…always the same…glaring white room…feverish black mass…undulating…bouncing off walls…up it goes…on the ceiling now…crashing down from above…it falls on me…presses me…against the floor…no…no…no…can’t breathe…can’t…I can’t…leave me alone…who do you think…who do you think…you’re evil…evil…let me…let me…be…let me…live…isn’t fair…no power over me…you have no power…you have all the power…you have…you have…enough…enough of this…get up…get up…WAKE UP!
7:03 am: …I’m up…outta bed…walking…gotta piss…bathroom…piss…back to…to…head on pillow…wet with sweat…my sweat…had that dream…again…residual…dread…same dream since I was a kid…Mother says whenever I have the dream something bad happens…shake it off…won’t allow bad today…not on my day off…
7:04 am: …TV still on from last night…Nick at Nite…no sound…Patty Duke losing control over a hot dog…my eyes…close my…blink…blink myself back to…back to…to…
7:15 am: …wake…blink…wake…I’m awake…thirsty…damn thirsty…saliva like wet wool…where’s wine from last night…gotta be some…over there…reach for bottle…don’t reach for bottle…morning drinking as bad as day drinking…I reach for the bottle…guzzle what’s left…back to bed...got a buzz going…a slight red buzz…I’m floating…almost asleep…almost…I…I…
8:38 am: …I…I…wake…bed shaking…me shaking…room and I…shaking shaking shaking…an earthquake…remember that quake in the 80s…nothing on the Richter scale…shaking morphs into a mild rumble…stops…dormant for now…a brick coughs…then…nothing…no harm done…it’ll be the big news story of the day…nothing earthquake hits Manhattan…been there…done…that’s…okay…yawn…go back…back to…to…to…
8:56 am: …piercing RING…fuck…what is going on…leave me the fuck alone…RING…fucking universe…fucking phone…what time is it…hello…hello…oh, hello Mother…it’s early…too early…way too…
–Are you okay?
–Why? What’s going on?
–Some poor slob just flew his plane into the World Trade Towers.
–I’m fine, Ma, fine. I was in bed. I was asleep…
–Well, go back. Just calling to make sure you’re okay. You sometimes work down there don’t you?
–Where?
–World Trade Towers.
–Across the street. World Financial Center. The Grill Room. Just part time, though. I’m mostly at Metro these days. Same company, different restaurants. I thought I told you this…
–You did but I wasn’t listening.
–I had that dream again.
–Uh oh…I think you should stay in all day.
–That’s the plan.
8:58: am: …I yawn…I’m waking…
– I’ll call you later.
–Okay…but don’t say you’re going to call and not call…and put on the news…
8:59 am: …hang up…lay back…TV still on…up the volume…switch to news…that anchor…waited on him…somewhere…Ritter something…he’s covering the poor slob who flew his plane into the tower…looks like a giant Tiki torch that’s just been blown out…Ritter’s not saying what size plane…
9:01 am: …tower vomits black smoke through its metal grimace…that’s a lot of smoke for such a small plane…and papers…flying papers…flat white doves…flying…for their lives…I wonder what’s written on those papers…who’s desk were they on…who’s…
9:02 am: …helicopters circle the North Tower…if the people above the crash zone can’t get out…maybe one of the helicopters can land on top of the building…like that movie…what’s it called…
9:03 am: …another plane…there’s another plane…what’s it doing there…look at it…it slides into the South Tower…right in…a hot knife in butter…black orange yellow blossoms…amazing special effects…but real…wait…that was a passenger jet…a fucking passenger jet…the news anchors…they say…oh my…oh my…oh my…but catch themselves before they say God…God…God…I say God God God for them…
9:05 am: …I watch…I watch…I have no choice but…watch…what the hell…
9:07 am: …this is crazy…what should I do…only one thing to do…keep watching…
9:12 am: …phone RINGS! I answer. It’s Mary. No hello. No how are you. Just a gulp of air, then…
–Thank God, you’re home. You okay?
–I’m home. I’m okay.
–I was afraid you went to work.
–I’m off today.
–It’s Osama bin Laden. I know it.
9:13 pm: …I don’t tell Mary that I have no idea who Osama bin Laden is, but I agree with her to shorten the conversation.
–I thought the same, I say.
…she breathlessly begins to tell me all she knows about Osama bin Laden and why she thinks he’s behind this…phone CLICK!
–That’s my call wait.
–Go. I’ll call you later.
9:17 am: …my boss from Metro…
–Bridgeen, hi…can you believe…?
–No. I can’t. Unbelievable. Liz called–
–She okay?
–Yes. No. Never made it to The Grill Room. She called me from Jack Rose. She had a meeting there with Vinnie before she went to work. She’s worried about her friends at Cantor Fitzgerald.
–Cantor Fitzgerald. I worked their party a couple of weeks ago, a retirement gig for one of the bosses.
–Liz said their offices are on the 101st floor. I hope they made it out.
9:19 am: …I ask what channel she’s watching…
–Eleven.
…I switch to channel 11…we’re on the same station now…watching the same television sixty blocks apart…a chorus of quiet oh my Gods…then…
–What’s that?
–Where?
–There. Something’s falling. See it?
–Debris?
–Can’t be…it’s kicking.
–There’s another.
–I see it.
–It’s a…a…a…person…it’s a…
–Oh my God…they’re jumping…
–They’re freaking jumping…
–Oh my God…
–There’s another…
–Oh my God…
9:21 am: …people jumping out of the windows…and I am more than fully awake now…I have to ask…
– Do you think we’ll open?
– Probably not. I’ll call Vinnie and call you back.
…we hang up…
9:22 am: …watching…real-life special effects and reports coming in from everywhere…from no where…
9:23 am: …watching…more people jumping…do they think they’ll land nice…and survive…
9:27 am: …watching…something’s happening in the air over Pennsylvania…
9:33 am: …watching…no one knows the whereabouts of President Bush…
9:35 am: …watching…a guy claims he managed to escape from the 86th floor…interviewed via phone by Ernie Anastos…man seems credible…Anastos goes along with the guy’s story…the guy claims the attack was a direct result of Howard Stern’s ball sac…Anastos angrily cuts the guy off…any other day, he says…any other day…
9:41 am: …Ernie Anastos reports that the Pentagon’s been hit…we are a nation under siege…I need coffee…I’ll get a coffee…
9:45 am: …I rise…slip on shorts…tee shirt…new sneaks…I reek from last night…don’t care…clamp on Yankees cap…check wallet for cash…none.
9:53 am: …outside…an impossibly beautiful day…not a cloud…no humidity…70 degrees…walking to bodega on corner…my Yemen buddies…never have to ask…when they see me they know: coffee…skim milk…two Equals…get cash from the ATM…place is jumping…seething really…like a barroom after a fight…at the counter Sayeed hands me my coffee…I hand him a twenty…he makes change…his hands shake…his lower lip…is that a quiver…I drop a buck in the tip cup…
–This is not us, Sayeed whispers. We love America.
…I want to say…what?…what’s not you…because I am not exactly sure what the fuck is going on…but I am waylaid by demands for coffee and cheese and bacon bagels from others…I walk out…turn back to see Sayeed wiping his eyes.
9:55 am: …back home…eyes on TV…can’t help it…television is a Pandora’s box of…of…of…Phone RINGS. Bridgeen…
–Vinnie wants us to open.
–What?!
–He says we need to take care of people. I don’t know where Sally is. I’ll do lunch. Bradley and Tommy are going in…they’ll do a double…thank God they live around the block. Can you work dinner shift?
–Sure, yes, of course.
–You’ll have to manage as well as wait. City’s shut down. No busses or subways. No one can get in or out. Chris called from a phone booth in Inwood…he’s going to jump on the F train. Only train running. Rosalio and some of his staff walked over the Queensboro bridge. Should be there by now.
–Okay. We’ll probably be dead. No pun intended. How will you get to work?
–I’ll grab a cab if they’re running. How about you?
–I’ll walk. Just across town.
9:59 am: …Bridgeen gasps…I gasp…the South Tower…it’s what….it’s collapsing…right there on TV…it’s eating itself from the top down…fifty blocks away and I can feel it’s heft dissipating…turning into concrete oatmeal…it can’t be real…it’s too real looking…
–Oh my God…
–Oh my God…
–There’s thousands of people in there…
–Oh my God…
10:01 am: …we hang up saying oh my God…
10:21 am: …big images on tiny screen…can’t tell what’s smoke or static…adjust antennae…nothing but smoke and static…people running…covered in white powder…sheltering in stores…smoke and static…a black cop in white face…people…real actual people…chased by enormous plumes of dirt-gray smoke…Phone RINGS…Fynn calling from California…
–Thank God. Are you okay?
–Yeah yeah yeah…
–Don’t leave your apartment. You have a target on your back. Stay inside. I hope you have plenty of canned goods…
–I have to go to work.
–Why?
–The big boss wants us to take care of people…
–Call in sick.
–Can’t. Subways and busses are down. There’s no way in or out of the city. No one can get in or out to work…except me and…
Flynn’s suddenly SCREAMING…SCREAMING…SCREAMING…phone disconnects.
10:29 am: …I know why Flynn is screaming…the North Tower…collapsing…same as South Tower…smoke and dust and debris…and…and…how many people are being crushed to death…how many…could be thousands…tens of thousands…inconceivable…
10:33 am: …run upstairs to roof…view is all the way downtown…no towers in sight…just dense black obscenely beautiful smoke……curling…curling up from where the towers used to be…if the smoke had a voice it would growl…
11:05 am: …back in apartment…TV…scrambling for information…no one knows anything…I curl up…can’t help it…if I had a blanket I’d be under it…I…I…nod…I nod off…so tired…so…bloody…I…I…
1:07 pm: …raging SIRENS scream me awake…are we being hit…get up…run to window…a lone police car…screeching down my block…back on the edge…the edge of my bed…watching…
1:09 pm …watching…where’s my coffee…there…where I left it…damn…it’s cold…so am I…where’s the remote…30 channels with my dollar-store antennae…almost every station reports the carnage…one channel shows reruns…Dennis the Menace…he’s misplaced Mr. Wilson’s cat…I want to strangle the little bastard…
1:15 pm: …I don’t know what to do next…I should get ready for work…I don’t want to get ready for work…I get ready for work…
1:20 pm: …poop…
1:25 pm: …brush teeth…
1:28 pm: …shower…
1:33 pm: …wash my face…my hair…thinking about the jumpers…what made them jump…they took control of their lives…that’s what…would I…jump…no…I fantasize climbing up the north tower antenna and holding on for dear life…
1:45 pm: …towel off…standing naked before my closet…what does one wear to Armageddon…waiter togs I guess…I dress…
1:51: pm: …all dressed…ready to move…can’t move…watch more TV…I’m numb…not feeling…why am I not feeling…just sit here a sec…no need to move…not yet…sit still…maybe rock back-and-forth…like a baby…
1:53 pm: …watch the news…the damage…the despair…I wish I was there…downtown…I’d have a story to tell about how I helped people…but I’m not…downtown…I’m sitting on my bed…helpless…how can I help…go to work…that’s how…feed the people…
2:15 pm: …leave for work…
2:20 pm: …streets are Christmas Eve quiet…everyone is inside…watching the disaster film unfold on TV…mid-town is upwind…the smell from downtown…faint…but…pungent…acrid…burning wires…burning steel…burning flesh…
2:23 pm: …9th Avenue…no cars…no people…one lone firetruck at full blast throttling downtown…sirens ablaze…I want to scream: You’re too late buddy…
2:30 pm: …stop by our sister restaurant, Jack Rose, to see Liz…she’s encamped there…couldn’t get down to the Grill Room…where she works…where she manages…she’s…what do they say…she’s beside herself…not her usual authoritative stillness…arms flailing…pacing…her friends at Cantor Fitzgerald…
–They’re dead…all of them…dead…murdered…
–Maybe they made it out, I say…
–They would have called me. One of them would have called me…we were friends…all of us…
…She desperately reminds me how much fun we had working their Xmas party last year…
–They loved being together…they all died together…it’s impossible…why them…why them…
2:35 pm: …should I hug her…I want to hug her…I can’t hug her because she’s not there…she stands in front of me…but she’s not there…inconsolable…that’s the word…that’s her…I leave without saying goodbye because she’s there but she’s not…
2:47 pm: …gaining ground…mid-town…Rockefeller Plaza…no one around…Sixth Avenue…some people…scattered…clumped…helpless…
2:53 pm: …Fifth Avenue…stores open…no one shopping…pass a kiosk…the owner…Middle-Eastern guy…sitting on milk crate…head in hands…I’ll buy a hot dog…that might cheer him up…no…keep walking…
3:05 pm: …walking up Park Avenue…this emptiness is deafening…dead to traffic…no people…wait…look…look…over there…across the street…a couple…they spot me…they wave…in solidarity…no…a warning…overhead an F-15 swoops low…I duck…the couple ducks…I look up…can’t tell if it’s one of ours…the couple has disappeared…I get out of there…really fast…
3:15 pm: …Third and 52nd…groups…of people…a few…here…a bunch…there…some wander…others stand still looking up…to the skies…all seem lost…we are lost…I keep walking along 52nd street…fuck…there’s my regular…Metro’s British barfly…Lady Imogen…dressed for evening in the middle of the day…so pathetically posh…holding onto a lamp post…swaying…plastered at three in the afternoon…need to get her home…won’t be the first time…but this time I don’t have…look at watch…time…don’t have time…she’s on her own…
3:21 pm: …around the corner from the restaurant…there’s Nick…abnormally handsome Nick…he and his sister…Tuesday night regulars… he’s leaning on the wall…outside his building…in his boxers…and flip-flops…nothing else…he’s smoking…crying…smoking…crying…his sister just got a job at Windows on the World…I don’t dare ask…he sees me…walks over…I ask if he’s okay…he grabs me…hugs me…I hug back…he’s a strong dude…smells of cigarettes and morning BO…he’s really hugging me…it hurts…I gently push away…we part…I lead him sobbing back into his building…hand him off to his doorman…doorman knows what to do…I hope…I keep going…
3:29 pm: …walking…closer to the restaurant…these streets…too quiet…feels like the aftermath of a rape…I want to go home…I want my Mommy…
3:35 pm: …at Metro…outside…looking in…through window…people..customers…walking around like they should be doing something but no one knows what they should be doing…Bridgeen…manning the front desk…Bradley and Tommy…headless chickens with aprons…Chris…behind the bar…pulling drafts…bar is full…looks normal…how can that be…
3:37: pm: …inside…hug Bridgeen…she briefs me…no food deliveries…we’ll stay open until we run out…
–Don’t worry, Bridgeen. We won’t be busy…
3:41 pm: …wave to Chris…ask Bradley and Tommy if they need anything…they’re fine for now…catching up…lunch service over…head to office…drop off my bag…the radio…radio is on…CEO of Cantor Fitzgerald interviewed…he was late for work…his entire company…dead…he’s not making sense…he is temporarily insane…who wouldn’t be…
3:47 pm: …back on floor…coffee with Bridgeen…Bradley and Tommy…quiet before the evening onslaught…swapping stories…
“We watched them fall on TV”
“I know someone who works on the 43rd floor”
“Liz is inconsolable”
“I think Nick’s sister is dead”
“They’re saying tens of thousands may have died”
…they’re saying…they’re saying…no one knows what…
4:03 pm: …confer with Rosalio…how much food do we have…not much…
4:05 pm: …Bradley comes in from having a smoke…loves being the bearing of bad news…says except for Hunan Palace we’re the only restaurant open in a thirty block radius…I hate him for saying it…
4:13 pm: …Bridgeen heads to the office…finish morning paperwork…
4:17 pm: …guy walks in…don’t recognize him but I know him…a blurry Xerox copy of Bobby…the hair and make-up guy…every Saturday…comes in with a different boy toy…asked me out once…I said I’d rather be his waiter not his latest conquest…we laughed…it’s our joke…today he’s wearing pancake make-up…no…that’s ash…face smeared with white ash…tears streaks his face…a crying clown…says he was styling a photo shoot on top of a building across the street from the North Tower…says he watched the buildings disintegrate right in front of him…says he and the models barely made it out…says he walked all the way up town…he’s still holding his scissors…I take the scissors…Chris rushes over from bar…he loves Bobby…Bobby once offered to do Chris’s hair for free…Chris is bald…it’s their joke…Chris hands Bobby a glass of red white…white powder from his hair falls into the glass…like snow on blood…
4:25 pm: …take Bobby to the Men’s room…remove his shirt…wet paper towels…clean his face…brush dead people out of his hair…he’s gripping my arm…won’t let go…
4:27 pm: …Bradley barges in Men’s room…
–There’s people at the front desk.
–Where’s Bridgeen?
–In the office.
–I’ll be right there…
4:33 pm: …out of Men’s room…brushing Bobby’s powder off my shirt…I seat him at bar table…get him another glass of wine…
4:35 pm: …I greet the customers…
–Good evening…
–There’s two of us. I can’t believe you’re open.
–Neither can I. This way…
4:39 pm: …head back to the front…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…phone RINGS…are we open…yes…
4:45 pm: …I turn off phone…man the door…we won’t be busy…we can’t be busy…who could come out on a day like this…
4:49 pm: …more customers…begin seating…doing my best to pace them so as not to overwhelm my emaciated staff…I tell them there’s only two waiters, plus me and Bridgeen…it may take time for one of us to get your order…please be patient…most folks understand…most…
5:01: pm: ….Mabel at the front desk…regular customer…mean regular customer…before I even greet her she demands to sit on the patio…
– We’re not seating anyone the patio tonight, I say, I don’t have the staff…
– I don’t care…I want to sit on the patio…
–No...not tonight…
5:03 pm: …I forget Mabel knows the owner…I think she was the very first customer when the joint first opened years ago…
–I’m going to call Vinnie, she says with that smirk people get when they think they have it over you.
–Call him, I say.
–I want to sit outside!!
–Madam, are you aware that we are a city under siege?
–I’m not interested in politics…give me a table in the…
5:05 pm: …I point my finger at the door…about to toss Mabel out…then I notice her daughter…standing behind her…silently pleading with me…twirling her finger around her ear…she’s telling me her mother’s crazy…I know…I sympathize …okay…okay…I’ll deal with Mabel…
–Look, madam, I can’t seat you in the patio, but I can put you in the Atrium. It has a view of the patio. Best I can do. Take it or leave it.
–I WANT TO SIT OUTSIDE!!
–Mother, stop it now!
…daughter takes Mabel’s arm, grips it so hard she whimpers…daughter turns to me…
–Where’s the table?
–This way. By the way…it may take a while for the waiter to get to you…only a few of us made it in…
–Understood.
5:07 pm: …walk the woman and her squawking mother to the Atrium…seat them…hand them menus…back to front of house…
5:09 pm: …pandemonium…but we’re doing it…it’s bedlam…and we’re doing it…wild and crazy and nutty…we’re doing it…Bridgeen handles the front of house…I back up the waiters…front desk is mobbed with people pleading for a table…pleading for something…anything to eat…pleading while the city bleeds…but we’re doing it…it’s a blur…it’s all a blur…but people are eating…drinking…we’re taking care of people…it’ll be over soon….
7:33 pm: …Brian, Bridgeen’s boyfriend…walks in…hugs Bridgeen…
–Do you mind if I go, Bridgeen asks, I’ve been here all day.
–No, go. We got this. It should die down soon…no pun…I mean…
7:41 pm: Bridgeen and Brian leave after speedy goodbyes…
7:49 pm: …okay…we’re still packed…but it’s dying down…a little…if I can just get Barry and Monica sat…they’re favored regulars and have been waiting 45 minutes for a table…a table up front opens up…I clear…reset…look around for them…they’re standing near the crowded bar watching TV…I collect them…walk them to the table…but the Eisenbergs have just sat themselves…fucking Eisenbergs…Mamie and Mark…extraordinarily disagreeable…she’s ninety-something…has had so many face lifts she has a goatee…Mark married her for her money…and now fancies himself a rich Texan cowboy…cowboy hat…cowboy boots…fringed jacket…shiny belt buckle…silly fucking entitled East Siders…I take great joy in saying:
–Folks, you can’t sit there. It’s reserved…
–We’re not leaving…we’re not…give us menus…now!
7:55 pm: …I turn to Barry and Monica…they get it…
–Not to worry…we’ll get Chinese…
7:57 pm: …Barry and Monica head for the door…
–We’ll be back…
...Barry winks…it’s a welcome comfort…I’m not alone…but the Eisenbergs…fuck…I decide to ignore them…
8:01 pm: …Eisenberg waves for a waiter…I do nothing…he waves for a waiter…I do nothing…he’s really waving now…let him stew…if he wants a burger he can go out and rope a steer…
8:05 pm: …I delight in watching Eisenberg the cowboy unsuccessfully trying to lasso a waiter…but he catches Bradley’s eye…waves him over…Bradley takes their order…I should’ve told Bradley the Eisenbergs were in the penalty box…damn…damn…damn…
8:15 pm: …starting to calm…no more pleading customers…most everyone’s been fed…God, I’m hungry…I sit for the first time…
8:23 pm: …Rosalio tells me we’re out of food…maybe…some rolls…nothing else…I close the kitchen…Chris says we should keep the bar open…no problem…
8:33 pm: …Bobby rises from his table…asks for his check…don’t worry about it, I say…he leaves…comes back…hugs me…tells me he will never forget what I did…I jokingly tell him not to forget his waiter…he chuckles…drops a twenty on the table…he’s out the door…
8:35 pm: …Tommy snags me…says if I can make him a cappuccino he’ll be caught up…it’s a miracle…
–Did you wait on Bobby? I ask.
–That’s the crying guy covered in dust?
–Yes.
–I think I waited on him…not sure.
–Well, here.
8:37 pm: …give the twenty to Tommy…begin the cappuccino…Eisenberg approaches…
–Are you the manager?
–What’ya want?
–Are you the–
–Yes. What do you want?
–The service here…was horrible…absolutely horrible…we had to flag down our waiter…it took an hour for our food…
…this is it…this moment…what I’ve been waiting for my entire career as a waiter…I get to tell off a customer…I get to really let him have it…and nothing…nothing will happen to me…I slam the half-made cappuccino on the counter…for emphasis…and I speak up for the thousands who have just lost their lives…
–Look. Buddy, any other day. Any other day I’d listen to your complaint…but not today. Not. Today!
8:41 pm: …he stares at me…trembling…I believe no one has ever spoken to him like I just did…maybe his mother…definitely not his wife…is that steam coming out of his ears…hope so…in a sudden and childish outburst he thrusts his middle finger in my face…pushes it towards my nose…I take hold of his wrist…for a cowboy he’s incredibly weak…I lower his arm to his side…I get real quiet…
–Pay your bill, cowboy…then get the hell out.
…He stamps his cowboy boot in anger…storms off…gathers up his wife…which takes time…she’s so old she’s gotta be moved in sections…they’re out the door…without paying their bill…I can’t believe my hatred…I can’t believe how hungry I am…
8:42 pm: …Barry and Monica come though the door…bearing bags and bags and bags of Chinese take-out…they set the food on the bar…Barry’s beside me…
–Was that Eisenberg the Cowboy?
–You know him?
–He wears that same get-up to Temple.
–Yikes.
–He looked pissed.
–He was…he actually complained about the service.
–I hope you told him to go fuck himself.
–I did. Then I sent him and his mule packing.
–Good for you.
8:45 pm: …Bridgeen and Brian return…
–We couldn’t get a cab. Streets are empty.
–We’re going to walk home.
–We thought we’d grab a burger first…
–But, honey, I just closed the kitchen…we just ran out of food.
–Damn…
–Not worry…look who’s here…
…I point to Barry and Monica…Monica indicates the food with a Carol Merrill flourish…
–I hope you guys are hungry, she says.
8:49 pm: …Bridgeen, Brian, Barry, Monica, Chris, Bradley, Tommy, the kitchen staff…and me…we settle on the bar…we feast on Chinese…watching TV…nothing new…same carnage…we’re not talking…but we’re together…
9:19 pm: …last customer leaves…Barry and Monica walk Bridgeen and Brian out…Chris cleans his bar…Bradley and Tommy have already said their goodbyes…Rosario and staff…long gone…I ask Chris where he’ll spend the night…I hope he won’t ask to stay with me…I’ve no clean towels…
–My buddy Jack lives ten blocks north, he says. I called him…he’s waiting for me…
9:25 pm: …I start the paperwork…
10:29 pm: …paperwork done…Chris with beer…me with wine…my third…at the bar…dreading going home…we don’t talk much…I ask Chris if he felt the earthquake this morning…
–What are you nuts? What earthquake?
…I tell him about my apartment shaking this morning…
–You sure that wasn’t you…you know…morning wood?…
–Stop, I say, it was definitely a tremor…
10:31 pm: …someone on TV displays graphics showing the path of the first plane heading down Manhattan…plane’s path was directly over my building…that wasn’t an earthquake this morning…that was the first plane…a plane holding I don’t know how many souls…terrified souls…directly above me…I ask Chris to please please please turn off the television…
–I can turn it off, but we can’t turn off…
…I know what he’s going to say…I stop him with a hand on his shoulder…
–I know, Chris. I know. I just need a break. For a minute.
…Chris turns off the television…the sudden silence is frightening…the television has been the one constant of the day…
10:45 pm: …lights out…lock the doors…set the alarm…outside on street…Chris and I have a last smoke…we snuff out the butts…say goodbye…Chris tells me he loves me, buddy…before heading north…he’s off…
10:47 pm: …and here I am…alone on the corner of 1st and 53rd …not knowing what the hell to do…I recall a bleak black-and-white movie I saw once…it took place in Berlin about a week after WWII…this feels worse…I start the walk home…
11:03 pm: …turn left at 2nd Avenue…hardly any cars…hardly any traffic…hardly any people…there’s Nick…standing at a chain link fence…crying…fence has a couple of photos of his sister…with the caption: MISSING…family photos…vacation photos…her driver’s license photo…tacked to the fence…with tape…with desperation…it’s his wall of hope…
–I called every hospital, he says. Every single goddamn hospital. Hopefully she got out. Who knows where she ended up.
…I know where she ended up…don’t want to tell him…we hug…he drags himself home…I’m off…
11:07 pm: …walking…walking…walking…the city has turned into an overpopulated ghost town…
11:27 pm: …Rockefeller Plaza…empty…so bright its insulting…I want to sit…but no…keep moving…
11:47 pm: …9th Ave Saloon…smattering of guys…TV on…no sound…Debra Harry on speakers…sit next to Henry…we sometimes hook up…I order a beer and a shot…Henry and I don’t talk…no one talks…bar slowly empties…
2:37 am: …sitting getting tanked…now it’s just me and Henry and the Steve the bartender…Steve says he wants to close early…Henry invites me to his place…we go home together…we try having sex…but I can’t stop watching the TV…two degenerates sitting naked into front of the carnage…not having sex…eventually, across the room, Henry falls asleep…I continue watching…Henry snores…for some reason unbeknownst to me I don’t want to got home…I’ll sit like this for hours if I have to…
6:31 am: …I know…I know…I know…I have to go…get up…dress…leave Henry’s…walk home…he’s ten blocks from my building…
6:45 am: …on the street…I’m walking…slowly…funeral slow…another beautiful morning…the smell…the smell of…just go home…just go home…I stop in the middle of the street…because…I feel…something…something touching…it can’t be…a world-traveler I know once told me when she visited Auschwitz she could feel the dead lightly caressing her face…I feel…I feel…them…feel their intense, unbridled anger…confusion…despair…it’s them…they’re all over the place…lost…like the rest of us…I walk a few of them home…but leave them at my door…
6:59 am: …home…TV still on…repeated images of burning…explosions…planes flying into buildings…flat doves flying for their lives…people looking for missing loves ones…I turn TV off…enough…enough…I strip…lay down…head on wet pillow…and wait…I nod off…but not asleep…in a hypnagogic state…between wakefulness and sleep…a certain purgatory…I know it’s coming…nothing I can do about it…I am helpless…helpless…here it comes…here it comes…it’s here…I am doomed…
…always the same…glaring white room…feverish black mass…undulating…bouncing off walls…up it goes…on the ceiling now…crashing down from above…it falls on me…presses me…against the floor…no…no…no…can’t breathe…can’t…I can’t…leave me alone…who do you think…who do you think…you’re evil…evil…let me…let me…be…let me…live…isn’t fair…no power over me…you have no power…you have all the power…you have…enough of this…enough…enough…
