Anything but Normal - Narrative Writing Essay on 9/11

Anything but Normal

~ Two Perspectives on 9/11 ~

           

            I wonder if anyone even knows, Paul Bernotas thought to himself as he drove the fifteen-minute ride to his office in Natick, Massachusetts.

            September 11 was his birthday, 43 years old. It also happened to be the one-year anniversary of his new job. He’d been an architect for the small firm, Design Management, for a whole year.

            Bernotas walked up to his office, shortly before 9 a.m. not knowing whether to expect a big party or a congratulations banner. He was relieved to find nothing of the sort. He was relieved to just have a normal day.

. . . 

            The pair of 110 story high-rises loomed over the island of Manhattan, a staple in the New York City skyline, imprinted on the cloudless late summer sky.

            Packed with thousands of workers, the day was just getting started in Manhattan. On average, more than 50,000 people were in and out of the twin towers through out the day. 

            One of those workers, arrived at his office on the 77^th floor of Tower 2 shortly after 8 a.m. His office faced the Tower 1, and he would later write about looking out the window at the beautiful morning.

            You could see for miles, the towers were so massive that on a clear day like September 11^th, you could easily see all the boroughs of the city, even parts of New Jersey and Connecticut.

 . . . 

            Paul was relieved to just have a normal day. No big surprise parties, no cakes, just a day at the office, then birthday dinner at J.J. McKay’s, his favorite burger place, with his wife and two kids.

            He greeted his coworkers as he made his way to his desk. He sat down, unpacked his briefcase, and booted up his computer. Just some final touches had to be made on some plans he was presenting in Providence the next day.

            He turned on his radio at his desk to hear the words “Breaking news: It seems a plane has just flown into one of the twin towers in New York City.” It was so clear in his head because it was repeated three or four times. No one knew what was going on at the time.

            The whole office convened to see if everyone had heard the news. The first thing that came to his mind was, what a tragic accident.

            An accident.

            That must have been it. A similar thing had happened during World War II. He had heard about it from his parents.

            An Army B-25 Bomber was attempting to land at Newark Airport, a few miles outside of New York City. Piloting through heavy fog, the plane crashed into the Empire State Building. It was just an unfortunate accident.

             Then the second plane hit.

            “Breaking news: The second tower has been hit,” all the radios in the office said almost simultaneously.

            It didn’t seem like an accident anymore.

            Everyone was in a state of shock. There were few details besides knowing that the towers were hit. The only thing that was clear was that this was not just an unfortunate accident.

            He decided to take his lunch break early. He drove home in a state of shock, ears focused on the radio, yearning for any more updates on what was happening.

            The Pentagon got hit.

            “Jesus Christ,” He muttered under his breath.

. . .  

            Tower 2’s PA system blared to life announcing, “Your attention, please, ladies and gentlemen, building two is secure. There is no need to evacuate building two.”

            Some workers headed back to their offices.

            Then the second plane hit.

. . . 

            Gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter, the fifteen-minute ride home felt like fifteen hours.

            Thinking about every single person he knew who lived in the Manhattan area.

            Were they ok?

            Were they in the buildings?

            Who did this?

            Why?

            Mind running a million miles an hour, the car radio sounded like it was on repeat. The World Trade Center had been hit, two planes crashed into the twin towers, updates to come. Over and over, every station was the same.

            Paul pulled into the driveway and went inside. He turned on the TV to face the image he’d visualized in his head. The radios had portrayed a perfect picture of the horrifying scene, the stunning Manhattan skyline, with a streak of black smoke scarring the clear blue sky.

            Sitting in the kitchen, reluctantly mesmerized by the dark smoke pouring out of the buildings, he watched in shock as Tower 2 started to collapse.

. . . 

           The whole building shook as the plane impacted the building. Employees were used to the building swaying, it was meant to withstand high winds, but they all knew that this was much worse than just wind.

            The power was out, parts of the ceiling had come down, and almost every window on the floor was blown out. The wind was unlike anything they’d felt, seeing as the windows were not meant to be opened.

            Some made their way to the stairwell. The plane had created a massive hole between the 78^th and 84^th floors.

             The conference room where they had been watching news reports just minutes before, was completely obliterated. The people from the 78^th to 110^th floor were faced with the same decision as the ones they had watched from the other building.

            Jump or burn.

            Some made it to the stairwell and were given the chance to evacuate. Jet fuel was pouring down the stairs from up above. It clearly was not just an accident.

            While evacuees were making their way out of the building, first responders were going up. Looks of fear, exhaustion, and anxiety painted the police and firefighters’ faces as they made their way up towards the flames.

. . . 

           Shocked, Paul sat in the kitchen. Unable to look away as the building collapsed on a live broadcast to the entire world. Over 800 people would end up dying in the collapse. Employees stranded above the flames and first responders valiantly fighting to save lives of strangers.

            He sat awestruck, looking at the TV, but not comprehending the images of the collapse. How is that even possible? His thesis project in architecture school had been about bombproofing buildings following the Oklahoma City bombing.

            Buildings of that size aren’t meant to collapse like that. Jesus Christ…

            Tower 1 had been burning for more than an hour and a half when it collapsed just before 10:30 a.m. It would later be found out that more than 1,600 people died in the second collapse.

            He left home and went back to his office, only to find that they had closed for the day. The bosses wanted the employees to have some time with their families.

            It seemed as if the whole country was in a daze. No one knew what to think. By the time he returned home, his wife had taken the day off.

            Not knowing what to do, they sat in silence, captivated by every detail that was revealed. They embraced. Trying to make things feel normal.

            At some point, their two kids returned home. School had been cut short; their 6^th grade daughter made the half-mile walk home from the middle school while their Kindergarten son was dropped at the bus stop right down the street.

            They were too young to know what was happening. They knew something bad had happened but the TV had been turned off as to not scare them.

            The rest of the day seemed like a blur. There was no more birthday dinner plans, no more work getting done, no more laughs. There wasn’t much else to remember from that day.

. . . 

            The next day was no better. Paul was back to work and headed down to Providence for his meeting. The radio had the same things playing over an over again.

            There was no more news, just tragic updates on the events that transpired the day before.

            When walking to the office for his meeting, it seemed like everyone was in a state of shock. Strangers on the street were just trying to comprehend what had happened. Blank stares walked the sidewalks; empty faces just trying to get back to normal.

            For some, they had to worry about loved ones. Before the Internet was universally available, it was hard to send a message saying, “I’m ok.” Calling family members and friends was the only way of knowing.

            If you knew someone who worked there and you hadn’t heard anything from them, you could only imagine the worst but pray that they weren’t one of the 2,753 people who lost their lives in New York.

. . . 

            The next few days were all the same. More news broke. More details were released. More names were added to the death toll. More families began the grieving process.

            For many, even 16 years isn’t enough to heal the wounds from September 11 2001.

It is not easy, even after a long time. Some people are still just trying to get back to normal.