A piece of cheesecake for 9/11
My wife, Deborah, bought me a piece of cheesecake yesterday. The market she goes to sells individual pieces of cheesecake in clear plastic boxes.
"Look," she said happily as we put the groceries away. "I got you a piece of cheesecake."
She's always doing that kind of thing.
"I got that barbecue sauce you like," she'll say, breezing in from the store.
I buy her little things, too. Flowers. Macaroons from the bakery. A bottle of wine.
When the anniversary of Sept. 11 comes around, I think of all those little things.
As Christmas comes closer, I buy presents for my wife, and I stash them in the back of my closet. I buy a lot of the presents online.
"If there's a package on the front porch when you get home, don't look at it," I tell her. "You can bring it in, but don't look at the label."
And she says the same thing to me.
On the day the towers fell, some guy on an upper floor was planning to pick up a pair of diamond earrings on his lunch hour. His wife's birthday was coming.