The Legend of the Ditto Twins (66 page)
"Well,
we could just vanish..."
“...like
Mom and Dad did. Face it, our crusade's
“...turning
into a bust." But he hesitated. "Still."
"Okay,
we'll take this meeting," I agreed begrudgingly. "But it's the last
one. Deal? If nothing comes of
it..."
"Deal."
We kissed awhile before Clark spoke again. "If things don't work out this
morning, we'll just get in the Mazda and head for the hills."
I poked
him gently. "Or we could go right now. "
"No!
A deal's a deal. We'll give it one last chance."
"Okay.
Deal. Cab or subway? Where we going today?"
"To
the Financial District. Let's take the car. There's a parking garage in the
building. All the information's there on the desk." He pointed.
"Blumenfeld wrote out the directions, see? The guy's card is right on
top."
I found
it. "Wow! The hundredth floor. I'm impressed."
Clark
snickered. "You're still such a tourist." He kissed the back of my
neck. "C'mon. It'll be a new adventure. The World Trade Center. We've
never been there."
"Okay,
okay."
Got to get
dressed now. Unless I can talk Clark into a quick one before we leave. What if
we get there a few minutes late? Or don't go at all? No big deal.
Subj
: Closure
From:
[email protected]
Date: 9/11/2004 1:03
PM Central Standard Time
Dearest Lily:
I tried
to reach you on the phone just now, but you weren't home, so I guess you're en
route to the studio. I wanted to talk, but it occurs to me that it might not be
a bad idea to put my thoughts in writing while I still remember how to type.
Yes, I do still have real thoughts, but in the last weeks they have become
fewer and further between.
Of
course, I knew what was happening long before the doctors confirmed my own
diagnosis of the situation. And I am doing my damnedest to deal with this
interim period before The Big A removes my memory completely. That's the tough
part; the rest'll be easy.
It has
now been exactly three years since Mark and Clark vanished, and, as we both
know, even though no DNA samples of any of the remains found at the site have
ever been matched to them, I think we must conclude that they kept their
appointment and perished in the tragedy.
Still, it
leaves us a bit of wiggle room.
Every now
and then I can't help but wonder what might have happened to them if their
Mazda had gotten stuck in traffic that morning, or if they had simply stopped
for a moment to stare at the sky. There is always the possibility, slim as it
may be, that they never got to the World Trade Center before it was attacked.
That's the stuff legends are made of.
You know
I'm not big on explaining the inexplicable. I still think Oswald acted alone. I
still think Judge Crater is probably buried in some potters' field someplace.
(If you don't get the reference, look it up.) I still think Mark and Clark died
in the tragedy. But I hope not.
I can't
help but be tantalized by all the rumors that have been floating around in the
press, all the speculations that have fueled The Legend of the Ditto Twins. In
my most irrational moments, I want to believe they are now hidden safely away
on some ranch in the wilds of Montana, Canada, or Timbuktu, enjoying each other
and growing old together.
On the
other hand, maybe it was better this way—both at once, not like Jay and me.
After all, they did go out at the top. Yes, before their time, but at the top,
like James Dean or Marilyn Monroe or Mozart. Perhaps it's presumptuous of me
even to put them in the same sentence with those three legends, but if it is,
tough shit.
I am
going to the post office this afternoon to send you a journal Mark has been
keeping over the past years. Also, a pair of videotapes I found in a suitcase
under the bed in their New York apartment when I closed it up. These tapes are
pretty damned good proof that everything in the memoir is true. Guard them.
Watch them if you want. (One features them; the other, Jay and me.) Share them
as you see fit. They are spectacularly explicit. One day, I like to think, they
may prove to be a treasure trove for future film scholars and/or sociologists.
Don't
worry about me. These days, I'm as happy as can be expected. I putter around
and talk to Jay. Each morning a woman comes in to make sure I haven't set fire
to myself. I think of all the good times while I still can.
The news
of your pregnancy of course delighted me, and the fact that there are two
heartbeats, not just one, thrills me even more. My only regret is that by the time
you deliver, I won't be in any shape to recognize my own fucking grandsons.
Your
Loving Father,
Clay
