So Here I Am So here I am. The building crumbling around me. The sun feels nice on my face, but pains my already seared skin. There's not much of a breeze, but rather a slow moving invisible wall of heat, mixed with a lingering stench of death. I never thought of the end like this. Is it the end though? I'm not sure. I wish I had spent more time in church, believing in what I couldn't see, more time believing that this wasn't all there was. If you believe in nothing, is it nothingness you get? Will that be my punishment? So much to think about in a moment no longer in time than a deep breathe. So here I am. �My day started off as if on auto-repeat. If not for the calander on my phone I couldn't tell you the day of the week or even the year. I woke up before my alarm clock, which happened often. I'd move next to my daily bathroom routine consisting of brushing my face and washing my teeth, or something of that sort. After breakfast, I'd make my way to work, tired and groggy. I haven't slept well these past couple years. Most nights I lie in bed thinking. I wish I could fix my mistakes, I wish I could take back what I've done. Every night I wish, and every night before I can figure out time travel, exhaustion wins the battle and I concede to sleep. It's only fitting I live in New York. No one sleeps here. Not even the Sandman could beat some Z's into these stubborn New Yorkers. I would give anything for a goodnight sleep, anything... but this. �I always thought I'd be mugged in this parking garage getting to my car, but it never happened. I always look around the garage and then make it to my car. I then check the back seat and hurry inside, like a child, hiding under the covers from the bogeyman. I've spent years living in fear of this city due to the media in this country. Yet... I remain unscathed, until today. �The car ride was long and drawn out. Not unusual for a Tuesday morning. I have never experienced traffic like New York's traffic. Most days I felt like a herd of snails traveling through peanut butter would make it to my work before I did. I left the window down in the car to squeeze out every last drop of summer. You could feel summer begin to yeild to autumn, but not without a fight. From the look of the day, the beautiful denim sky and the calm warm wind, you have no idea of the blackened sky to succeed it. �I never though I'd have a job moving around invisible money. I am very good at it, but I hate it. Is it really the people who control the money, or is there a man in an office toying with the idea of pressing the button that sends us back seventy years. Who knows such things, but it does cross my mind every now and again. �I recall when I was a kid, I wanted to have a stockpile of money to do all the things I enjoy. My family wasn't poor growing up. My dad had a great job working at the Ford plant. My brother and I didn't always have what we wanted, but we had what we needed. I never really knew my mom. She passed away from cancer when I was young. My dad is still paying off her medical bills so he can keep the house. I help out from time to time, even more now that the plant started making cut-backs. My brother helps too, whenever his cheques come in for his military service. I'm not sure what my dad does now that he was 'let go'. He was tossed aside like the notion of a black president after giving that company thirty years off his life. I remember being infuriated when I read that. It's strange, today I remember thinking, 'I'll write my dad a letter'. �Usually when I arrive at work I go down to the pit for a while. The feverish pace of people trying desperately to hold on to their money is better than a cup of coffee. Today I needed that coffee so I made my way to my office. After struggling with looking professional, and falling asleep in the elevator, I made the long journey to my floor. I always pass the CEO's secretary; She still calls me Josh, even though that's not my name. If I were to jump from this building right now, a detective, unable to identify my mangled corpse would at least get my first name right. Yet after three years, she still calls me Josh. �I can usually get away with an hour nap before my first caller. For some reason all my clients think we open at 9. Why would I correct them? I think they got that impression because I'll never answer the phone until then. I need that time to prepare myself for the disgruntled horde of annoying clients that can't wait to hear my voice. Usually I get in a nice dream about being on vacation, seeing my family, or having a day off. We're not even open on Sunday and I'm in here slaving away. 'I'm up, I'm up'. Fuck that damn telephone! �Today I dreamt about my son. What I wouldn't give to see junior again. It saddens me when I think of what happened between his mother and I. It pains me even more to think that my son wouldn't even know my name if not for the child support cheques I send every month. I wish everyday I had had a chance to make up for the years I was never there. It's been six years next month since I've seen him. He'd be almost eight now. I was just so angry the day his mother handed me those divorce papers. I replay that day over and over again in my head. I should have never lost my temper. I should have never struck her. A part of me died that day. Today, the rest would follow. �I had been to Los Angeles on business a couple weeks back and experienced an earthquake. It was a common occurrence out there. A nice old man calmly talked me through the process of surviving an earthquake while it was happening, like it was no big deal. A 5.2 is a big deal to me but Californians just pick up and move on like it's a normal day. Today, even though I'm in New York, I pictured myself, for a moment, back in LA. �I awoke to a deafening, thunderous noice. The building shook violently beneath my feet and sent me off my chair. I rebounded quickly to my feet but lost my balance and reaquainted myself with the floor once more. After cautiously positioning myself upright, I began to leave my office to figure out what happened. I heard yelling that the building was on fire. From what? A bomb? I made my way to a window but I couldn't see anything through the cloud of black smoke. I wasn't sure what to do. I was in a panic, so was everyone else. I remember someone saying, 'it had to have been a bomb, it's happened here before.' �I had made my way to the fire exit but the smoke was staggering. After only a few floors, I had made it to the fire. The intense heat from the blaze was overwhelming. There was no way I could get to the ground floor, the debris was everywhere. If a bomb had hit the building, how was it still standing? I tried frantically to get down the stairs and past the flames. I burnt myself several times and almost passed out from the fumes. The heat was so fierce it burned me before the fire had a chance to. At that point, I stopped and made my way back to my office to wait for help. �On my way back up, the building began to shake once more. I thought, 'it had to have been an earthquake.' The second rumble felt more tolerable than the first, but for some reason the footing of the building felt less stable. I didn't think much of it and continued back to my floor. �I decided when I reached my office that I'm going to wait in style. I made my way down the hall and kicked open the CEO's office door. Lucky prick didn't come in today. He's probably out golfing again. I figured no one would care if I had a cigar or two in his office. There was a subtle, warm breeze coming from those broken windows, but the now unobstructed view and the blur of dust below haunted me to my core. I knew then... I was going to die. �From the time I had realized I'd die, to the lighting of a second cigar, I had sped through most of the stages of knowing I was gonna die. I had just tried to bargain with God but now I was depressed. I had spent my whole life working, trying to build a life for a family I don't even get to see. The family I am allowed to see I still don't visit. I feel truly alone. �Standing there at the broken window looking down, I could feel the knees of the building start to buckle. It felt as if my moving would determine the steadiness of the structure somehow. I pulled out my cell phone and called my dad. Unfortunately the call went to voicemail. I guess he still doesn't pick up the phone if he doesn't recognize the number. I guess that's the best way to dodge the creditors. I left a brief message saying I was sorry and asked him to relay it to my brother, ex-wife, and son. After saying I loved them, I hung up the phone. �I took a deep breath and continued to stand there. I now felt a moment of Nirvana. All my worries seem to trail off into backround noise. All my anger, all my pain, all my regret, hidden behind a feeling of freedom. So here I am, standing alone on the 104th floor in the north tower of the World Trade Center. I will never know what happened or who did it. I guess it no longer matters now that I'm going to die. The only question now... was it going to be my choice? � �It's a weird feeling knowing you're gonna die. I can only describe it like holding your breath. You try to hold on, but soon you give in to the inevitible. You'll take that next breathe, and eventually, take your last.
Copyright © 2013 Eric White |