I gripped my rough plaid flannel shirt, my knuckles white as I stared at the paper; seventy-nine cents for bread feels greedy when the world is shaking from that blast in Oklahoma. I tried to distract myself by smoothing the slick satin of my daughter’s slip dress, but the news of this new DVD format and Java coding just feels like more noise I can't afford to understand.
Between the hum of "This Is How We Do It" on the radio and the clatter of plastic Pogs on the floor, I worry the eBay auction I saw won’t matter if we aren't safe. Even the promise of Windows 95 can’t settle the jittery feeling in my chest while I wait for the world to stop feeling so fragile.
Memories from that day
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