United We Stand (3 page)

“It’s the president,” my mother said, pointing at the TV set.

President Bush was sitting at his desk in the Oval Office, looking solemn but calm. Underneath was a caption indicating that this was a rebroadcast of a speech he’d given yesterday. My father hit the Mute button again so we could hear him speak.

“Good evening. Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts. The victims were in airplanes, or in their offices; secretaries, businessmen and -women, military and federal workers; moms and dads, friends and neighbors. Thousands of lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable acts of terror
.”

Down below, on the banner that ran across the screen, it said that the main suspect in the attacks was someone named Osama bin Laden, leader of a terrorist group in Afghanistan. That was hard to get my head around—what gripe did Afghanistan have with America? My dad had talked about religious extremists when we were trying to get out, trying to make some sense of what had happened. Was that who these guys were? And then came the updated numbers: “Death toll believed to exceed 3,000, with injuries to over 7,000.”

That seven thousand included me and my father.

“These acts of mass murder were intended to frighten our nation into chaos and retreat. But they have failed; our country is strong
.

“A great people has been moved to defend a great nation. Terrorist attacks can shake the foundation of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of America. These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of American resolve
.”

I felt a chill go up my spine. The president—
my
president—was speaking out for all of us, speaking about something that had happened to me.

“Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature. And we responded with the best of America—with the daring of our rescue workers, with the caring for strangers and neighbors who came to give blood and help in any way they could
.”

I knew what my father had done, what we’d
both
done. And I thought about all the policemen and firefighters … Oh my God, I’d forgotten about James’s father. He’d been one of the firemen going up while we’d been going down. I didn’t know what had happened to him. I had to call James. What sort of a friend was I—what sort of
best
friend—to have forgotten about him? No, calling him on the phone wasn’t enough. I had to go over to his house. Immediately, right now. I started to speak but stopped myself. I couldn’t interrupt the president.

“This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time. None of us
will ever forget this day. Yet, we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world
.

“Thank you. Good night and God bless America
.”

The president’s image faded and it was back to the news anchors. My father muted the sound again.

“The president spoke for all of us,” my father said. “Strange, this is one of the darkest events in our history, but I know we’re going to rise above it. I have no doubts.”

“I just can’t stop thinking about the people who aren’t going to rise above it,” I said. “The three thousand people who died.”

“And their families,” my mother added.

“I need to go and see James and his family,” I said.

“I already called, and we might go to see them tonight,” my mother said.

“No, I need to see James before that … Wait, you were talking to them?” I asked.

“I called and spoke to James’s mother this morning.”

“And have they heard anything?” I asked, although I was almost afraid to get the answer.

She shook her head. “They’re still waiting. Sometimes the waiting is the hardest part.”

“I have to go over there right now.”

“You need to come into the kitchen, sit down, and eat breakfast. Both of you.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said.

“And I’d better continue to try to make arrangements for—”

“No,” my mother said forcefully, cutting my father
off. “Both of you have been through a lot, physically and mentally, and you need to eat. Right after breakfast you can get back on the phone, John, and I’ll take Will over to see the Bennetts.”

“I can walk over,” I said.

“I know you can, but I want to go as well.”

“I’m okay, you don’t have to be right there with me.”

“I’m not going for you. I’m going for James’s mother. I think I know what she’s going through as much as anybody else can. Now, breakfast first.”

My mother shoveled another pile of scrambled eggs onto our plates—my third helping, Dad’s second. I did want to get over to James’s house, but I was still hungry. It was like the food was filling a gigantic empty pit in my stomach. That really shouldn’t have been a surprise. Before we’d left for my father’s office yesterday I’d been too rushed to eat much breakfast, and then, with everything that happened, there was no chance to eat—not that I was thinking about food then. Somehow the strange combination of danger and adrenaline I’d been dining on had suppressed not only my appetite but even the thought that I needed
to eat. It was as if my stomach had closed down the same time my brain and muscles kicked into gear. Finally, at the mobile hospital where they were stitching me up, I ate a muffin—one stale muffin. Then, when I did get home, instead of eating I just fell into bed and passed out, exhausted, spent, numb.

Funny, though I was eating now but I really couldn’t even taste the food. It was like when you have a really bad cold and all your food tastes bland, except now it just didn’t taste like anything at all.

“It’s so good to see you both eating,” my mother said.

“The food is great,” my father said.

“It is great,” I agreed. I wasn’t going to tell her I couldn’t taste it. With my mother it was like,
Love me, love my food
.

Both my father and I had coughing fits during the meal. My mother warned us to “stop wolfing down” the food, but we knew what was really going on. There was just no point in talking about it and scaring her. She refilled my glass with orange juice. I’d already drained the glass three times. I wasn’t really thirsty; it was more the way it felt going down. My throat was raw and sore. Who knew what was in that air that we’d had to breathe when the building collapsed? Was that why I couldn’t taste anything? Maybe it was best for now that I didn’t think about it.

The doorbell rang and I started to get up to answer it, but my mother put a hand on my shoulder to keep me in my seat.

“You eat, I’ll get it.” She left the kitchen and went to the door.

“She’s just worried about us,” my father said quietly.

“Yeah, but there’s nothing to worry about now.”

“I don’t know. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? I’m here and I’m fine. A little cut up, but these are nothing,” I said, holding up my hands.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Will. We almost died yesterday. We saw people die—you saw people choose to jump from the tower rather than die in the flames. There’s no way something like that doesn’t have an impact.” He leaned across the table and gently took both of my hands in his. “But we’re going to get through this. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to help me. We’ll get through this the same way we got through yesterday. Together.”

“Together.”

My mother walked back into the kitchen, smiling. “Your guest has arrived.” Suzie was right behind her.

My father got to his feet and gave her a big hug. She was so little and he was so big that she practically disappeared into his arms.

“You’re next,” she said to me.

I felt uneasy, but she came over and gave me a big hug as well. She started to cry. There was a lot of that going on.

“No time for tears,” she said as she brushed them from her face. “We have to get down to business.”

“No, you have to sit down and have some coffee, and maybe a bagel,” my mother said.

“But we have—”

“Don’t even try to argue with my wife,” my father said. He pulled out a chair for Suzie.

“Tell me … tell us what happened to you after we last saw you,” my father said.

“You know what happened,” she said.

“I want to know what happened to
you
, how you got out.”

She shrugged. “I walked down the stairs.”

“I know. How far did you get before the plane hit?” my father asked.

“Pretty far. Maybe around the sixtieth floor.”

“That’s good. You were well below the crash floors.”

“It didn’t feel like that. The whole building shook. It felt like it was right overtop of us. And that’s when everything changed.”

“Changed how?” I asked.

“There were people on the stairs before, but after that it just became a flood of people. It wasn’t like they were pushing or shoving, but they were scared. Everybody wanted to hurry now, but because of the crowd we had to move slower.”

“Did you go down with anybody else from the office?”

She shook her head. “I started down last, remember?”

Suzie had wanted to stay with us, and it was only after my father had pushed her into the stairwell that she’d joined the others already on their way down.

“Then everybody else should have been on a lower floor than you,” my father said.

“Everybody except you two. About the twentieth floor I saw the first firefighters going up. I asked them what had happened … where it had happened. And when they told me, I just prayed that you two had made it below the floor where it hit in time.”

“I wish we had,” my father said. “So, you didn’t see anybody else from the office at any time?”

“I ran into Jenna in the concourse. We talked for a while and she left. I wanted to stay there to wait for you two, but the police wouldn’t let me—they just sort of whisked me away.”

“So, where were you when the building collapsed?” my father asked.

“I was on Broadway, four or five blocks north. From where I was I didn’t even see the building go down. I heard the sound, but my view was blocked by another building, and then I saw the smoke, the cloud … people started running and screaming … I started running, but it stopped. It never got as far as me.” She paused. “And then I heard what had happened. I couldn’t believe it. How could that tower fall? And once I knew it was true, all I could think of was that you two were still up there.” She turned to my mother. “When you called me last night to tell me they were okay … you have no idea how incredible that call was. That was one of the best telephone calls I ever received in my whole life.”

“I think I have some idea,” my mother said.

“Oh, of course. What am I thinking?” Suzie apologized.

“That’s okay. I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I was just glad I could let you know. I made a lot of happy phone calls between the time the boys called me and the time they arrived home.”

“So, what about your story?” Suzie asked.

“It’s like yours. We went down the stairs,” my father said, and shrugged.

“What floor were you on when the plane hit?” Suzie asked.

“We were still—”

“In all the confusion it’s hard to say exactly,” my father said, cutting me off.

My mother and Suzie exchanged a look. I didn’t think either of them believed him.

“I know you’re just trying to protect me,” my mother said. “But it’s important that I know what you went through … the whole thing.”

“Okay, all right … I know you’re right. We were … we were still on our floor.”

“You were still on eighty- five?” Suzie sounded amazed, shocked.

“But that’s
above
the floors where the plane hit!” My mother was definitely alarmed.

My father slowly nodded his head.

“But … but … why didn’t you tell me?”

“It just … didn’t come up,” my father said.

My father and I had made an agreement not to tell her everything right away—not that we were going to lie to her, but we were going to sort of “withhold” some of the information. Now the
cat was pretty much out of the bag.

“I wish I’d known,” she said. “Is there anything else you haven’t mentioned?”

“No, nothing.”

I nodded my head in agreement, and she looked a little bit relieved.

“It’s better that I know.”

“I want to know too. How did you get down?” Suzie asked.

“Like I said, we went down the stairs,” my father answered.

“It couldn’t have been that easy,” Suzie said.

Before my father could downplay it again I jumped in. “It wasn’t that easy. There was smoke, and people said the stairwells were all blocked. A man said there was no way down and we should go up, but Dad said we had to try to get down.”

“I knew we could always go up later, but we had to at least try going down first,” my father said.

“And you got past those floors where the fire was?”

“Yes.”

“How? What was it like?” Suzie asked.

I didn’t know what to say. How could any of it be put into words? It looked like my father was having the same problem because he didn’t answer either.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” my mother said.

“No,” my father said, shaking his head, “it’s just that I’m looking for the words.” I wasn’t sure if he didn’t know what to say, or if he
knew
but was
searching for the right way to put it so my mother wouldn’t be even more upset.

“It was … There were … flames … and smoke … heat … and the smell … It was just like … like …”

“Like hell,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

My father looked over at me and nodded. “Like Hell. I always thought hell was somewhere down below, but it was up there in the sky, and we walked right by it, passed right through it.”

“I wanted to go up,” I said. “I thought we should go up.”

“That was just for a few seconds,” my father said. “You were with me all the way. You were brave all the way.”

I wanted to say something about how that wasn’t true, but I kept silent.