“If you screw up your eyes real tight, you can just about see it” Mickey said.
Mickey had drunk more than the rest of us. He could probably see the craters on the moon with the naked eye if he put his mind to it.
I still couldn’t see it. The wall just looked like a wall to me. Grey, flat, pockmarked with years of baseballs and the scrabblings of feet that had used it as a getaway.
“He always thought he could see it y’know.” Herbie said “All those years later he still insisted that the fucking Virgin Mary was right there.”
I smiled. Herbie and Huey had been the only two to stay on home turf. The rest of us had deserted the neighbourhood, our past, and the silent grey wall that divided our rooftops.
Funny really, we had all talked of joining the FDNY, right under this fucking wall, but only Huey had made it. We had made plans here, elaborate, unbelievable plans that didn’t only involve the conquest of Linda Marconi. We were friends, comrades in arms, buddies to the last.
Eventually time will allow us to sit back, let out a breath, and thank his invisible Virgin Mary that the Tower had come down without us under it. But for now, we just screw up our eyes, trying to make a picture on the grey wall in a vain attempt stop the tears that feel as if they are never going to end.