Jeff Davis | Vent Section Manager

Scott never has enough people come for his birthday parties. My friend Laura called me up yesterday and asked that I and a friend or two come to Scott’s party. “I feel so bad for him,” she said with a soft, sympathetic voice. She felt bad for many other things too. President Bush was making good on his vow to “hunt down and punish” those who committed the terrible crimes against peace the previous Tuesday.

So I got my friend Steve to come along with myself, Laura and her boyfriend Roger. It was a quiet ride to Dublin with the new Bob Dylan album "Love and Theft" in my stereo. I was looking so forward to Shaun Corley and I making a run to Blacksburg to pick up the album at a midnight release party Tuesday night. That didn’t happen. But I managed to buy it on a grocery trip to Wal-Mart.

We get to Scott’s place and he’s got his grill going. He bought tremendous steaks and made a great marinade for them. We all sat around his smoking grill and talked about what was on our minds. President Bush had pronounced a three-minute moment of silence for seven o’clock that night. As such Laura brought several candles with her in case Scott didn’t have any.

Roger passed around his lighter as we sat on the brick wall in front of Scott’s apartment. I stared deep into the center of the flame as the wax dripped down onto my hand. Everything I had done the past week up until that day didn’t do as much for my fretful soul as that candle did.

I did not hold my candle for revenge. An eye for an eye makes the world blind. I held it for the lives of the men and women who were called to duty to protect everything this country holds dear. I held it for the families and friends of the victims of someone’s protest of America’s way of life. I held it for the group who committed the crime, hoping whatever God they worshipped had mercy on their souls. I knew our politicians would not have the same mercy.

I held it for the old man I saw in his pickup with the full-size American flag affixed to the side of the truck’s bed. I held it for my friend Staci, Muslim by choice, who endured raw meat on her doorstep and spray paint on her car. I held it for the Red Cross who holds in their hands the generous hearts of citizens who give away part of what makes them wake up and enjoy the chance each day brings.

I held it for the consciences of the people who stabbed two Arabs in Terre Haute, Indiana. I held it for every person from the Middle East, and every person who physically appears to be from the Middle East, who has to walk down the streets and come out of their homes to pick up the newspaper off the stoop with fear of such aforementioned people.

I held the candle for the people I saw on CNN, standing outside the zone in New York City that has been blocked off, lunging over weak sawhorses, waiting for the slightest window of opportunity to get whatever they can from their homes and apartments. I held it for the firefighters and policemen and everyone who lost their lives or remains missing for the sake of rebuilding solidarity in our nation.

I held it for President Bush, who I admit I don’t like very much as a politician. But this weight is on his shoulders like Atlas holding the world. I held it for every single country that voiced their support.

I held my candle for the NYSE that has returned to business as usual. While I am weary of capitalism, this is exactly what the terrorists didn’t want to happen. Even though they destroyed the building, our economy will survive.

I held it for the innocent people who will most certainly die because that’s how war is. I held the candle for those who support the war and those who want nothing to do with it. I held my candle for the sanctity of human life, and I held my candle for hope that the pilots and troops and commanders and generals and everyone else involved remember this is not a war against a culture or a country, but a handful of extremists.

I held my candle for my mother, my father, my sister, my uncle, my aunt, my cousin, and my grandmother.

I held my candle for my grandfather who deciphered codes in Iceland during World War II. I held my candle for his last years and his perception of the world before he leaves it for a much better place.

I held it for April, my girlfriend in Knoxville, whose love makes me tremble with graciousness now more than ever.

I held my candle for the architects of history who will help my generation shape our identity. I held my candle for history itself.

The three minutes was over quickly. Scott turned the steaks and we partook of them shortly thereafter. Then we went inside and sang songs while Scott and Steve played on their guitars.

That’s one more loss for the terrorists in little Dublin, Virginia.