaving.

While knowing that her family was safe had taken some of the edge off, Zoey still found herself anxious, jumpy and unable to sleep. She stuck by Joan like a barnacle.

Joan seemed to notice and would try to distract her. On the second morning, after finally managing to stomach some food, they risked going outside for a walk and explored the town together. Joan had finally caved and accepted a gift of clothing from Annette. She was bundled up in a sweater that was far too large for her and jeans she constantly complained about. They talked more about Zoey’s thesis, about Joan’s favorite parts of London. Anything but the dark cloud hanging over the world.

For a brief moment, Zoey convinced her to open up about her husband and learned the sad truth: after 6 years of marriage, Joan was getting divorced.

Joan didn’t seem sad about it.

Some of the local kids invited them into a yard they passed and spent an hour playing with Zoey’s hair, putting her messy locks into braids and plaits. The youngest of them eventually convinced Joan to sit and receive a single sloppy braid. Zoey had to laugh at the ridiculous hairstyle. Joan did not take the braid out.

As they walked back to the school in the quickly dwindling sunlight, Zoey reached for Joan’s hand again. Joan took it without a second thought, her thumb rubbing Zoey’s hand soothingly.

It was a simple gesture. But to Zoey, it grounded her here.

She barely knew this woman. But she was here. And she was amazing. She’d spent all day just talking to her, distracting her from the horrible state of the world and the remote location they were stranded in.

Zoey hated to think that Joan would tire of her and leave her all alone again. She desperately tried to think of ways to pay the woman back for her attention and came up blank.

She didn’t want to be alone. And she didn’t want Joan to be alone.

But was that enough?

***

The following night, (after another day spent walking with Zoey, this time along the coast) Beulah invited them all down to the local Legion building for “some drinking and some fun.” Which was probably a good call: there had been several loud arguments over phones that day and even a brief fight between several of the passengers. Everyone was on edge and stuck in place. A little drinking could only help at this rate.

Joan wasn’t going to go; it didn’t feel right with everything that was happening. She didn’t want to celebrate: she’d finally decided that her marriage (it it had ever really been that) was over. She’d be going back to London alone if all this ever ended - to an empty flat and a demanding job and a cold bed. It felt wrong to be upset or even happy over such a thing when the world was still reeling from Tuesday.

But then Zoey piped up and said: “I’m only going if Joan is going!” and just like that, she was slipping on her borrowed shoes (heels only got a woman so far in this place) and following the crowd down towards the Legion building. As soon as she stepped inside, Joan knew it had been the right choice.

The night was insanity in the best way. Over 400 people from all over the world were celebrating together: drinking, dancing, even swimming in the river! And then the instruments came out.

Joan had never particularly cared for fiddles or accordions. But after two beers, she forgot that.

Lost with Zoey among the strangers from around the world, Joan forgot all about her aversion to dancing and her image: she tore up the dance floor with jig after mindless jig. Of course, the fact that Zoey was pulling her along and laughing and holding her hands certainly helped with that.

It was a new feeling for Joan: enjoying spending time with someone. And having someone enjoy spending time with her. Charlie had never seemed to care for their date nights, he more put up with them for the promise of sex.

But Zoey clearly enjoyed being here. And more importantly, she enjoyed being her with her. So Joan let loose.

As the night went on, the locals decided it was time for a ceremony.

“We needs a couple of volunteers!” Mayor Claude declared, “Who wants to be Newfoundlanders?”

Zoey snatched Joan’s arm and dragged her forward, not giving Joan enough time to bring her drink along. “Us!” Zoey cried, “we wanna be Newfoundlanders!!”

Joan, already a little tipsy and way too engaged in Zoey’s enthusiasm could only nod along.

Claude beamed at them. “Where are you two from?” He asked.

“California!” Zoey shouted, drowning out Joan’s murmured answer.

“What part of California are you from, ma’am?” Claude asked Joan.

“No! No!” Zoey waved her hands. “I’m from California.” She pointed at Joan. “She’s in England!”

Claude chuckled, “wait…now how does that work?”

“How does…what work?” Joan asked.

“Well how does your marriage work?” Claude inquired, “with one of you in California and the other in England?”

Zoey and Joan exchanged a quick glance, both of their faces red. Joan only just realized how close together they were standing. And in borrowed clothes and no makeup, the age difference between them seemed invisible to onlooking strangers.

“Uhhh...we’re, we’re not married…” Zoey told him. Joan was having trouble forming words.

Claude laughed again. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I thought you were…” He regarded them, seeming to read something in their embarrassed silence. “Well…” He raised an eyebrow at them, “would you like to be?”

Zoey’s face lit up. “Well why not?!” She cried. She seized Joan’s hand and lifted it up into the air. “Whoooooo!!!”

Logically, Joan knew it was the alcohol talking. Zoey herself had said earlier that she’d never had more than one beer at a time before and yet she’d watched the woman down two beers in quick succession that night.

Nevertheless, Joan, her face on fire and a stupid grin that she couldn’t justify on her face, went and got the woman two more beers.

The actual ceremony of becoming a Newfoundlander was a bizarre mix of local culture and sorority hazing.

Joan stuck by Zoey’s side as they sang a long upbeat song, tasted local food, and knocked back a horrific rum that burned her sinuses clean off.

But then came the cod.

It was a large, slimy thing that stared at them with big, dead eyes. Two local men were needed to hold it up.

And to Joan’s horror, the final part of becoming a Newfoundlander was kissing this dead fish.

“I’m not kissing a fish!” She declared.

“I will if you will!” Zoey promised, her face a pleasant shade of red from the alcohol. It was hard to dismiss that face. Joan eyed the thing distastefully as another volunteer puckered their lips and kissed the scales.

But they’d come this far…and it couldn’t be worse than kissing Charlie after sushi night, could it?

“Oh my god…” Closing her eyes, Joan pursed her lips and leaned forward. She pecked as soon as she felt something cool and slimy and darted back, retching.

It was worse. But only barely.

But when her turn came, Zoey balked. “I can’t do it!” She exclaimed, covering her face with her hands.

“Come on, I did it!” Joan protested, elbowing her forward. “Pucker up!”

“You gotta kiss a cod, it’s a vital part of the ceremony!” Claude insisted.

But Zoey backed off again, shaking her head and giggling. “I can’t do it!”

Claude chuckled. “Okay, I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.” He pointed to the cod. “Either you kiss this fish…” His finger slid to Joan. “Or you kiss this English-woman that you’re ‘not married to’.”

Zoey didn’t even hesitate. In a single motion, she launched herself at the taller woman and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Startled, Joan could only catch her. Since she wasn’t wearing heels, their faces were mere inches apart. Zoey pressed forward. Their lips met and held in a glorious kiss. All around them, the room erupted in yips and cheers.

Zoey broke away after a second, grinning stupidly and completely red in the face. Then, as if nothing had happened, she grabbed Joan’s hand and pulled her back into the crowd of dancers.

Joan couldn’t stop looking at her the rest of the night.

***

The word finally came down early on Saturday: the FAA was going to open the airspace back up.

Captain Bass got in contact with their flight and informed them that they’d be leaving as soon as it was possible so they shouldn’t travel too far from their shelters.

Zoey managed to convince Joan to take one last walk with her. She’d heard about a nearby geologic marvel called the Dover Fault from Annette and thought it might be the perfect last hurrah.

They clambered up what felt like several thousand stairs carved into the cliff, panting and assuring the other that they were okay.

Finally, they crested the edge and gazed out from the overlook. The ocean crashed into the rocky inlet, scouring the ancient rocks.

“This is incredible!” Zoey called. She beckoned Joan forward. “Look! I can’t believe we’re here!” But as she stared at the gorgeous view, Zoey felt her smile start to slip away.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving…” She lamented. It all felt like a dream that was drawing to a close.

“…I don’t want to go…” Joan murmured.

Zoey turned back to her, “What did you say?”

Joan shook her head, smiling. “Oh nothing…I’m going to uh…” she held up her disposable camera that she’d purchased in town. “…to take some pictures.”

Zoey nodded. “O…okay.” She stood aside to give Joan a better shot.

She was a bit of a light-weight but Zoey remembered the night at the Legion in snatches: lively dances, delicious rum, and shouting that she wanted to be married to Joan. She remembered launching herself at Joan out of desperation to not kiss a slimy sea creature. She remembered her stomach and chest filling with fire as their lips met.

But Joan hadn’t said a word about it. Hadn’t even indicated that she remembered any of it. They continued with their walks and their discussions of technology and little things.

They didn’t talk about the kiss.

Zoey realized Joan was still pointing the camera towards her and took another step back. “No…stay where you are!” Joan called, eye still in her camera.

“Really? I’m blocking your shot!”

Joan smiled at her. “It’s perfect.”

The shutter clicked, capturing the moment in time.

Zoey felt like she should say something; tease Joan about her taking her photo or ask her if she had really meant what she’d said.

Staying here…it was a ridiculous idea. They were only here because of…because of the tragedy. They had lives of their own to get back to. But the more she thought about it, standing there on the chilly edge of a cliff on the edge of the Atlantic, going back to her life in California felt…empty.

Logically, she knew that once she was back she wouldn’t feel that way. Her family was there, and her friends, and her thesis that needed completion. There were things she loved and fulfilling work to occupy her time.

But Joan wouldn’t be there.

Zoey stared as Joan slowly lowered her camera, the device whirring to indicate it was out of film.

Joan would return to her incredible job in London, working long hours and finalizing her divorce. As the days returned to normal, she’d forget all about the redheaded college coder she’d briefly known in this place. Zoey knew she was unremarkable; a mere blip in Joan’s life. A chance encounter.

They stared at each other, standing on the edge of this chasm that marked a time when tectonic plates had unexpectedly crashed together and then separated forever.

Zoey never wanted this moment to end. If the world had stopped spinning right then and there, she would be happy.

***

They barely made it out before the hurricane made landfall. Pack-up was hasty and haphazard, with no one sure if they should keep the borrowed clothes and no one knowing how to thank the people of Gander for their incredible compassion and hospitality.

Joan and Zoey scribbled a hasty thank you across the wall closest to where their air mattresses had been. They wrote it in three languages: English, French, and binary code. Then it was back onto the buses and back to the ancient airport.

The winds were picking up and it had begun to rain as Captain Bass taxied the plane down the runway.

No one had cared about assigned seats for the flight back. Joan’s feet had followed Zoey into the Economy class and they had taken two seats in a row near the back. No one joined them in their row. Despite the utter lack of anything resembling personal space, Joan couldn’t have cared less. It was where Zoey was. And that was the only place she wanted to be.

As they picked up speed, Joan reached for Zoey’s hand but recoiled a second before she grabbed it. What was she doing? Trying to hold onto this moment? Trying to stop them from leaving?

It was too late now.

They were leaving. And she was going to return to a newly-empty life a continent and an ocean away from Zoey’s warmth and light.

The first hour of the flight was silent. Zoey kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something but she never did. Joan didn’t know what to say. Or if she should say anything at all. Every possible thing she could say felt inadequate.

But as Captain Bass gleefully announced over the intercom that they had crossed back into US airspace, Joan glanced over at her companion. Zoey was crying, silently and intensely, as if she just couldn’t stop.

Joan immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned in, aiming for Zoey’s forehead to give her a comforting kiss.

But the plane jostled at the exact moment Zoey turned towards her.

Joan’s lips grazed the corner of Zoey’s mouth instead of her forehead.

Zoey gazed up at her, eyes wide and hopeful.

Her heart leaping, Joan shifted the angle of her mouth.

Their lips met again. And this time, they simply didn’t stop.

They kissed and canoodled for hours at the back of the plane. All around them, Joan was aware of cabin addresses and their fellow passengers drinking and sharing stories of their stay. But all she cared about was Zoey. Wrapping her arms around Zoey, playing with Zoey’s hair, kissing Zoey as often as she could. Zoey was real. These feelings were real. And like the Dover Fault, she would remain real no matter how long it was after they parted ways.

At one point, not long after Captain Bass had announced that they were now flying over California, a flight attendant paused alongside their seats, tongs ready to hand out hot towels.

“Cold towel?” She asked, smirking.

Blushing, Zoey hid her face in Joan’s neck. Joan couldn’t stop smiling.

***

But of course, they had to part ways.

There was a measure of relief among all of them as they safely touched down in LAX. If she was being honest, Zoey had been carrying a tiny knot of fear in her chest the whole flight home, a small part of her convinced their journey would end the same way as all that footage on the news.

But as soon as they were safely on the ground, that knot of fear became a hard ball of dread.

“So…” She faced Joan at the baggage claim, laptop clutched in one hand, the other hand clasped tightly in Joan’s. Zoey knew her family was anxiously waiting outside and that Joan had a connection to send her back across the Atlantic to London leaving soon.

But neither of them wanted to move.

“So…” Joan echoed, trying to smile but failing.

“So, you’ll call?” Zoey asked.

Joan squeezed her hand. “As soon as I get back.”

She leaned forward and pecked Zoey on the lips. Despite the hours of frantic making out they’d done on the plane and the drunken kiss at the Legion, it felt like their first kiss.

Joan smiled one last time and let go of Zoey’s hand.

And then Zoey was all alone.

***

Joan’s flight back to London passed like a dream. Since she’d been hastily rescheduled onto this flight (having missed her original days ago), she was stuck in Economy. And despite the fact that there were literally only six other people on the plane, she still was not permitted to move up to first class. But she hardly cared.

When she finally opened the door to her flat, she swore it had all been a dream.

Her belongings were still exactly as she’d left them, barely any dust to mark the passage of time.

So far away from New York, London bustled about as normal below her window, the fear still internal and existential for now.

But as she unpacked, Joan found the camera.

She dropped everything and ran out to find a 24-hour photo developer.

Within two hours, she held living proof that it wasn’t a dream.

Zoey, standing on the edge of the Dover Fault, her red hair flying in the ocean wind, her smile soft but fondly directed towards the lens.

Joan stroked the print, tears forming in the corner of her eyes.

The flat was so empty.

***

“Hi.”

“Hey”

“How are you?”

“Good…my advisor says if I can finish my report by the end of November, I can graduate as planned.”

“That’s great!”

Zoey paused, unsure what else to say. She would call just before bed, knowing that it was about the time Joan woke up. But life got in the way and the calls had dwindled from a few per week to one per week when they were lucky. And even then, their conversations, which had flowed so effortlessly in person, barely lasted an hour before one of them had to go.

Zoey had found it increasingly difficult to remain optimistic the past few months. Everyone was just so afraid all the time. David had transferred from Manhattan to a California law school, not wanting to be so far away anymore. He’d refused to fly and instead carpooled across the country with his girlfriend Emily. Her parents spoke in hushed voices when they thought she couldn’t hear and her father increasingly watched the news over anything else.

Zoey found herself crying more often and thinking increasingly about how lucky she’d been. But that was always quickly followed by guilt. How dare she celebrate finding Joan and a small bit of happiness in the chaos when so many people were dead?

And while she didn’t feel alone, Zoey still felt unsettled. She’d told her parents about Joan but they still didn’t seem to get it. They hadn’t been in Gander. They hadn’t known the feeling of being stranded and yet feeling at peace amid all the horrors.

“Zoey?” She hadn’t spoken in awhile.

“I…I miss you.” Zoey admitted, her voice small. “I miss Newfoundland. And I know…I know we cant go back but…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t tell Joan how some nights she slipped out of her dorm room and walked to the pier just so she could close her eyes and imagine she was back in Gander, Joan’s hand in hers as they looked out over the ocean. She couldn’t say just how much she needed Joan here - as she had been at the beginning of this terrifying new world - to be at her side and talk to her, hold her hand and provide comfort in the darkness.

Joan listened intently, unsure if Zoey was crying or just at a loss for words. She wanted so badly to be there. Her life since Gander had been nothing but work. Endless hours at Google and a few spare hours with her lawyer. Her flat was starting to feel stifling.

She dreamed of Gander, of long walks with Zoey, of crashing continents and salty air. She longed for a warm embrace, for soft lips on hers. Her thoughts formed dangerous plans that had her terrified. Suddenly nothing of her old life made sense…and she cared nothing for it.

“J…Joan?”

Joan sighed down the line.

They couldn’t do this. It wasn’t going to work if they were a continent apart.

“Zoey…I’m going to move to San Francisco.” She said it softly, giving those dangerous plans more leverage.

Zoey’s breath caught. “Joan…”

She barreled on. “I applied for a transfer to the main Google office…don’t try to change my mind.” Joan beseeched her, knowing Zoey was about to protest. “The divorce papers are signed, my bags can be packed in a week. I’m coming to you. If you’ll have me.” Her voice was heavy with meaning. The kind of meaning that expected an answer.

Zoey let out a shaky exhale, clutching the phone cord tightly in her hand. “Yes. Yes Joan.”

***

 One year later

Joan gazed out over the bands of ancient rock. Now that she was really looking, she could see the bits and pieces that stood out: parts of another that had been left behind during an intimate collision.

“Remember the last time we were here?”

Joan turned to the voice, smiling. “Of course…” She wrapped her arm around the shorter woman, pulling her close as they stared over the Dover Fault. “I never wanted that moment to end.”

Zoey took her hand, finger rubbing the smooth plane of the brand new golden band around Joan’s finger.

“It didn’t.”

Because like the continents, when the world had crashed together in a moment of upheaval, they had found some small, beautiful thing to cherish from the chaos.

#zoey x joan #zoey's extraordinary playlist #come from away #crossover #angst and tragedy #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #the crossover no one asked for #the author is clearly just mashing together two things they very much enjoy and seeing what happens

[dansnaturepictures]

09/08/20-Amazing butterfly walk at Old Winchester Hill, Cadman’s Pool in the New Forest and flowers in the garden: All of these photos different to the ones I tweeted 

Early this afternoon on another stunningly hot day we went to Old Winchester Hill with particularly one and also another target of another butterfly species this year we needed to see. On the way it was great to see a Kestrel and Red Kite from the car and a Buzzard on the way home, the Kestrel we saw as we often do so many of at Old Winchester Hill. When we arrived it was wonderful to take in sensational views across the South Downs countryside. It really did look stunning in this sunshine and the area around the reserve was brimming with bight and rich meadows full of flowers. I took the first three and fifth pictures in this photoset of beautiful views here today. I also took the sixth and seventh pictures in this photoset of flowers and some berries by the car park. I tweeted some other flower photos from today too and was kindly told they are Perforate St. John’s-wort and Small Scabious during Twitter’s #WildFlowerHour. The former one I had seen and photographed a bit this year already at different places so it was nice to know what they are and the other ones looked very good too so two more great ones to learn in my deeper delve into flowers this year. 

And the meadows were absolutely teeming with butterflies today I did see hundreds of them. I used 15 minutes to do one of my final big butterfly counts of 2020 with it closing today. And what a way to end. I saw the most of any species in one count for me this year therefore possibly some of the most individuals in any of my counts this year and ever actually, with 40 Meadow Browns seen. There were just clouds of them in the air at once in every direction you looked when in a meadow. It was so brilliant to see and just made the whole meadow full of life. I also saw 6 Gatekeepers, 6 Large Whites, 4 Common Blues, 1 Brimstone, 1 Red Admiral, 1 Six-spot Burnet and 1 Small White in the 15 minutes as well as a host of other butterflies in the walk it was a top one. One of the species was the Chalkhill Blue with boards of them around again today too. The best possible way to help end my big butterfly counts this year. 

The first of our targets for our year list today was the Silver-spotted Skipper a butterfly I had marvelled at seeing here the last two summers and it had rather become a mark of my mid/late summer a bit. We wandered across the meadow areas and my Mum spotted one, and then I saw one myself they are delicate little things and flew so quickly but I just got my eyes onto it and made out it’s distinctive underwing marking. Then as we walked on we both wanted the chance to take a picture of one with my macro lens now on. And as we walked on we saw two together flying and one settled. We both got onto it and standing over it I snapped up shots getting closer and closer. One of these the fourth picture in this photoset and I tweeted another. You have to get as close as possible with a macro lens but it’s worth it for the detail they give. Each time I edged closer I took a shot to ensure I had got one in case it flew off. When I got nice and close in the end but to make the shot work better in the heat I just sat down, almost laid down really and was able to move the camera and lens into position to get photos and a nice angle. It was a fantastic natural moment I felt very connected to this gorgeous butterfly being so close to it. I felt so lucky to have seen them they really are so well marked, rare and quite sought after. 

Another one flew in and this one took off. Exceptional moments with this species that is on the sign of the car park here. It was all about it today we first saw them here in early September in 2018 but we knew August was the time to come. A little earlier than when we saw them last year so it could go either way. But we got it right today and we saw it which I am over the moon with. In keeping with my theme of my 2020 butterfly year it was my earliest ever sighting of this species in a year of the only four times now I have ever seen them now. Great moment. 

As we walked on for a third day this year we were astounded by how many male and female Chalkhill Blues were around. They were just absolutely everywhere it was unbelievable. Mini swarms of them even flew at me and landed briefly on my arms they seemed to take a liking to the sun cream we had both put on as my Mum had this too. What a sensational wildlife moment and another very intimate one. It made me so happy. It became one of those utopian days afterwards where I was so in aw and at one with nature and being inspired and happy at everything I was seeing. A Yellowhammer flitting about in the meadows and visible flying Kestrels adding to that. Everything I hoped might happen today did. 

There was one species I knew I had a chance to see butterfly wise which I hadn’t yet this year here, the species we came back to Old Winchester Hill in the first place for in 2018 but saw the skippers instead that day after visiting this place earlier last decade, the Clouded Yellow. We approached at a safe social distance a man watching butterflies, a lovely lady we met at a social distance earlier and had a great brief chat with had told us he was there, and told him about the Silver-spotted Skippers and where they were. I had a strange positive premonition that we were to ask him about Clouded Yellows and one would fly past us all as we were there. We did ask him what he had seen and he said Clouded Yellows. We asked him where and he pointed over the meadow and sure enough one was flying over it! We watched this in delight, getting great binocular views to really see it was a Clouded Yellow with that yellow colour. As we walked down we saw one flying a lot slower than the original and made out it’s distinctive yellow and black edged colour scheme. We saw both flying together battling each other at one point too which is great to see for any species really. The second one landed a couple of glorious times, as did another or maybe the same one we saw on the way back to the car, and we managed to get something quite rare for Clouded Yellow really a photo of them with my macro lens. With so many produced today, 40 in fact a new figure for this year in a day, in a year I continue to take so many pictures, I’m doing the my idea of tweeting most of my pictures and including ten exclusive ones in my blog. The Clouded Yellow of which I only produced one this afternoon I tweeted on my account Dans_Pictures earlier so do take a look at that if you are interested. What another sensational species to be so close to. I was so lucky to see them not always a butterfly I easily see in a year but we now know they can be seen at this part of the reserve a bit more confidently after seeing it ourselves whilst reports on websites etc. are always so valuable. 

This Clouded Yellow took my butterfly year list to 43, taking it one ahead of my 2018 total to confirm it as my second highest ever butterfly year list behind last year’s 45 which ended with Silver-sported Skipper here a year ago Tuesday a day after my first Clouded Yellow of 2019 at Magdalen Hill. This is no less than my 2020 deserves for how amazing it’s been, with the amount of butterflies I saw and how positive it all was because from the spring emergence onwards it was to the harrowing backdrop of the huge impact on our lives the coronavirus had and the lockdown and that. Seeing butterflies were an amazing thing to keep me going during the initial bits of that time. But the restrictions easing to allow slightly further afield travel to exercise happened at the right time for me to luckily see my usual variety of butterflies in years as spring marched on. Then as we hurtled towards summer there was the most notable thing of my butterfly year being how early everything was with my first sighting of nearly every butterfly this year being either my earliest or second earliest ever sighting of one in a year. The whole season was a little ahead. Fitting that the Silver-spotted Skipper was my earliest and Clouded Yellow my third earliest ever sightings of the species in a year. Then through summer the big thing for me I think was the amount of days I saw hundreds of butterflies usually with one lead species but many species together which were exceptional moments and today was definitely in the top four so far for that.

But like the day here last year happiness at this happening at the height of the heatwave was tinged with a little sadness that barring any new butterflies and one I think I’ve probably missed this summer now these will probably be my last additions to my butterfly year list this year. What a quick it seemed but sensational journey I have been on for sure. But I’d have taken 43 before the year began and would have jumped at it when lockdown which was needed made it look like it may be difficult to see many of the usual species this year. The lockdown did prevent us from getting to the Isle of Wight to see if we could see the Granville Fritillaries for the first time since 2013 which we wondered about doing and couldn’t. And I knew I wasn’t gonna go anywhere to see a Northern Brown Argus this year unlike last in Northumberland. So to thus far anyway to only miss one that I could have seen is phenomenal I feel and makes me so happy. So I am just thrilled with how I’ve done and I‘ll now make the most of every single butterfly I see on work lunch breaks and generally at home and at weekends and feel that I am ending one of my most spectacular peak butterfly seasons again well. 

A perfect summer’s day was ended with an afternoon that felt a little like an evening walk at Cadman’s Pool in the New Forest as we safely mixed our lovely local national parks today where my Mum’s husband and Missy to cool off in the water came. It was a nice atmosphere walking through lush green leaves in the summer’s light beside a little stream too. It just felt magical and just like a moment I will always look back on this summer after a brilliant day today. I took the eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset here.

My Mum had also seen a Golden Ringed Dragonfly beside typical New Forest streams they frequent here recently. A dragonfly I still needed to see this year. Sure enough as we walked along the stream here we did see this unmistakable dragonfly dart by. We went on to see a couple more too. This felt great and was another target of mine this summer so it was very satisfying to tick it off that’s four insect targets this weekend I still needed to see going into it and have done what a productive couple of days for wildlife watching on our walks. It was very pleasing to see this species I love and always have dart past us. My 13th dragonfly and damselfly species seen this year I have had some great times with them as well. 

I also saw another of my favourites today a Southern Hawker here a female one on a tree which was nice again one I tweeted a picture of on Dans_Pictures. I had time to do my very last butterfly count of the year walking along here seeing 8 Large White, 4 Gatekeeper, 4 Small White, 1 Holly Blue and also 1 Peacock which was nice adding some real variety of habitats for my counts this year. We saw some nice birds on the walk too most notably two young looking Siskins always a great bird we’re more used to seeing by feeders at Blashford Lakes in winter but are a good bet on the open forest in summer. A brilliant end to a packed and thrilling weekend in the heat and sunshine watching fantastic and precious wildlife I was so happy. Thanks so much for your support and have a great and safe week! I did take the tenth picture in this photoset of more flowers in the garden this evening when home. 

 Wildlife Sightings Summary: (Old Winchester Hill) My first Silver-spotted Skipper and Clouded Yellow of the year, three of my favourite butterflies the Chalkhill Blue, Brown Argus and Red Admiral, one of my favourite moths the Six-spot Burnet, Meadow Brown, Gatekeeper, Small Heath, Large White, Small White, Common Blue, Brown Argus, Brimstone, Yellowhammer, Willow Warbler, Woodpigeon, Kestrel and wasps. (Cadman’s Pool) My first Golden-ringed Dragonfly of the year, another of my favourite dragonflies the Southern Hawker, Large White, Small White, Gatekeeper, Holly Blue, Peacock, Siskin, Bullfinch I saw one soon after Old Winchester Hill on the way back too I’ve seen a great few these past few days, Robin, Blackbird, Carrion Crow and Canada Goose. Nice to see some ponies there with a foal too. We also saw adorable baby donkeys on the way in from the car, and a pig near the road not sure if this is out to pannage yet with the year generally ahead of its so where commoners turn out pigs in autumn to gorge on acorns something I always love I doubt it but nice to see anyway. 

#silver spotted skipper #clouded yellow #southern hawker #chalkhill blue #brown argus #adonis blue #red admiral #brimstone #peacock #golden-ringed dragonfly #cadman's pool #garden #flowers #flower #happy #old winchester hill #hill #south downs #new forest #england #uk #earth #europe #world #beautiful #lovely #hot #heatwave #sunny #sun

[junker-town]

7 moments we’ll remember most from the Brady-Belichick era

What will you remember most about the seemingly never-ending Patriots dynasty?

For nearly 20 years, Tom Brady and Bill Belichick had the NFL pinned down like a grade school bully. On Tuesday, that era ended when Brady announced he would not be going back to the Patriots, likely so he could start fresh with Tampa Bay at 42 years old.

Though neither Brady nor Belichick are retiring yet (and may not for a while), their careers have been defined by the other as much as by their own selves. So as they go their separate ways, now is a perfect time to revisit one of the most dominant, brilliant, occasionally obnoxious and seemingly never-ending dynasties in American sports history.

Here are just a few moments that members of SB Nation staff will remember the most from the Brady-Belichick partnership. You probably won’t be surprised to see we have a wide range of memories. Feel free to give us your own — the good, the bad, the stupid, ALL OF IT — because there is a lot to choose from.

When he replaced Drew Bledsoe

I was a Michigan fan as a kid, which means I was hip to Brady’s moxie, poise, chutzpah and grit before it was cool (indeed, I was hip to it even when Michigan fans refused to be). I was 13 when I watched him replace an injured Drew Bledsoe on a Sunday evening early in the 2001 season. I ran and told my dad what was happening. As Brady eventually led the Pats to the playoffs, I felt immense validation at having been in from the very beginning on one of the greatest sports underdog stories ever.

Then the Patriots wouldn’t stop winning, Brady grew more alien, and I no longer wanted to call myself a fan. Though it seems distant now, it’s worth remembering that there was a time when Brady was universally beloved.

— Louis Bien

When he made John Madden look stupid and started a dynasty

The Patriots were 14-point underdogs in Super Bowl XXXVI. It made sense. New England was rolling a backup quarterback who nickel-and-dimed his offense to the top of the AFC against The Greatest Show on Turf Rams. His low-wattage passing attack was a cavalry, and Kurt Warner’s offense was nothing but tanks.

I was 17 when this game happened, filled with optimism despite growing up with a Pats team whose only motivation to climb out of the AFC East basement was to get pelted with rocks over and over again in the playoffs. A small group of us watched this game from a friend’s basement — the furnished chunk of a split-level ranch. It was middle-school teacher nice; pool table, bar we weren’t allowed to touch, 32 inches of pure RGB beauty broadcasting the game from New Orleans. Paradise, really.

And it felt that way when New England raced out to a 17-3 third-quarter lead, even if we knew it wouldn’t last. St. Louis unsurprisingly came back to tie the game late in the fourth quarter. Brady got the ball back with 81 seconds left, then dropped back to pass despite John Madden’s protests; he wanted the Pats to play for overtime against a scorching-hot Rams’ offense that had just mounted a 21-second touchdown drive.

“With no time outs I think the Patriots, with this field position, you just have to run the clock out,” Madden opined from the broadcast booth. “You have to play for overtime now. You don’t want to force anything here. You don’t want to do anything stupid.”

Brady did no such thing. Like he had against the Raiders in Foxborough three weeks before, the young quarterback calmly dropped back and sliced up the St. Louis defense with a thousand small cuts. Five yards here. Six yards there. A 23-yard sideline strike to Troy Brown, who deserves so much more recognition than he actually gets. Madden’s tone changed:

“I kinda like what the Patriots are doing ... This is amazing. This is something, I’ll admit, I don’t think they should have done. But they had the guts, they have the quarterback, and they did it.”

Then, finally, the moment:

We exploded from our spots on the edge of the floral-upholstered couches. Cool ranch flecks flew from our hands and into the atmosphere. My buddy Matt grabbed me and we collapsed, screaming, into a delirious hug on the floor. Sports had never made me feel that way before. Everything was a dumb, sloppy mess, and it was amazing.

“That’s the way you should win a Super Bowl,” concluded Madden, appropriately convinced of just how damn wrong he was about Brady.

— Christian D’Andrea

When he grew his hair long

What was happening there? Look, Brady is an objectively handsome man. That long hair nonsense that happened in 2011 was just such a bad look. Please don’t do this again. Oh, and remember when he dropped that pass in Super Bowl LII against the Eagles? That was fun.

Photo By Rob Tringali/SportsChrome/Getty Images

— Caroline Darney

The tuck rule

It’s not mature nor proper to blame a loss on a bad call. There are dozens of things that happen through the course of a game that affect the outcome. For instance, the Raiders were much too conservative during the fourth quarter of their 2002 Divisional Round matchup against the Patriots in snowy Foxborough.

But that game will always be remembered for that pivotal moment. In the final two minutes, Brady fumbled the ball, but the call was overturned because of a rule that said that even if a quarterback loses control when in the process of tucking the ball back into his body, it’s an incomplete pass.

Photo by Jim Davis/The Boston Globe via Getty Images

This was a fumble. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.

It was a fumble, a turnover that would have ended the game, allowing the Raiders to move on while cementing Charles Woodson as a national hero. I’d like to think that loss for New England would have nipped the Patriots’ dynasty in the bud, but years of intense therapy (and a dash of common sense) led me to believe otherwise. But it’s still fun to believe the Patriots are built on a foundation of lies.

— Eric Stephen

Brady and Moss against the Dolphins

As a Patriots fan, I could have chosen a number of different plays and moments from that glorious 2007 season, but two moments that still delight me took place against the Dolphins in Week 7. The Dolphins were 0-6 at the time, and the Patriots were in the midst of an undefeated season. On the first possession of the game, Brady found Donté Stallworth for a touchdown, and from then on it was obvious that the Dolphins were in for a long day.

But the big story of the offense that season was the connection between Brady and Randy Moss. Not only was Moss playing well after leaving Oakland, he looked even better than he did in his Minnesota days. He was doing ungodly things to defensive backs. Brady would finish the season with a record 50 touchdowns, of which Moss caught 23. I couldn’t wait to see what the two would do against Miami.

It only took until the beginning of the second quarter for them to connect in the end zone, and it was glorious. From the Dolphins’ 35-yard line, Brady launched the ball deep after a play-action fake. When the ball came down, Moss was just past the goal line. The ball was slightly under-thrown, but no worries. Moss stopped his run and jumped over two defenders to catch the ball for a touchdown.

That play was an archetypal display of Brady and Moss’s unstoppability. Even when the ball was less than perfect, and two defenders were in position to stop the play, Moss erased the disadvantage.

A few minutes later, the same thing happened again. Brady launched the ball deep, this time from even farther out, and found Moss in the end zone blanketed by two defenders. Again, Moss caught it. He landed on his feet and the two defenders fell to the ground. Then he simply handed the ball over to the referees, because the play was just business as usual.

It encapsulated the feeling of that season: excellence as routine. And there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. It’s too bad the Super Bowl was cancelled that season due to the weather or something like that.

— Zito Madu

Brady and Belichick’s mutual friend

A story in four parts:

1.

Via YouTube

2.

Congratulations to Tom Brady on yet another great victory- Tom is my friend and a total winner!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) September 3, 2015

3.

Belichick wrote Donald Trump a letter the week of the 2016 general election, which Trump read at a rally in Manchester, New Hampshire, the night before the polls opened. Belichick confirmed that it read:

Congratulations on a tremendous campaign. You have dealt with an unbelievable slanted and negative media, and have come out beautifully — beautifully. You’ve proved to be the ultimate competitor and fighter. Your leadership is amazing. I have always had tremendous respect for you, but the toughness and perseverance you have displayed over the past year is remarkable. Hopefully tomorrow’s election results will give the opportunity to make America great again. Best wishes for great results tomorrow.

Bill

4.

“Donald is a good friend of mine,” Brady told WEEI in December 2015. “I have known him for a long time. I support all my friends. That is what I have to say. He’s a good friend of mine. He’s always been so supportive of me — for the last 15 years, since I judged a beauty pageant for him, which was one of the very first things that I did that thought was really cool. That came along with winning the Super Bowl. He’s always invited me to play golf. I’ve always enjoyed his company.

“I support all my friends in everything they do. I think it’s pretty remarkable what he’s achieved in his life. You’re going from business, kind of an incredible business man and then a TV star, and then getting into politics. It’s a pretty different career path. I think that is pretty remarkable.”

— Natalie Weiner

Never forget that his last pass with the Patriots was a pick-six

Brady didn’t have much of a choice but to take a chance. The Patriots were trailing the Titans by one point with only 15 seconds on the clock, starting a last-gasp drive at their own 1-yard line.

So he dropped back into his own end zone and tried to quickly get the ball to Mohamed Sanu for a first down. Instead, he threw a pick to ex-Patriots cornerback Logan Ryan, who jogged in for the touchdown to send his former team out with an early playoff exit:

PICK-6! The @Titans extend their lead with nine seconds left. #Titans #NFLPlayoffs : #TENvsNE on CBS : NFL app // Yahoo Sports app Watch free on mobile: https://t.co/EF5fHZbZSf pic.twitter.com/AOcwqlTSlc

— NFL (@NFL) January 5, 2020

At the time, we knew it *could* be the last throw Brady ever made in a Patriots uniform. But most of us didn’t think it would really happen. Would the six-time Super Bowl champion, the greatest quarterback in NFL history, the man partially responsible for the most dominant dynasty most of us have ever seen in this league really end his career in New England with a pick-six?

As it turns out: yes.

Now that I think about it, it’s kind of fitting that, of all quarterbacks, he’s replacing Jameis Winston, whose Bucs career started and ended with a pick-six.

— Sarah Hardy

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Stephanie and I were invited to visit Honky Tonk Smokehouse to try their offerings and report to our readers (and listeners). I will say that we were very pleasantly surprised at what we found.

I actually had never heard of them before they reached out to me. I will honestly recommend folks give it a try and push that point from now on. They are located at 145 Jonestown Road in Winston-Salem. The location had been home to B&D’s BBQ and another barbecue restaurant before now-owners Sam and Susan Platt bought the restaurant and turned it into what it is today. The older restaurants were take-out only and from what I knew only had a so-so reputation as far as barbecue goes. But, the Platts have done some great things.

Honky Tonk Smokehouse Dining Room

Let’s focus for a second on the fact that we live in one of the areas of the country known for “barbecue.” In this state, while there are several unique styles, they usually fall into two categories: “Eastern” and “Lexington.” Eastern is more of a vinegar-based liquid where Lexington is tomatoed up and is a bit thicker. Personally, I prefer the Eastern style, but I do love me some Lexington as well. There are people in this town who say they are “barbecue fans” or they “love barbecue.” However, those folks will only go to one restaurant and deem it “the best.” These same folks have a propensity to not visit anything new. And, yet, they still call themselves “barbecue fans.” What they mean is that they’re “Brand X fans,” not fans of barbecue. They are closed-minded and that’s fine; not a bad thing. It just means they’re missing out on the other facilities that this area has to offer. This is the case here at Honky Tonk Smokehouse, I feel.

Let’s also get something straight, this isn’t rocket surgery. There is an art to barbecue and I will never say it isn’t tough, but it really doesn’t open to a lot of experimentation. So, when some say they’re fans of this place or that place, it is because most places do one thing and they do it well. I don’t mean they only serve pulled or chopped pork or may serve chicken or a hot dog or whatever. I mean, it’s barbecue. Now, on the converse of this, we will have to agree that familiarity can be a glorious thing. That’s where we get “comfort food” from, right?

The Parade of Sides

“Honky Tonk” Taters

Coleslaw

Mac-N-Cheese

Hush Puppies

Green Beans

Collard Greens

Jalapeño-Baked Beans

“September Special” Broccoli Salad

At Honky Tonk Smokehouse, they have all the comforts down pat. They don’t necessarily do “chopped” sandwiches as they serve at many of the area’s BBQ restaurants. That’s not saying they won’t do it, it’s just not what they do. What they do do is take regional and national staples and offer it their way; the delicious way, and yes, that does include BBQ sandwiches, just not chopped. Sam Platt hand-rubs the meats with a proprietary blend of spices, long-rests them and slow-cooks them over a hickory fire. That’s traditional, right? No rules broken, no dissenters complaining. Some of their meat offerings are baby back ribs, turkey, chicken, chicken wings, brisket, pulled pork, and smoked sausage. They also offer a wide variety of veggies and sides. All the items are made in-house.

Stephanie and I were treated to a full complement of delicious offerings both in the meat and sides department.

We had white meat chicken, baby back ribs, brisket, turkey, pulled pork, green beans, hush puppies, jalapeño-baked beans, “honky tonk taters,” mac-n-cheese, collard greens, cole slaw, and a broccoli salad that was a special “side of the month.”

To appease the good graces of my lovely wife, we started with the veggies first, each taking just a bit at a time of the same thing to compare notes to see what we tasted and if we liked it or not. We started with the broccoli salad. It was crisp, sweet and creamy with craisins which gave it a bright fruity taste, as well. Sam said they had partnered with Little Black Dressing (made locally, served broadly) which is the dressing that helps make this dish what it is. This is only for September and in October they will have another month-long surprise for you.

Baby Back Ribs

The green beans were hearty and savory. That surprised me, but I really liked it. They weren’t mushy as some can be and still had a bit of snap. I really enjoyed the green beans as did Stephanie. We both remarked about enjoying them.

The hush puppies weren’t every spiced or overly fried. They had a great flavor and it was subtle. That enabled them to be the perfect accompaniment to the selection of sauces that Honky Tonk Smokehouse has available (but more on that later). Crispy and good. They way hush puppies should be, I think.

The jalapeño-baked beans were dark and rich and the pepper wasn’t too spicy. It really just added a little kick that broke from traditional baked beans. You still got the brown sugar sweetness and the pepper helped to offset that a bit. I really enjoyed them. Stephanie who has a well-documented aversion to beans outside of black beans and green beans also enjoyed them and that was a big win for Honky Tonk Smokehouse’s recipe!

The “honky-tonk taters” were boiled red/new potatoes that were seasoned, buttered and filling. I don’t really know what to say other than they were good. I eat potatoes but they’re not my favorite thing, but I did enjoy them.

The mac-n-cheese was cheesy, creamy, thick and not overly baked. Sometimes mac-n-cheese can be too crusty and that makes the top cheese taste kind of tinny and this wasn’t like that. Again, I emphasize the thick part (I love that). Stephanie is a big mac-n-cheese fan and enjoyed these as well.

White Meat Chicken

The collards, as one would probably want, were a bit bitter, fatty and wilted but still firm. They had a great deep green color and were vinegarish-tart, which I love about collards. I never liked collards (or greens of any kind) until I was much older and now, it’s one of the things I seek out. These were good. Earthy, pungent and slightly salty.

The coleslaw reminded me of my mother’s coleslaw, minus the carrots. My mom used to put shredded carrots in hers. But, it’s fine granules and not long thick pieces of cabbage. I like that. This is a barbecue restaurant, right? That’s what goes on barbecue in this area (and yes, they do have a BBQ slaw as well). It was sweet and creamy. Again, Stephanie, who has never liked coleslaw remarked about how much she enjoyed this. Great stuff, this. But, you didn’t read this blog to hear about sides, did you? I didn’t go for the sides, so let’s talk about the star attractions.

Brisket

We started with the baby back ribs. At first glance, I thought they were going to be dry because the rub was so firm and I noticed they weren’t doused in sauce. Well, I was wrong. The meat was plentiful, it was moist and tender. I don’t like my food all over my hands so I eat with a fork and knife when I eat ribs and I didn’t have to fight this rib at all. It literally fell right off the bone. I tried it plain, with their honey chipotle glaze, and with their brown sugar glaze. The rub wasn’t overpowering but certainly enhanced the meat.

The white meat chicken had a small wing attached and that literally fell apart while eating it. It tasted so good. The breast was tender and still juicy which sometimes is difficult with white meat. The rub on it was delicious as well. We tried this with the sweet apple glaze. We tried all the meats plain before putting sauce on them to know what they each tasted like. The chicken and ribs each have their own special rub and then they are smoked. The turkey is brined and then smoked. Speaking of the turkey!

Turkey with Sweet Apple Glaze

I don’t usually get excited about turkey, even at Thanksgiving. It’s just a lackluster bird in my opinion. However, I will say that the turkey was my absolute favorite item that I tasted. It was coated in a bit of the sweet apple glaze, too. The flavor was smoky and sweet. The slices were thick and tender. Whether it was plain (with the glaze), or embellishing the turkey with more of the sweet apple glaze, the brown sugar glaze or the honey chipotle, it was delicious all the way around.

We tried the brisket next. The spicy rub created a crust and the meat fell apart as we tried to pick it up. It was so good. Not at all dry, either; very moist. Stephanie said that the brisket was her absolute favorite and we both agreed that while it was great plain, we really enjoyed the brown sugar glaze on it. Thick, meaty, sweet.

Finally, we had the pulled pork. I realized with this as with most of the other meats (except the turkey), that Sam and Susan don’t pre-sauce their meat. That’s brilliant. I know a lot of BBQ restaurants have their “sauce” that they put on the pork/beef when they serve it, but not at Honky Tonk Smokehouse. Their meats are sauceless and you are free to dress them as you like, not as someone else likes. The pulled pork was smoky and tender. I tried it with their “original” sauce which is a Memphis-style sauce that they make in-house, as well as the brown sugar glaze and the honey chipotle glaze. I could pictures that as a sandwich. Again, pulled, not chopped.

Pulled Pork

I believe Honky Tonk Smokehouse has a fantastic thing going on. They offer styles not only in the “Lexington-” style but have an Eastern dip, their ribs are kind of Kansas City-style and the brisket is definitely Texas-style. They’re touching the standards and they’re making them right. The flavors from the food and the touches the sauces bring, there are plenty of mouth-watering options at Honky Tonk Smokehouse. Their dining room is open and inviting. Don’t forget $.50 wing night Tuesdays from 5-8pm. And Wednesday night is Brisket Taco night. They also offer catering services, as well.

Again, I know that barbecue can be boring but it doesn’t have to be. This isn’t. It’s nothing flashy, though and it isn’t supposed to be. The Platts aren’t trying to dazzle you. They are trying to satisfy you with good food and a great food experience. I believe their location is good but not a lot of people know they’re there. It’s kind of off the road and unless you are coming from Country Club Road toward US421, you may miss it, but then again, you’ll be on the other side of the road. There are several other restaurants in this shopping center and if you stop for those, you can certainly stop for Honky Tonk Smokehouse. I’m putting it at the top of my list of recommendations. Is it my favorite BBQ restaurant? I can’t say, but I know it is right up there. I am a fan of barbecue and this is one darned fine place to get it. You won’t be sorry. Tell them that I sent you!!!

Honky Tonk Smokehouse: Strumming the Right Chord Stephanie and I were invited to visit Honky Tonk Smokehouse to try their offerings and report to our readers (and listeners).

#Barbecue #BBQ #hickory smoked #Honky Tonk Smokehouse #Sam Platt #Susan Platt #WSNC #WSNC Food #WSNC Foodie

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Finding Your Creative Voice Again After Combat

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Finding Your Creative Voice Again After Combat

When I came home from my first deployment to Iraq, readjusting was literally impossible for me. I was a 33-year-old Army combat officer and I could no longer feel or see beauty in anything. And while I didn’t know how to leave the destructive path I was on, I also couldn’t stand to crush the hearts of my wife and children anymore. So, I temporarily moved out of my home and slept on various couches, more concerned with drinking than eating. When I would sit down to write, like I had done my entire life before deploying, I’d come up with nothing but blank pages. I had lost a lot of myself on the battlefield, it turned out. Large, significant pieces of who I was had been killed off somewhere in the desert, missing in action, never to come home.

On my second tour, two and a half years later, I tried my best to prepare the first-timers for the realities of war. My soldiers would ask me what I did before the Army, and I would laugh and tell them I used to be an artist. Those words sounded so foreign to me, too, so profoundly silly coming out of my mouth. An artist. My muse, I believed, had been gone for some time at that point. All I really felt like writing was my obituary, but even that proved too difficult an exercise. I was exactly what I needed to be for the Army, though. My job was running a unit in a combat zone, not explaining the world for the sake of art.

Five years earlier, the idea that I could ever run out of inspiration would have been unthinkable. Just before the terror attacks of 9/11, I was an advertising executive in my late 20s living in Texas, where I was born and raised. I had stumbled into my career while an undergraduate English student writing freelance copy for a boutique marketing agency. A couple of the firm’s senior concept and design chiefs, two artists in their early 50s named Brant and Brian, were dear friends who spent a lot of time helping me develop my interests in poetry, painting, and music when I first entered the industry. I had always been creative and, as my mother would say, was on an endless journey to discover new ways to articulate my feelings. While Brant and Brian were spared the period of me loudly expressing my disillusionment with a fledgling punk rock band in my parents’ garage, they were still enthusiastic about my potential in not only the fine arts, but in advertising design as well.

Related Story

How Serving in World War II Spurred My Academic Ambition

By my junior year in college, I was given a small but full-time salary sketching storyboards, designing layouts, and writing jingles. It was a glorious time, in no small part because I had found a way to pay a few bills with my talents—whereas before I mostly gave my paintings away to friends and family who could appreciate my abstract depictions of everyday items like ladder-back chairs or half-smoked cigarettes in dark oils and acrylic. Now, I had an office with a drafting table, a light box, and a window; I participated in that age-old workplace rite of learning to appreciate scotch and cigars. Before long my wife was driving a Mercedes wagon and I had been fitted for a decent suit or two.

Because I continued to write short stories, poetry, and the occasional guitar ballad, I didn’t feel like I had sold my artistic soul for the nine-to-five. I actually felt lucky to work with such talented colleagues. They were in some ways also my teachers; middle-aged women and men who had gads of experience to share, like real-life former Don Drapers and Peggy Olsons. Many of them had served during Vietnam as young officers, often fresh out of art or business school. They’d share with me fantastic stories of life abroad, and, sometimes, following a drink too many, of war itself. But their accounts of the battlefield were little more than compartmentalized ugliness on the back shelves of their memory. Something that happened decades ago, and a world away, in another lifetime.

* * *

A few years later—after a couple of job changes, and just when I thought I was ready to step away from the agency world and commit to a serious writing career—the unconceivable took place. On a Tuesday morning in September of 2001, I stood in a corporate conference room watching the horror unfold on the news: crashing planes and fire and falling debris. That’s also when I knew I would soon be in uniform.

I wasn’t itching for an excuse to dump everything I had been working on and head off to the sound of the cannons. The calling was deeper than that, fueled in no small part by the romantic notions of a lifelong dreamer. I could see myself serving my country as great icons like Jack Kennedy or Jim Wright had done before me. Young men who put their lives on hold to do their part, later emerging as heroes who’d go on to say that war had helped shape them into the leaders they were. And maybe part of me hoped I would return from combat with the wisdom of these giants, and write of my own experience on the field of battle just as Ernest Hemingway, E. E.  Cummings, and J.R.R. Tolkien had.

There were, of course, more practical reasons to join. While a military career was never expected of me, someone in every generation on both sides of my family (including my mother and kid sister) had served in either the Army or Navy, going back to the Civil War. And if I had ever felt guilty for not doing my part, 9/11 made me feel downright condemnable. So with my wife’s cautious blessing, a day after the terror attacks, I began the recruitment process. Less than a year later, in August of 2002, I raised my right hand and took the Oath of Enlistment.

Hollywood had warned me through the years that my initial training was going to suck, but no matter how many times you watch An Officer and a Gentleman, you can never fully prepare for what will happen when you step off the bus for Basic Combat Training. After two years of intense instruction, the second lieutenant staring back at me in the mirror looked nothing like the once out-of-shape artist I used to be. My wife and three children could see a different kind of transformation, too, one that seemed to foreshadow the trouble to come. Already I was reckless and brooding, my drinking had reached troubling levels, and I was more prone to respond violently to any affront, however small. The perfect time, as it were, to deploy to the cradle of civilization.

It’s not the heat, the long missions, or the terrible food that dominate the memories of my time in combat. Rather, my mind takes me to the feeling of always waiting for something bad to happen: to be driving along a main supply route, resting in your tent, or visiting with locals—and waiting for a rocket or sniper to kill you. Like the Sword of Damocles, but with no great fortune or power to offset the pending doom. And as much as I can tell myself we were all only doing our job, my most haunting thoughts are about the innocents caught in the crossfire. So, when people ask me what it was like, I usually take them down a friendlier road, one of sandstorms, biblical landmarks, and the cornucopia of free energy drinks and cheap pirated DVDs. I tell them about the unbreakable bonds that wartime brothers and sisters in uniform will always share, but I don’t bring up what it is like to lose them.

* * *

I left the Army after 12 years, following my third Iraq deployment, and tried to get back into my old routine. I wasn’t the same angry, self-destructive person who came home after the first combat tour, but there were little reminders here and there—the nightmares, an aversion to fireworks and war movies—that I would never be normal again. My family stuck around long enough for me to get my act together, and I was more grateful than they will ever know. Within a few days, I took over as the head of marketing for a regional telecom company, but I had lost my ability to think creatively, to devise catchy phrases and effective copy. So much had changed since my career had been interrupted. I struggled to get out of bed on most mornings and found no meaning in the hackneyed Monday-to-Friday ritual. With my artistic soul seemingly gone, I began to wonder again what I was doing and why.

Eventually, something simple but profound happened: I started to slowly accept that I was just going to be different. A new future was stretching out ahead of me. I began to spend more time enjoying golf, cigars, and espresso. I took up spice gardening and made pho a weekly dining event. I set aside the whiskey and learned to make exotic cocktails. My wife and I made James Bond movies part of our Sunday afternoons. I turned 44 years old and arrived at the intersection of banality and stereotype.

And then it was safe; the coast was finally clear in my subconscious. I was a civilian and once this new normal set in, and the uncertainty and ambiguity of life as a deploying soldier disappeared, my muse returned. I sat down one afternoon three weeks ago and wrote a short story about a Vietnam War vet turned Hollywood actor in his 70s who is staring down his own mortality. It was good—really good. And it has since been, once again, a glorious time. I have my voice back, and it no longer feels awkward to tell people that I’m an artist.

I’ve always thought there are two primary forces, angst and eros, that drive humans to create. It’s perhaps no surprise that the artists I admired most were Jackson Pollock, John Cheever, and Morrissey—sad souls with a darkness that I could relate to starting in my anxious teenage years and continuing well into my 30s, and whom I tried my best to emulate. While it took a major attack to get me to become a soldier, part of me once saw war as a chance to truly understand tragedy; to internalize and then capture sorrow on the written page or on the canvas or in a song. But seeing such ugliness firsthand planted the seed of a revelation that wouldn’t arrive until years later: I need enough brightness and security, not suffering, to make art. I now possess certain omniscience: the ability to see the gloom and record it, while no longer being consumed by it.

Most of my military past—the certificates, the medals, the regalia—has been boxed away, but it hits me on occasion that I was once a soldier. Like while I am sitting at a red light. Then the light turns green, and my thoughts begin to focus on whatever is next in my quiet world. And what I should write about.

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