Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

fingerprints.
    When the walls collapsed, my fingerprints collapsed.
    I heard you breathing beneath me.
    Oskar?
    I got on the ground. On my hands and knees.
    Is there room for two under there?
    No.
    Are you sure?
    Positive.
    Would it be all right if I tried?
    I guess.
    I could only barely squeeze myself under the bed.
    We lay there on our backs. There wasn't enough room to turn to face each other. None of the light could reach us.
    How was school?
    It was OK.
    You got there on time?
    I was early.
    So you waited outside?
    Yeah.
    What did you do?
    I read.
    What?
    What what?
    What did you read?
    A Brief History of Time.
    Is it any good?
    That's not really a question you can ask about it.
    And your walk home?
    It was OK.
    It's beautiful weather.
    Yeah.
    I can't remember more beautiful weather than this.
    That's true.
    It's a shame to be inside.
    I guess so.
    But here we are.
    I wanted to turn to face him, but I couldn't. I moved my hand to touch his hand.
    They let you out of school?
    Practically immediately.
    Do you know what happened?
    Yeah.
    Have you heard from Mom or Dad?
    Mom.
    What did she say?
    She said everything was fine and she would be home soon.
    Dad will be home soon, too. Once he can close up the store.
    Yeah.
    You pressed your palms into the bed like you were trying to lift it off us. I wanted to tell you something, but I didn't know what. I just knew there was something I needed to tell you.
    Do you want to show me your stamps?
    No thank you.
    Or we could do some thumb wars.
    Maybe later.
    Are you hungry?
    No.
    Do you want to just wait here for Mom and Dad to come home?
    I guess so.
    Do you want me to wait here with you?
    It's OK.
    Are you sure?
    Positive.
    Can I please, Oskar?
    OK.
    Sometimes I felt like the space was collapsing onto us. Someone was on the bed. Mary jumping. Your father sleeping. Anna kissing me. I felt buried. Anna holding the sides of my face. My father pinching my cheeks. Everything on top of me.
    When your mother came home, she gave you such a fierce hug. I wanted to protect you from her.
    She asked if your father had called.
    No.
    Are there any messages on the phone?
    No.
    You asked her if your father was in the building for a meeting.
    She told you no.
    You tried to find her eyes, and that was when I knew that you knew.
    She called the police. It was busy. She called again. It was busy. She kept calling. When it wasn't busy, she asked to speak to someone. There was no one to speak to.
    You went to the bathroom. I told her to control herself. At least in front of you.
    She called the newspapers. They didn't know anything.
    She called the fire department.
    No one knew anything.
    All afternoon I knitted that scarf for you. It grew longer and longer.
    Your mother closed the windows, but we could still smell the smoke.
    She asked me if I thought we should make posters.
    I said it might be a good idea.
    That made her cry, because she had been depending on me.
    The scarf grew longer and longer.
    She used the picture from your vacation. From only two weeks before. It was you and your father. When I saw it, I told her she shouldn't use a picture that had your face in it. She said she wasn't going to use the whole picture. Only your father's face.
    I told her, Still, it isn't a good idea.
    She said, There are more important things to worry about.
    Just use a different picture.
    Let it go, Mom.
    She had never called me Mom.
    There are so many pictures to choose from.
    Mind your own business.
    This is my business.
    We were not angry at each other.
    I don't know how much you understood, but probably you understood everything.
    She took the posters downtown that afternoon. She filled a rolling suitcase with them. I thought of your grandfather. I wondered where he was at that moment. I didn't know if I wanted him to be suffering.
    She took a stapler. And a box of staples. And tape. I think of those things now. The paper, the stapler, the staples, the tape. It makes me sick. Physical things. Forty years of loving someone becomes staples and tape.
    It was just the two of us. You and me.
    We played games in the living room. You made jewelry. The scarf grew longer and longer. We went for a walk in the park. We didn't talk about what was on top of us. What was pinning us down like a ceiling. When you fell asleep with your head on my lap, I turned on the television.
    I lowered the volume until it was silent.
    The same pictures over and over.
    Planes going into buildings.
    Bodies falling.
    People waving