Steve and I hardly ever talk about 9/11 anymore. It's not because we've forgotten the horror. I think that we don't talk about it because it's still so real to us. Talking about it will take us back those days when the skies on New York were only filled with the buzzing of angry army helicopters. When we called our friends to make sure they were alive. When Steve frantically filled the trunk of the car with black beans and water.
We also don't talk about it, because talk is always cheap. Talk dishonors the dead and trivializes death. Talk makes the story about our petty struggles after 9/11, rather than the guy who jumped from the 141st floor.
