Trigger Warning: Mentions of terrorism, loss of life, and grief.
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Everything happened so quickly after, that my body was moving on autopilot. We left the airport in short order to go back home. On the way over, Dad dialed a few people to get information about the people who were on the flight. It's always possible that Evan's parents had missed their flight. Unfortunately, their phones were unreachable. Meanwhile, Evan was inconsolable.
I wanted to make fake promises to him that everything would be alright or that his parents might be alive, but in my heart, I knew it would just delay the inevitable. The guilt and grief of the situation were gnawing at my bones. I could have prevented this tragedy had I tried to proactively think about future events. 9/11 was the defining event of 2001, and I could have saved thousands of lives directly, and millions of lives later on during the 'War on Terror' in the Middle East. Just one anonymous tip to the FBI or the CIA at the right time could have solved all that. Had I been a little more proactive, so many people would be alive today. Evan's parents would be alive today.
While we had no confirmation of their deaths at the moment, there was slim to no chance of their survival. There were only two flights that flew from Boston to LA during that time, and while Evan didn't know the flight number they were on, it was bound to be one of those flights. And if they were alright, they would have called us as soon as they got the news of the attack. But they didn't, and that changed everything.
As soon as we were home, Mum ran out to the driveway and engulfed Evan in a tight hug. I had seen him cry before, but this was beyond anything I could even imagine when he completely broke down in my mother's arms. My guilt renewed once again. The worst part was that I couldn't even share this inner conflict of mine with someone else. I wanted to tell everything to someone else, but…
(Break)
I watched Evan across the room as he silently flipped through the channels on the TV, his fingers moving mechanically, not really seeing anything. His blue eyes, usually so vibrant and full of curiosity, were now hollow, lost in a void of grief. He didn't say much these days, just small, necessary exchanges. I couldn't blame him. I didn't have the words either.
He had insisted Dad book him a flight back to LA, or even New York, but Dad had sat him down and talked him out of it. The reason was simple, there were no remains of Evan's parents yet to be found. While the authorities had confirmed that John and Melinda Spader were on United Airlines Flight 175, they said that it may take a few weeks at least to get the remains of the people in the aircraft, which could even extend up to a month if their faces were not recognizable easily.
The September sun outside the window was deceptively bright, casting long shadows into the room. It felt wrong, all of it. The sunshine, the peaceful hum of London, the normalcy of everything when nothing was normal anymore.
"Evan," I finally said, my voice barely more than a whisper. He looked at me, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the boy who was my best friend before everything changed. "Do you... do you want to talk about it?"
That was my biggest concern at the moment. Evan refused to talk to anyone about the tragedy. It's like he had closed off all his emotions.
He shrugged at my question, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the world. "What's there to talk about? They're gone. Nothing will change that."
I bit my lip, struggling to find the right words. "I know it hurts. I can't even imagine how much, but... I'm here for you, okay? Whatever you need."
Evan nodded, his eyes drifting back to the TV. The silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive. I wanted to say more, to confess the truth that gnawed at my insides. But how could I? How could I tell him that I could have prevented all of this? The thought alone made my stomach churn with nausea.
"I miss them," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. "I didn't even get to say goodbye. And you know the worst part? We had this huge fight before I came here. They wanted me to come with them to Boston. Had I gone with them, they would have stayed longer. Mom told me last week how they were wrapping up their meetings early only because I was here. Had I gone with them, they would still be in Boston today…"
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak.
Evan looked up at me with heated eyes. "This is all my fault. Had I not insisted on coming here to London, they would be alive right now."
"You can't blame yourself, Evan. It's no one's fault but those terrorists."
Evan's eyes locked onto mine, a spark of anger igniting in their depths. "I know that! They were good people who didn't deserve to die like that. Why did this happen, Troy? Why them?" A few tears rolled down his cheeks.
"I don't know," I said uncomfortably, the words bitter on my tongue. "I…don't know."
"I know why!" Evan snarled heatedly. "It's all because of those fucking good-for-nothing terrorists! How I wish the government would blow up their entire country—"
"Evan!" I rebuked him firmly. "Don't say that. You are better than them."
"I'm better than that? I'm better than that?" He stood up and stood over me imposingly. "How can you say that? My parents are dead! They are never coming back. How can you fucking say that I'm better than them! If I could, I would blow up every piece of shit that fights for their invisible cause!"
"Even if it means killing off everyone in that country?" I stood up myself. "Every child, every woman, every innocent person who had nothing to do with that attack, that was only planned by a few?"
"I never said that," Evan backtracked.
"You did," I said bitterly. "How will you identify who is a terrorist and who is not? They won't be wearing a uniform, or waving a flag saying so. Do you know what will happen when America retaliates? Millions of innocents will die. Not just that, because America is doing that, it wouldn't even be called terrorism. They would call it liberating the civilians or something."
Evan fell back in his seat as if his strings were cut off. His shoulders started shaking, first slowly before gradually he started sobbing uncontrollably. I crouched beside him and engulfed him in a hug. For some reason, I had feared that he would push me away, but he didn't. Instead, his sobbing got worse.
"It was their 20th anniversary next week," Evan said in between his sobs. "Dad was planning a big surprise for Mom. The last time I talked to him, he told me how we would prepare everything together. And now they're gone and I'm all alone."
I rubbed his back softly, "Shush, I'm here, brother. I'll always be here."
It took quite some time, but finally, Evan sobered up. As much as I could say that I understand his grief because of the loss of my own father, I cannot. I had been mentally prepared for his death for quite some time because of his illness. Evan was not.
Evan turned back to the TV, the anger from earlier fading into a resigned sadness. "Nothing makes sense anymore." He wiped off his tears on the sleeve of his shirt.
We sat in silence, the only sound the soft drone of the news channel Evan had settled on. They were still talking about the attacks, the heroes and the fallen, the different charities that had been opened for the victims of 9/11, the relief provided by the government and private agencies, and so on.
I sighed for the umpteenth time since that day. I had accepted the fact that I couldn't have really done anything about the issue at all. As much as I would have loved to be the hero and save all those people who died, I still don't know for sure if my déjà vu would've worked given how unreliable it is. Even if it miraculously worked somehow, it is also possible that the anonymous warning may be traced back to me. Given my age, all doubt would fall on my parents. I couldn't let them go through the intense scrutiny that would have followed.
So while I had accepted that, it would still not change the fact that this was something that I may have to live with for the rest of my life. Any disastrous man-made or natural situation in the world that I remember and I would think if I could have prevented it.
"When are you planning to go back to the West End?" Evan asked out of the blue.
"I don't know," I said hesitantly. I had taken a few days off from [Billy Elliot] because it was too much for me to face all those people. But it had already been a week, and my understudies were performing in my stead all this time. I know how much Evan appreciated not being left alone at home. I changed the topic, "So Dad got in contact with your uncle?"
"Yeah." Evan immediately became serious. "Uncle offered me to stay with them until I grew up. So did your Dad."
"And?"
Evan sighed, "I don't know. Living with your family means living here in London, and going to live with my uncle would be…not pleasant. My uncle and cousin are alright, but I don't like my aunt all that much. She doesn't like me either."
"Then stay here," I insisted. "Don't think too much. I would love to have you as a brother for real."
Evan hummed noncommittal, and I didn't press the issue anymore.
(Break)
"Troy," A few days later, Dad interrupted Evan and me during our video game time. "We need to talk."
I knew nothing good would come out of those words, yet I looked up from the screen I was staring at and asked, "About?"
"About [Billy Elliot]. What else do you think?"
A topic I didn't want to talk about at all.
"I can go out if you want?" Evan offered timidly as he put the controller down, ready to get up.
"No," Dad shook his head. "You are a part of our family now, Evan. You should hear this as well."
"But I haven't even decided if I want to continue living here full-time," Evan argued weakly.
"That doesn't matter," Dad smiled at him. "You're always welcome here." Then he turned to me with a serious face. "Tomorrow, you are going to the studio to practice for [Billy Elliot], and you'll begin performing the day after." His tone made it clear that this was not up for discussion.
I sat there, surprised by his tone. Never had he asked me to work when I didn't want to. It was usually the other way around. So why this sudden change?
"What?" I asked eloquently.
"You heard me," Dad shot back. "I wanted to send you off today, but your mother talked me out of it. So tomorrow it is."
"But–"
"No," He cut me off. "You have made a commitment to so many people including your director, choreographer, writer, and composers. All the cast and crew members of the musical are relying on you to market this musical. You probably don't care if this fails, but think of everyone else. They are all relying on this musical. If it fails because you chose not to take it seriously, all of them would lose their jobs as well. I got a call from Stephen Daldry yesterday. He told me that the full-capacity revenue has fallen by 20% since you departed."
Dad knew just the buttons to push to make me feel guilty as hell. Twenty percent was a lot of revenue for a West End musical. Given how all my performances to date were fully booked, 80% of revenue was still more than enough to keep us profitable when we go into regular shows. That's because when the seats remain vacant before the show, they offer it at huge discounts, sometimes even for free, so that more and more people can see the shows. So the theater would be full, even now, but twenty percent of people would not be paying, or paying very little for the show.
"I think you should go," Evan said. "I would love to see you perform again."
I turned to him sharply, "Really?"
"Yeah," He shrugged. "I'm mostly free at ho– here. Even if I were to resume my tutor classes, I would still have time in the evenings to see your show."
I hadn't missed his little slip-up, but I didn't call him out on it. Instead, I looked hesitantly from Evan to Dad, who looked happy with Evan's support of the idea for me to go back on the stage. In the end, the decision was made for me. I would feel terrible if I was the reason that hundreds of people in London, and then in New York, lost their jobs because I was procrastinating.
"Okay," I said after some consideration. "I will do it."
Dad beamed at me, "Glad to hear that." Then he turned to Evan with a conflicted look on his face. "Son, I need to know your decision now whether you want to stay here with us or go to your uncle's. Normally I wouldn't rush it, but we need to get you admitted to a school and file in paperwork for your guardianship with the authorities."
Evan didn't take long before saying softly, "I want to stay here if you don't mind."
"Of course, I don't," Steve smiled at Evan. "Kathy always wanted multiple kids, and it would be nice for Troy to have a brother in the house."
"Shouldn't we do a family hug now?" I joked.
"Let your mother come back from the supermarket," Dad deadpanned. "In the meantime, you can go back to your video games." Saying that, Dad exited the room, leaving Evan and me alone again.
As we regained our game controllers, I couldn't help but think about the coincidences in life. Had I not met Evan all those years ago in LA, would his parents still be alive? Or maybe Evan could've been on that plane with them? Was there even a Spader family to begin with? Unfortunately, I had no way to find out.
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AN: I have no intention to spark a political debate with this chapter. Peace.