Point of View

Liberty

I don’t remember ever crying before, but today, my tears flowed as freely as the dust that floated on the breeze and wafted across the harbor to my island sanctuary. O that my tears would be enough to wash away the misery! Alas! It was not to be.

I am alone, alone in my misery. The rest of the world can comfort each other, but my family has been gone for many a year. There is no one left. Yes, the birds of the air are my friends. They only require that I provide for them somewhere to rest, and occasionally they beg for food. I give to them and they are satisfied.

Far below my home, I look upon the sea. I am surrounded by sea, that foaming green instigator of all life. The seagulls dive gracefully, cavorting and swooping as they swim. They race each other and noisily fight over morsels of food they find in their travels. I am constantly surprised by the harshness of their voices. I always feel such graceful creatures should sing, not scream with raucous rancor at the world. Maybe they know something I don’t.

The sea creatures swim around me and press their bodies close for comfort and camaraderie. From a lofty height, I gaze down at them, pouring my love out to them. We are great friends. To them, I simply am.

I understand most of the creatures I see daily. They fight to eke out an existence, never taking more than they need, and killing only as necessary.

But Man. Him I do not understand! Today, I saw what Man could do. And for the first time in my life, I wept.

Looking out to sea, I spy some ships heading for the harbor. Their passage tosses a foamy wake behind them, but to me in my lofty tower, it looks like a mere ripple. Sometimes I tire of the view to the front and long to see something else. Today was such a day, and so I looked toward the city. It’s Fall and too early in the season to be cold. A cool crisp breeze flutters about my feet, sending an errant leaf on a flight towards the edge of the island.

I am old now, and can no longer turn my head, but my eyes are good. If I glance sideways I can see that glorious Manhattan skyline. It is beautiful, with its towers and skyscrapers stretching toward the heavens. Only Man could build something so beautiful.

It was like a dream. A plane crosses the city – they don’t usually do that, but I am not concerned. I look away for a brief moment as a bird lands on my arm clutching a precious crumb in its beak. It sings a sweet song for me: the crumb flutters unheeded to my feet.

A movement catches my eye. I glance back to the city. My eyes are riveted on the scene unfolding before me. I find it hard to believe, but it is true. The plane crashes into one of the towers and erupts in a ball of flame. I can feel a perceptible rise in temperature, even from here. A tear squeezes its way out of my crusty old eyes and streaks my cheek as it washes years of grime from my face.

My vision is blurred now, and as the minutes tick by, the hazy scene burns into my memory. And then comes the unthinkable sequel. Another plane crashes into the second tower. My grief knows no bounds. My heart breaks as I hear the cries of thousands of people. They don’t stand a chance of surviving, those in the planes and those in the top floors of the towers.

Then all is silent.

And yet I stand. I no longer try to look toward the city. My father made me to look to the sea, to welcome people to the land of Liberty. That I can do, standing stoically, standing proud. I cannot be destroyed, or if I, too, am reduced to rubble, like the two towers, yet will I live on in the memory of each and every free man, woman, and child who live in this land.

I am Liberty. I light the way to freedom and peace, and what I stand for can never be destroyed.

Michelle

I’m late again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve been late every day this week. I’ll lose my job. I’m so tired. I’ve got to hurry! I park the car, get out and slam the door. Still, I love New York. It’s so busy and Fall is just the best season of the year. It’s cool enough, without being too cold, and it’s pretty, too.

There’s a gentle breeze drifting down the streets, as clean as any city air can be. It’s still early, yet already the city is bustling with renewed life and energy. I think I just need a holiday. Then everything will be all right again.

I walk through the glass doors, check the notice board for messages, and slink past Brad, the shift supervisor’s desk to the clock. Just when I think I’ve made it, his foghorn of a voice booms out.

“Michelle,” he roars, “you’re late again.”

I shrug my shoulders, stifle a yawn and promise it won’t happen again. He nods and I’m on my way. I’m not that late, anyway. I was due in at 8:00 and it’s now 8:30. Big deal. It’s only half an hour. The traffic was horrendous, and I just can’t face the underground. One day I’ll face my fear of enclosed spaces, but not today. Not now.

Upstairs in the tearoom, my colleagues are already sipping on hot coffee. I pour myself a cup and settle down to hear the latest goss. Brad interrupts our session, and hands out assignments. I expected to be on desk duty again, but today there’s a change. I’m on foot patrol, and with my partner, Rod, we set off.

We’re about a block from the World Trade Centre, which is where we’ll probably center our activities for the morning. Tourists flood the area, so it’s a great place for undesirables to hang out. It’s still a beautiful morning and I’ll have to thank Brad for sending me out here. I don’t feel so tired, now.

There’s so much paper lying around. It looks just like the old war movies when bombers drop propaganda on unsuspecting cities. Someone’s going to have to clean up this mess.

There’s a bit of a commotion further on. Rod and I go into automatic mode.

I radio the station to let them know there’s a problem, as per protocol, and then Rod and I run towards the scene.

It’s pandemonium. Some people are staring up at the sky. Others are running; panic painting an eerie mask on their faces. I’m confused. I follow the upward gaze of those rooted to the spot and gasp in horror.

There’s a plane sticking out near the top of one of the Towers and smoke and flames are billowing out.

“Oh, my God,” I say, shock holding me still for a moment.

Then training kicks in and both Rod and I go to work. Rod reports the incident while I direct the people away from the Centre. I can see people streaming from the building and I hope someone is in there to keep them moving. It’s such a long way down, and the elevators may not be safe. They’ll only be used for extreme cases.

I go on automatic pilot, directing people away, waiting for orders from the boss via Rod. Oh, those poor people, I think to myself. There must be hundreds above the floors that are burning who’ll have no way of escaping.

I try not to think of them, as I help those shaken people leave the Centre.

Rod comes towards me and tells me we’re to go inside and help coordinate the evacuation. The boss is on his way down here, as is the Mayor.

A movement catches my attention and I look up. I can’t believe it! There’s another plane headed for the other Tower. Surely not! My heart leaps into my throat then falls back to beat a painful tattoo in my chest. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale.

Oh, God. Not again.

This one seems to hit down lower. There are more people trapped on the floors above. What hope do they have? Someone screams beside me. I think it’s a delayed reaction to the horror but then I look to where she’s pointing. There’re people jumping from those floors above the crash site. What are they thinking? Surely they don’t think they can make it from that high? I want to catch them but I know it’s useless.

I run inside. Rod follows close behind. We’ve got to get people moving. The urgency hits. By now emergency services teams are all over the place. More cops have joined us and firemen are already making their way up inside the Towers. Paramedics are treating people for shock, or encouraging them to move on.

It’s chaos, but it’s ordered. I know that sounds crazy but that’s how it seems. People are running in every direction. There are people leaving the buildings and there are emergency services workers running in. People are shouting to each other, encouraging and directing each other. It’s utter madness – not what we’re doing, but the fact we have to do something.

I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but I get the feeling I’ve got to get out. It’s like the feeling I had once when Dad made me and my brothers climb into a cave, just to see what was there. My brothers had a ball. I was terrified. I felt like that now.

“Rod, I’ve got to get out of here!” I scream at him. He knows my problem but doesn’t understand why it’s here, now. Neither do I. He shakes his head at me, but I can’t stay. I turn towards the exit and then I hear this incredible groaning. It’s like the building is protesting. I stop dead in my tracks, as does everyone else. Then realization dawns on me. The building is collapsing.

I scream at the top of my lungs, and, like a madwoman, I rush at the people still standing there.

“Get out of here! Run!” I shout and start to bulldoze them on their way. Rod must have realized what was happening the same time I did. I see him doing the same thing, waving his truncheon at people like he’s trying to hit them when all the while he’s herding them out the door.

We run. We all run.

I see nothing except for the open space outside the building and the people I’m shepherding out. We have to get out.

Somehow I make it clear of the tumbling debris. The air is thick with dust and I can hardly breathe. It’s in my hair, on my clothes, up my nose, and even in my mouth. My eyes are watering, trying to wash it out. It’s disgusting, but I’m alive. I draw my shirt up around my mouth and breathe in deep. Oh, bad mistake. The dust is so fine it penetrates the open spaces in the fabric and I collapse in a fit of coughing. I’ll be more careful in the future.

Slowly the dust settles and I look around.

“Rod!” I scream. I can’t see him. But he was right behind me, I’m sure. Other cops are trying to tell me to get out of there; to leave the vicinity; to just get somewhere safe. But my partner is missing. I have to find him.

I turn back, but a burly fireman obstructs my path. I struggle against this gorilla that holds me captive, mustering all my strength. I break free and run into the danger zone. There’s no one there. Wildly I look around. I try to climb the mound that was the Tower, but my would-be protector catches up with me.

“There’s people in there!” I scream, but my voice is hoarse.

“We’ve got to get out of here!” he yells at me, and I know he’s right. I can sense, rather than hear, the second Tower groaning.

“But I’ve got to go back.”

He lifts me bodily and runs with me as fast as he can. I try again to break free, but it’s no use. My energy is spent. I can’t win.

I go limp in his arms and he gently lowers me to the pavement. There’s dust everywhere. The place looks like something out of a nightmare. It is a nightmare.

Slowly, I lower my head. I hug my knees tightly to my chest and rest my head on my arms. I can’t believe it’s happened, yet here I am. I saw it. Great sobs rack my body as reality strikes at the core of my being. I want revenge. I will find a way to avenge my partner’s death.

I raise my tear-streaked face heavenward. God help me, but I won’t take this lying down.

Jules and Jack

My phone rings as I’m about to rush out the door. The children are unusually reluctant to go to school today, so we’re a little late leaving. To tell the truth, I slept in, and we’re very late leaving. I’m tempted to just let it ring, I mean, everyone who knows me knows I need to rush out the door at this time. Still, there’s urgency in the tone. I reach for the receiver and the phone goes dead. I’ve wasted precious moments in my indecision.

I turn to once again hurry the children into the car, and the phone rings again. I am closer now, so angrily, I reach for the receiver.

“Yes?” I say, imperiously, into the receiver. My tone is not welcoming and reflects my agitated state of mind.

“Honey, thank God you’re still home,” says my husband’s voice. I can’t believe it! Jack of all people knows my morning schedule and it’s on his account I’m so rushed today. He’s arriving home from a business trip shortly, and I have to drive out to the airport to pick him up after I drop the children at school. And I wanted to fit in a beauty parlor appointment beforehand, you know, to scrub away the drudge of the past few weeks while he’s been gone.

“Jack, I’m just about to rush out the door…” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“Honey, the plane’s been hijacked. They say there’s a bomb on board.”

A buzzing fills my head and I go weak all over. I can’t think straight. He’ll be home soon. What kind of a joke is this? I sink to the floor, gripping the phone as if my very life depended on it. Somehow I knew my husband’s did. I felt powerless.

“Oh, God, Jack.” My voice is a whisper. “Please don’t do anything stupid.” But even as I’m speaking, he whispers to me his plan.

“Some of us think we can jump these guys,” he says. “We’ve got to do something. Someone up front overheard them talking. They’re heading for the White House. God, Jules, we’ve got to stop them.”

I want to keep him talking, but I don’t know what to say. I pray in my heart that they’ll be safe. But it’s an empty prayer.

“Uh, Jack, Don’t be a hero. Leave that for the younger studs, eh.” I try to keep my voice light, but it cracks, just a little bit. I swallow hard.

“Jack, I love you. You’ve got to come home.”

“Babe…” He hasn’t called me that since we were dating. “I need you to be strong for me. Time’s running out. We’ve got to stop them, or it’s all over.”

My eyes wander to the TV. I forgot we’d turned it on. Just as well Jack called. Now I can turn it off before I leave. I start over to the set and then stop. What am I doing? My husband’s in danger and all I can think about is turning the stupid TV off. It seems so unreal. There’s some early movie playing about planes hitting the Trade Centre Towers. Funny, I thought I was up on all the movies, but I’ve never heard of this one.

Oh, my God. It’s real.

“Jack,” I say, panic beginning to register in my voice. “The World Trade Centre’s been hit. Oh God, by two planes full of people.”

There’s silence on the other end, then I hear Jack’s urgent whisper. I can’t make out what he’s saying until I realize he’s not speaking to me.

“Babe,” he now says into the phone,” I need you to do something for me. I need you to call the newspaper and tell them what’s happening here. They’ll follow it up. In the meantime, stay with the kids. I’ll call you back in five minutes.”

He severs the connection. Numbly, I call the newspaper and relay my husband’s message to them. I don’t think they believe me. I hope they do.

“Jenny! Paul! Mickey! Come here!” I call out to my children. They come grumbling in, but something in my face stops them in their tracks.

“Hey, kids,” I say, gently now, “Daddy’s going to call us from the plane.”

I forgot about the TV again, and Jenny is staring at it. News reporters are on the scene giving a blow-by-blow account of the tragedy.

“It seems so real,” she says.

“It is,” I quietly tell her. She turns to me like a startled deer, horror written all over her ten-year-old face. “Daddy!” she whispers, knowing her Daddy is at that very moment on a plane home.

“He’s not there,” I tell her and I see the relief flood her face. Oh, God, I pray, how can I bear this? How can I tell my children they may never see their father again? I struggle within myself to regain control.

The phone rings.

I pounce on it.

“Hello?” I can barely breathe, but I force the word out.

“Jules, it’s me again.”

“Say Hi to the kids,” I tell him.

I hand the phone to Jenny.

“Hi Daddy,” she says. She listens for a bit, whispers: “I love you too, Daddy. I miss you.” Her voice breaks and she hands the phone to Paul.

“Hi,” he says. Jack talks to Paul for a little longer and then he talks to Mickey. Mickey hands the phone back to me, and my three little babies sit around me in a circle, their faces white and solemn. My heart aches for them.

“Jack, I’m back,” but he knows it’s me.

“Jules…” there’s a long pause and I can hear a heavy sigh. “It’s decided. We’re going to stop them, one way or another. It’s a good plan. We should be OK. I’m going to leave the phone line open, so you can hear our success.” I know he’s trying to convince himself, as much as me. I hear someone say, “It’s now or never,” then Jack tells me goodbye. He says he loves me, and no matter what, I’m to remember that always. I understand he has to do something. I know he’s going to die, but I don’t want his death to be in vain. Perhaps I’m wrong and they’ll gain control of the plane, but I don’t think so.

“I love you,” I whisper, and then I hear the thud as the phone drops. I slowly sink to the floor.

My heart is thudding as my ear, glued to the phone, hears the sounds of struggle. I hear Jack’s voice and the muffled voices yelling in a foreign language.

“We’re going into the field!” I hear someone close to the phone yell. There are terrified screams, and I can hear a few prayers. Finally, an explosion. Then, nothing.

Still, I sit with my ear pressed to the phone, hoping to hear Jack; hoping to hear anyone, I don’t care. But there’s nothing. I stare sightlessly at the TV, not registering the scenes unfolding before my eyes. New York is a tragedy, but it’s not my tragedy. My husband was coming home; now he’s lost to me forever. I feel as if my heart is breaking.

“Mom?” Jenny moves to sit beside me. She presses her little hands to my face and gently turns me to look at her. I see her but through the haze of my tears.

“Mom, we’ll be OK,” she says. “Daddy said so.”

I let go, then. My grief flows like a torrent. My poor children! My poor husband! What am I to do? Silently, I gather my children to me and we sit in a solemn circle of love. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I do know we have each other. And nobody can take that away from us.

***

If this story has touched you, please give it a 'like' and consider sharing it with your friends.

This story is also available, along with a few others, in my short story collection, 'Point of View: It's all relative, really', available on Amazon by copying and pasting the link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B013ML2OI4

Thank you for your support.