American flags snapped from high on the grain silos and adorned almost every yard.
The only monument in town was to military veterans, a red marble monolith that jutted high above the swing set and slide in Adams Park
Valhalla Springs was a postcard town that had managed to keep itself off postcards and off the radar until the internet came around.
The only notoriety the town had ever sought-and had gotten- was for its high school sports teams.
Cecilia Millburn sewed a Division D State Champs inside a small football that would be sewn on a varsity jacket, probably the 500th time she had done so.
Her sister Mary Katherine was ten yards away in the computer room, adjusting new designs on a large monitor.
Valhalla Springs High had a robotics team now-who would have known?- and the faculty moderator had rejected the first three logo styles Mary Katherine had offered.
The one the school had designed just didn’t translate well to a maroon and white patch.
MB Embroidery had been doing work for the school since its incorporation in 1941.
There were no contracts, no paperwork. It was just the way it was, like Barbara Thomas making the best coffee at Pelham’s Croissants and Hurley Crossman making the worst at Crossman Coffee and Donuts but having longer lines than Barbara, because croissants were too exotic for Valhalla Springs.
Cecilia sipped a raspberry vodka and Dr.Pepper in a Valhalla Springs Volleyball travel coffee mug, and tossed the finished football patch into a large grey plastic bin.
Can we do the song for Millie Sandstrom’s cancer benefit?”
Mary Katherine slid back in her chair and removed the Winnie the Pooh pillow from behind her back. It was the only piece of fabric in the whole building that the sisters hadn’t sewn themselves.
She exhaled, almost a complete deflation, and squeezed Pooh and Piglet counting down from twenty.
She quit at four and said “No, we can’t do the song at Millie’s benefit. We can’t ever do the song. They would carry us out of town in a cement truck, never to be seen again.”
Cecilia walked to the utility closet and slid the door open. The track the door was on was loose.
“Fix the track” was written on the embroidery shop’s dry erase board in Valhalla Springs High School maroon and had been there for three years.
“Why did we take all the time to make the costumes if we’re never gonna perform the song?”
Cecilia looked at her sister, waiting impatiently, for an answer she had heard before.
“It was the heat of the moment, Mary Katherine said. I was new to Youtube. We were young and…”
“You were 49 and I was 51,” Cecilia said.
“Irregardless,” Mary Katherine said, it was a fun challenge to make the costumes but we can never do the song, not in Valhalla Springs, surely, and not anywhere, more than likely, because the internet would give us away.”
Cecilia leaned into the big “mistake” hamper and pulled out the heavy costume.
“I’ll be the North Tower this time.”
“I don’t wanna do the…” Mary Katherine started, then scurried to the front lobby of the shop to lock the door and hang the “back in 15 minutes” sign.
Cecilia somehow had slipped into her tap shoes and the oversized silver costume.
Mary Katherine was exasperated, but couldn’t deny the thrill of doing something so...forbidden...every once in a while.
She reached in the hamper and pulled out the South Tower costume, dug her tap shoes from under a pile of non-conforming uniform number remnants, and slipped them on.
Cecilia waited for her to stand next to her, and began to tap dance, wearing her half of the World Trade Center, felt flames dancing around her face.
“Nine-eleven was an inside job, doo dah, doo dah…”
Mark Katherine spun and sang “Jet fuel cannot melt steel rods, doo dah, doo dah…”
***
Author’s Note:
This story in no way reflects any beliefs I have on the tragedy that occurred in NYC 20 years ago. It’s just a story. Do not staple the ideas included in the story to my forehead. It’s for entertainment purposes only. No wagering.
Photo by Kartini Maxson on Unsplash
That song is now stuck in my head. I need an antidote