The Six

This short piece is inspired by actual events that occurred in December 1999.

December 9, 1999

It’s 7:15 AM, the three of us should be approaching the doors of the high school by now, but we’re standing on the smoker’s corner as the bitter cold of the breeze bites at our noses. We pass glances back and forth at each other, silently deciding that instead of crossing the street and entering the building, we’ll be walking in the other direction to the diner on Church Street.

Knowing that wherever we are the same events will take place; we walk the two blocks to the Blue Moon Café and take our usual booth in the front window. The waitress knows we’ll be ordering coffee and doesn’t hesitate to bring it over without asking first. She asks us if we’re eating this morning, but we don’t hear her, our attention is fixed on the TV at the end of the high counter projecting images of news anchors discussing the memorial of the Worcester 6 that is to take place shortly. This is a day of mourning.

We all knew someone that had been lost to the five alarm blaze that devoured the Worcester Cold Storage Co building 6 days ago; at least in passing or through some family member. Pictures of the fire flashed across the screen, the sense of panic that I had known that night returned to me. I closed my eyes momentarily trying to calm myself without it being obvious that I was still shaken.

The waitress looks at all of us for a moment before asking us again if we’ll be eating. I apologize and shake my head while telling her I’ll only be having coffee this morning. Kelly and Shelly nod in agreement with me. The waitress retreats to a stool behind the counter and glares at the television as if waiting for it to announce a miracle, cigarette trailing from one hand, cup of coffee in the other.

Kelly looks at me, asks me if I’m okay. I shrug it off; tell her I’ll be fine, it was just a close call that night that hit really close to home. She doesn’t want to ask, but I know she’s waiting for me to elaborate, so I continue by telling her that my boyfriend’s father was on call for that fire, he could have been called in; he could have been one of the Six.

We sit in the diner for a good hour before we decide to head to the river and get away from the TV and its announcements of high profile individuals who have landed at the airport and are making their way to the Centrum; the President among them. We’ll hold our own mourning party, notebooks on our laps and pens in hand.

The river is three blocks over and behind the buildings; at least that’s where our spot is. There’s a clearing there, on the other side of the woods, where a tree has fallen and spans the water. We’ve spent many days here instead of at school, and despite the chill in the winter air, it’s warmer here than it would be inside any room of that building today.

I walk across the fallen tree to the center of the river and sit, allowing my feet to dangle below me above the water. I look at the clear, crisp cerulean sky and acknowledge the occasional seagull passing overhead. Every house in the neighborhood must have their TVs tuned to the same channel; even out here we can clearly make out the words of the news broadcast announcing the start of the processions and the sound of bagpipes leading the way. My heart stops momentarily and I say a silent prayer for all the families who are mourning the loss of the Six. The pipes play Amazing Grace and I hold back a tear as I let out a heavy sigh and raise a paper coffee cup to my friends sitting behind me.

“To the Six.”

Reviews

[Globy]

great story, it's like we read your personal diary :) Well done!