The Things We Keep

The room had been used as a storage closet for almost as long as they had owned the house. It wasn’t officially a storage room, as it was sold to them as a spare bedroom. That’s what it was when they bought the place back when they were newly married and still believed every room in a house needed to have a purpose. They had put a small desk against one wall, a bookcase against another, and bought a cheap futon that neither of them had ever actually ever slept on.

Then life happened as boxes started to appear, and Christmas decorations were carried through the door one December afternoon and never quite made it back out. Winter coats found their way into the closet, and old television sat in the corner until neither of them could remember if it still worked. Wedding presents they had never used were stacked beneath things they had forgotten they ever owned.

Eventually, the room stopped being the spare bedroom. It slowly became the room where things went when they didn't know what else to do with them. It was like that drawer in the kitchen where you put all the miscellaneous stuff, but this was a room rather than a small drawer.

Now, five months into her pregnancy, Emily stood in the middle of that room with one hand resting on the small curve of her stomach as she looked around at the accumulated evidence of nearly a decade of marriage.

“We have too much stuff.” She openly declared.

Her husband Daniel, kneeling beside an open cardboard box, glanced over his shoulder.

“You said that last weekend.” He reminded her.

“I was right last weekend.” Emily countered.

“Yes,” Daniel concurred, “You were.”

“And the weekend before.” Emily added.

“Can confirm.” Daniel agreed.

Emily narrowed her eyes.

“Are you agreeing with me because you think I'm right or because I'm pregnant?” she asked.

Daniel considered this carefully.

“Those are not mutually exclusive.” He replied.

She stared at him for a moment before smiling.

“Good answer.” She noted.

“I've been married to you for almost ten years.” Daniel reminded her, “A man can learn a lot of things in that much time.”

“You've learned to survive.” Emily countered.

“That too.” Daniel agreed.

Emily laughed as she bent down to pick up a stack of old magazines. The room smelled faintly of cardboard and dust. Sunlight came through the half-open blinds, catching tiny particles in the air and making them look almost like snow. They had spent the better part of Saturday clearing the storage room, and there was still barely enough floor visible to walk from the door to the window. Emily had already made three piles for them to organize the room.

The first pile was for stuff they planned to keep.

The second pile was for things they were going to donate.

The third pile was for the things Emily wanted tossed out. It was clear to Daniel that the trash pile was winning.

Emily held up an old ceramic rooster.

“Why do we own this?” she asked her husband.

Daniel looked at it.

“I have no idea.” Daniel honestly answered.

“Did you buy it?” Emily inquired.

“Hell no.” Daniel replied, “I may have bad taste, but it’s not that bad.”

“Did I buy it?” Emily asked.

“No,” Daniel answered, “You have actual taste.”

“Fair point.” Emily conceded, as she put it into the trash pile.

“You're not even going to defend the rooster?” Daniel asked.

“Never liked him,” Emily answered, “Did you?”

“Hell no,” Daniel agreed, “Toss that hideous thing.”

She moved on working through boxes and filling each pile one piece at a time. For a while, they worked without talking. It was the kind of comfortable silence that came from years of knowing someone. For a little while Daniel opened boxes and sorted through them as his wife sat cross-legged on the floor and her back against the wall with a pillow to support her back. She did this whenever her spine started bothering her, which had been happening more often lately. Every few minutes one of them would hold up something ridiculous and the other would try to remember why they had it in there to being with. There was a broken lamp, a collection of old concert tickets, and a few board games that were missing pieces. There was even a coffee maker they had replaced six years ago but never threw away. Then Emily opened a box containing photographs and stopped and smiled.

“Look at this.” She called out to her husband.

Daniel turned to see she was holding up a picture from their wedding. He was standing beside her, and he was younger and even a little thinner. Both of them were laughing at something that was outside the frame.

“That's a terrible picture,” Daniel lied.

“Pish posh,” Emily chided back, “You look handsome.”

“I look terrified.” Daniel corrected her.

“Yeah, you were terrified.” Emily agreed.

“I was marrying you.” Daniel explained.

“Exactly.” Emily conceded. “That poor fool had no idea what he was getting himself into that fateful day.”

“Apparently not.” Daniel conceded.

Emily looked at the photograph for another second before placing it carefully into the keep pile. Then she stopped to look around the room.

“It's strange.” She said to him.

“What is?” Daniel asked.

“That we’re actually doing this?” Emily answered.

“You mean cleaning this mess up?” Daniel guessed.

“No,” Emily said, giving him a glare. “Making a nursery.”

Daniel looked at her stomach and smiled.

“Technically, you're making the nursery.” He told her. “I'm just lifting things and trying not to break my back.”

“You know what I mean.” Emily insisted.

Daniel did know what she meant. They had been married almost ten years. For most of that time, children had been something they talked about in the future. It was something they hoped to do someday when the timing was right, when they had more money, and when work settled down. They wanted to be ready. Eventually, someday had become a real person whose heartbeat they had heard through a machine in a doctor's office only a week ago. This was their child and he (or she) was coming. Daniel still wasn't entirely used to saying it. He reached over and rested his hand against Emily's stomach.

“Think we should keep the rooster?” he suggested.

Emily laughed rather loudly.

“No.” she replied.

“Just making sure,” Daniel said, as he happy to see it in the trash pile.

He returned to the boxes, and Emily watched him for a moment before opening another herself. Inside her box were old phone books, instruction manuals, and a collection of tangled cables. There was something large and gray buried beneath a faded tablecloth. She pulled the cloth aside and look at the thing for a moment.

“What is this?” She called out.

“Probably something else we don't need.” Daniel as he turned to look over.

Emily lifted it out and the gray object was an old school answering machine. The kind with physical buttons, a tiny digital display, and a clear plastic window where a cassette tape could be seen inside. She turned it over in her hands.

“Wow.” She said, examining it. “How old is this relic?”

Daniel had stopped moving and Emily didn't notice at first. She kept examining the machine, wiping a layer of dust from the top with her thumb.

“Do you remember these?” She asked.

“Yeah.” Daniel replied.

“Did you actually have one?” Emily asked.

“Everybody had one.” Daniel answered, “They were useful.”

Emily smiled back at him.

“Not everybody had one, dear.” She replied.

“My family did.” Daniel said, “We had that one.”

She pressed one of the buttons and nothing happened. She pressed another and still nothing happened.

“This thing loos so old,” Emily said, “It doesn’t even work.”

“Honey,” Daniel said softly, trying to be polite. “It has to be plugged in.”

“Oh,” Emily said, as she left out a short laugh. She kept looking at it and noticed that there was a faded strip of masking tape on the back with handwriting on it. She couldn't make out the words.

“Do you know whose it is?” She asked him.

“I already told you.” Daniel answered, with a tone that was a tad sharper.

Emily looked at him to notice that he was staring at the machine. Not looking at it but actually staring. Something in his expression made her smile disappear.

“Daniel?” she asked him. “Are you alright?”

Daniel didn’t say anything as he crossed the room. He crossed the room and took the machine from her before she could ask another question. Not roughly or angrily, but quick enough to startle her. Emily stood there with her hand still half extended as Daniel looked down at the answering machine. For several seconds, neither of them spoke, but then Daniel turned and walked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Emily called out to him.

“I’ll be right back.” Daniel answered.

“Daniel!” she called out again.

He stopped, and she watched his shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath.

“I just want to put this somewhere.” Daniel responded.

“Why?” Emily asked.

Daniel didn't answer this time as he left the room with the machine. Emily listened to his footsteps disappear down the hallway. Then she looked back at the box as there was nothing remarkable about it. Just another old thing they had forgotten they owned. Except this time Daniel hadn't forgotten as he appeared to remember it very well. Emily slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the futon as her hand drifted instinctively to her stomach. The baby moved beneath her palm.

“Don’t fret,” She told the child, “Your father is just being weird.”

From somewhere down the hall came the sound of a cupboard opening. And then closing a few seconds later. Emily waited as the footsteps returned as her husband walked back into the room. Daniel’s face was almost composed again as he stood in the doorway.

“Ready to keep going?” he asked her.

“Not really.” Emily replied as she looked up at him.

He gave her a small, uncertain smile.

“Fair enough.” Daniel said, as he left the room again.

Emily was tempted to follow but instead picked up another box. She was distracted while going through that box. All she could think about was why he had acted so weird, and what was on that machine?

By six o'clock, the room looked marginally better. They had managed to uncover most of the carpet, filled four garbage bags, and created a donation pile large enough to require two trips to the car. Emily never mentioned the answering machine all afternoon and noticed that Daniel didn't mention it either. She noticed something else, which was that her husband had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen whenever possible. He wasn’t exactly hiding but just kept himself occupied. Emily let him get away with it because she loved her husband enough to know when to push and when to give him room. She also knew her husband well enough to know that giving him room did not mean she was going to let it go. Eventually, they ordered dinner, as she was having a baby craving for Chinese food. Whenever Emily had a craving Daneil knew better, never questioned it, and just made the call.

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table with takeout containers between them. Emily ate slowly, more interested in watching Daniel than her food. Daniel noticed that when he looked back at her.

“What is it?” he asked her.

“Nothing.” Emily answered, with a tone that clearly said it wasn’t nothing.

“You're staring at me.” Daniel informed her.

“I'm pregnant.” Emily reminded him. “I’m allowed to stare that the man who caused this to happen.”

“Is that one of the rules?” Daniel asked.

“Oh yeah,” Emily confirmed.

“I should probably read the manual.” Daniel replied.

“You'd skip the manual.” Emily said, as she knew him well.

“Fair point.” Daniel conceded.

Things went quiet, and for another minute she let him eat. Then Emily put down her fork and was now staring at him again.

“I’m sorry dear,” she started. “But I need to know about that machine.”

Daniel’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and Emily watched as he slowly lowered it.

“What about it?” he asked.

“What's on it?” Emily countered.

“Nothing.” Daniel replied.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

“You know,” she responded, “For someone who claims there's nothing on it, you were awfully protective of it.”

“It's old.” Daniel said, his answers quite brief.

“So I noticed.” Emily observed.

Daniel looked at her, and she smiled back. He didn’t return the smile.

“You're not throwing it away.” He informed her. There was no anger in his voice, just certainty.

“Okay,” Emily said as she leaned back in her chair.

Daniel could feel her watching and loudly sighed.

“I don't really want to talk about it.” He told her.

“Tough titty.” Emily replied, “I’m pregnant and curious. Since we can’t deal with the first, you’re sure as hell going to take care of the other.”

Daniel looked at his wife. She wasn't angry, but that seemed to make it worse.

“I've been wondering about it all afternoon,” she continued. “And I'm going to keep wondering about it all night. And then tomorrow. And then the next day.”

“I get the point.” Daniel said, as he set down his fork again. Daniel stared at his plate and then turned to face her. Seconds later he pushed his chair back, and Emily watched as he stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“I’ll be right back.” Daniel said as he disappeared from the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned carrying the answering machine with both hands. He set it carefully on the table between them. As Emily looked at it again, she started to realize just how old it really was. The plastic had yellowed with age, and the buttons were worn down. A thin scratch ran across the front of it. Daniel reached beneath the table and found the cord.

“I didn't know it still worked,” Emily said as she watched him plug it in.

“It does.” Daniel confirmed.

“You've plugged it in before?” Emily asked.

“A few times.” Daniel answered and as he plugged it in, the answering machine clicked and a small red light came on.

The display flickered before settling on a series of numbers. Daniel stared at it and Emily watched him stare at it.

“What is it?” She asked him.

Daniel didn't answer. Instead, he reached toward the machine with his finger hovered over the play button. Emily suddenly felt nervous.

“Daniel?” She asked again.

Daniel looked at her.

“I don't know how to explain this.” He honestly told her, “So I'm not going to.”

Daniel then pressed play and the machine clicked. A faint mechanical whir filled the kitchen and for a few seconds there was only static. Then a man's voice came through the tiny speaker.

“Hey, honey.” The man on the tape said. “It's me."

Emily watched as Daniel closed his eyes. She had heard the voice before, but not often. Some old home movies. A few recordings Daniel had kept over the years. She did recognize the voice: it was Daniel’s father.

“I'm calling because I know how much you worry,” his father continued. “I just wanted to let you know I'm okay.”

Emily's eyes moved toward Daniel, and he still hadn’t opened his.

“There’s a fire in the building,” his father continued. “They're evacuating us, but they're doing it slowly. The fire isn't on this floor, so we’re not in any danger.”

Emily's breathing changed as the recording continued.

“Everybody's heading downstairs.” His father informed them. “It's pretty crowded, but they're keeping things moving.”

There was a pause. In the background, barely audible, something sounded. A very lout alarm was going off.

“Honestly, I don't know exactly what's going on.”  He continued, “Nobody seems to know much. But I'm fine.”

Emily stared at the machine.

“They've got us taking the stairs.” His dad said, “The elevators aren't working but as far as I know both towers are being evacuated.”

Emily eyes widened, and that was when Daniel opened his. Their eyes met for a second before he looked away.

“The phones are acting strange too.” Daniel’s father added. “I tried calling home a few times, but I couldn't get through. I got lucky this time, so I figured I'd leave a message.”

There was a short pause. Then his father's voice softened.

“Tell Danny I'm okay.” he called out, and she could see Daniel's jaw tightened just a little. “I know he'll worry too.”

There was the faintest hint of a laugh in his father's voice.

“Tell him his old man is tougher than he looks.” he added.

Emily reached across the table and placed her hand over Daniel's.

“I love you both.”

The recording paused. For a moment, Emily thought it had ended, and then Daniel’s father spoke again.

“I'll call again once I’m outside.” He said, “I'll see you soon.”

The machine clicked and then there was silence. Neither of them moved as the tiny red light remained illuminated. Emily looked at Daniel, but he was still staring at the answering machine.

“Daniel.” Emily said, as she could hardly believe it. “He said the towers were being evacuated. Which one was he in?”

“The South Tower.” Daniel answered.

Emily closed her eyes. She had known his father was gone and she had known that for almost ten years. She had seen photographs of him and listened to every story that was told about him. She knew the name he had given Daniel, and that he had been a good father to her husband. But she had never knew any of this.

“How long?” she asked.

Daniel looked at her.

“Not long after he called.” Daniel answered, “The tower collapsed about twenty minutes after dad left that message. He didn’t make it out.”

Emily's eyes filled as Daniel continued quietly.

“That was the last time anyone ever heard from him.” He told her.

The words seemed to hang in the kitchen, and Emily looked at the machine again. That ordinary little box with the buttons, the faded plastic, and tiny red light. Now she had finally understood. This wasn't something Daniel had forgotten in a box. It was something he had been protecting.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” she whispered.

Daniel leaned back in his chair. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he looked at her as s small tear fell across his cheek.

“Because I didn't want him to become that.” He answered.

Emily frowned.

“Become what?” she asked him.

“September eleventh.” Daniel replied as he looked down at the machine. “That's what happens when you tell people. Once they hear where he died, and that's all they want to talk about and it becomes the only thing they remember.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“They don't remember my dad.” He continued, “Just that day.”

Emily reached for his hand again, and this time Daniel let her take it.

“I remember him,” she told him.

“I know.” He said, giving her a soft smile.

“You've told me about him.” She reminded him, “And I’ve heard countless stories from your mother and your sisters.”

“I know.” Daniel acknowledged.

“I know about those horrible pancakes.” Emily continued, “And the way he cheated at cards.”

“He called it strategy.” Daniel said, almost laughing.

“The terrible jokes.” Emily added.

“God, they were terrible.” Daniel confirmed.

They both smiled, and for a few seconds the grief loosened its grip. Then Daniel looked at the answering machine.

“I don't want to forget September eleventh,” he said, “I never have, and likely never will. I remember that day. I remember watching the non-stop coverage. I remember watching my mother wait for the phone to ring.”

He paused.

“But when I think about my dad,” he continued, “I don't want the towers to be the first thing I see.”

Emily squeezed his hand.

“What do you see?” she asked him.

“I see Dad standing in the kitchen at six in the morning because he was making those horrid pancakes.” Daniel said with smile. “And him yelling at the television during baseball games when our team wasn’t winning. Even though the players couldn't hear him he still shouted like he was in the first five rows.”

Emily laughed softly.

Daniel looked at the machine.

“I kept this because it's his voice.” He explained, “That's all.”

He shook his head.

“Not the building. Not the news. Not the pictures.” Daniel said, as he looked at Emily. “Just his voice.”

Emily reached across the table and wiped the tear from his cheek. Then she placed his hand against her stomach. The baby moved beneath them.

Daniel froze.

“Your father would have loved this.” She told him.

Daniel looked down, and for a moment he couldn't speak. Then he laughed through the tears.

“Oh yeah,” He agreed. “Dad would have insisted on putting the crib together himself without reading the instructions.”

They sat that way for a while. The answering machine remained on the table between them. Neither of them touched it as they didn’t need to. After a while, Emily looked toward the hallway.

“We still have to finish the nursery.” She reminded him.

Daniel smiled.

“We can do it tomorrow.” He suggested.

She leaned against his shoulder.

“And we're are definitely keeping the machine.” She added.

“Definitely.” Daniel agreed. “But not in the nursery.”

They sat together in the quiet kitchen, holding on to each other and to the small life that was growing between them. The room down the hall was still full of boxes, and the next day they would decide what to keep, what to give away, and what to toss out. Yet some things were never meant to be discarded, as some were meant to be carried forward. Some items were simply meant to be kept.

Six months later, the nursery was finished. The boxes were all gone, and the walls had been painted a soft blue that Emily insisted was not quite baby blue, even though Daniel had never understood the distinction. A crib stood against one wall, assembled with considerably more effort than either of them cared to admit. A rocking chair sat beside the window, and a small bookshelf already held a collection of children's books that their son was still years away from being able to read.

Their son. Daniel still caught himself thinking the words.

Their son had arrived three weeks early, but there had been no complications. He had been healthy, loud, and apparently offended by the entire experience. Emily had declared him perfect within seconds of holding him. Daniel had needed a little longer because the first time he held him, something had happened that he hadn't expected. He had thought about his father.

Not the towers. Not the news footage. Not September 11th. Just his father. The man who had once held Daniel in exactly the same way, and the thought had nearly broken him. Instead, he had looked down at the tiny face in his arms and smiled.

“Hey, buddy,” he'd whispered to the tiny child. “I’m you’re daddy!”

Six months later, on a cool autumn morning, Daniel and Emily walked through Lower Manhattan with their son asleep in a stroller between them. The city moved around them as taxis honked, people hurried along the sidewalks with coffee cups in hand, and someone shouted into a phone. A delivery truck blocked half the street, forcing pedestrians to squeeze around it. Emily pushed the stroller while Daniel walked beside her, one hand resting on the handle.

“You've checked the straps three times,” Emily said as she watched him check them again.

“They look loose.” Daniel replied.

“They are not loose.” Emily told him.

He looked at her, and she smiled.

“He's fine.” Emily said.

Daniel glanced down at the stroller. Their son was asleep, with one tiny hand curled beside his cheek.

“I know.” Daniel agreed, “Sorry about that.”

“Daniel,” She said, “Are you becoming one of those fathers?”

“What kind do you mean?” Daniel asked.

“The kind who thinks his baby is made of glass.” Emily answered.

Daniel looked down at the stroller again.

“He's very small.” Daniel observed.

“He's six months old.” Emily reminded him.

“Exactly!” Daniel declared.

Emily laughed, and Daniel smiled. It was an ordinary conversation, which is what he liked about it. There had been a time when he had been afraid that certain memories would make ordinary life impossible. They hadn't as life had continued like it always had. He and Emily had gotten married. They had bought the house. They had filled it with furniture, photographs and useless things they couldn't bring themselves to throw away. Now they had made room for a child and were walking through New York City with their son.

For a long time, Daniel had avoided this part of the city. He had come to New York plenty of times over the years. Work. Vacations. A few weekends with Emily… but he had never come here. Not once.

Daniel had never stood at the memorial. He had never searched for his father's name as he had never felt the need. His father's death had always existed somewhere inside him. It didn't require a place to confirm it, but this time was different. This time, he wasn't coming alone. As they turned a corner, and the crowds began to thin. The sounds of the city didn't disappear, but they seemed to soften. Ahead of them, the memorial pools came into view.

Emily slowed the stroller down and slowly took the view in. Neither said anything as they stopped near the railing. Their son slept peacefully in his stroller, oblivious to the people around him. Emily looked at Daniel with a soft smile.

“Do you want to go?” She asked him.

“Yeah.” Daniel said with a nod.

She reached for his hand, and they walked together. Daniel didn't know what he had expected. Something profound, perhaps. Something that would make the twenty-five years between that day and this one suddenly disappear. Instead, he felt strangely calm as he looked at the names. There were so many of them, as so many lives reduced to letters carved into stone. Daniel knew one of them, as it was a name he had know his entire life.

Seeing it there that day was different as Daniel stopped walking. Emily stopped beside him as they had found his father's name. It also happened to be the same name they gave their son.

For a moment, Daniel simply stared at it. He had imagined this moment before and he pictured himself crying. Other times he thought he would get angry. He had never imagined himself standing there with a stroller, as he reached out and placed his fingertips against the stone.

“Hey, Dad.” He softly said out loud.

Emily squeezed his hand as Daniel smiled faintly.

“I guess I should introduce you to someone.” Daniel said, as he looked over at the infant that was soundly sleeping in the stroller.

“That's your grandson.” He said, “We named him after you.”

Emily smiled as Daniel crouched beside the stroller. He didn't wake the baby but simply looked at him.

“He's got Dad’s hair.” Daniel observed.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

“He's six months old.” She replied, “He barely has any hair.”

“I know what I see.” Daniel insisted.

“Uh huh.” Emily grunted.

Daniel stood again, and for a moment they remained there together.

“Are you okay?” She asked him.

Daniel thought about the question.

“Yeah.” He replied, “I will be.”

Daniel looked back at his father's name.

“You know what's strange?” he asked her. “I thought being here would feel like I was saying goodbye. I've been saying goodbye to him for twenty-five years.”

He paused.

“But I think this is the first time I've actually come here to introduce him.” Daniel said, as he looked back at his son.

Emily leaned against Daniel's shoulder.

“I think your dad would have liked him.” She replied.

Daniel smiled.

“He would have spoiled him.” He added.

“Absolutely.” Emily agreed. “And he would have taught him how to cheat at cards too.”

“He didn't cheat,” Daniel reminded her, “He called it strategy.”

Emily laughed, and this time Daniel laughed with her. The sound felt almost strange in a place like this. Then he looked at the stroller again.

“I wish he could have met him.” Daniel said.

Emily slipped her arm through his.

“Maybe this is as close as we get.” She told him.

Daniel nodded, as he looked once more at the name. The very same name that now belonged to their son. They slowly turned away and began walking. The city was waiting for them beyond the memorial as cars moved through the streets and people hurried past. Someone laughed somewhere ahead of them as the ordinary noise of life gradually grew louder.

Daniel looked back only once, and then he turned toward his wife and son. He reached over and rested his hand on the stroller as they continued to walk their son downtown together. For twenty-five years, Daniel had carried his father with him. Now, for the first time, he felt as though he was carrying him forward.

Somehow, that felt different.

He wasn’t letting his father go. Instead, it felt as though he was keeping him close to his heart. While some things were better left unremembered, Daniel chose to keep pushing forward with his father, eager to share new memories with the young child who now bore his name.