Tuesday, 2001

TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts and actions, and historical retellings of a traumatic nature.

5:59 a.m. I wake up on a regular Tuesday to grab a subpar bagel and black coffee as the sun is rising. I won’t drive out of the way for the good stuff, though I want to. I’m too tired usually for that. Tuesday is almost worse than Monday. It just feels so far from the weekend, and it usually has no special events or purpose behind it…just the grind. My current grind is corporate. I won’t be here forever, but for now it pays the bills. The offices are cold. The people are generally nice in a distant, insignificant way. You get by and the pay isn't the worst ever but you're in this perpetual state of exhaustion and monotony. You ask yourself “what am I truly doing with my life?” pretty regularly. 

My main motivator is seeing my girlfriend Cynthia who lives about 30 minutes from me. She also works in a similar field, but different company. She gets it. She gets me. It doesn’t matter that she lives close enough to drive. She still mails me notes at least weekly, or will leave them in secret places around the house when she visits. “Derek, my love, have the best day” read the note from when she visited on Sunday. I carried it with me yesterday and today.

***

7:52 a.m. About two hours into an already-long work day and I’m being productive. I stretch my legs near the water cooler and am surviving with the quippy small talk from coworkers. I’m living in a small apartment, and while my pay is decent, it’s still only just enough. Other than my splurge of an almost-daily stale bagel and plain coffee, I bring packed lunches to work. Usually it’s not substantial: a sandwich of some kind, bagged chips, an apple or banana, etc. If you had it in grade school, that’s probably what I packed. It’s cheap enough, tasty enough, and nutritious enough. Just enough. 

If it isn’t enough some days, I tend to grab a donut from the break room to sugar-rush me through another stretch. There seem to be endless donuts in our office each week, at least 3 days a week. 

***

8:48 a.m. I was almost about to succumb to the donuts when something seemed off. There were coworkers standing and whispering. The TV in the breakroom was getting turned up.  I heard faint gasps and then screams as inaudible words were mumbled on screen. We are on floor 86 of the South Twin Tower. “The North Tower, look!” someone said as if they were auditioning for a horror film. I felt compelled to run to the window where she stood. In utter disbelief, with the news blaring on the break room TV now, I watched as the tower next to us had debris floating and falling quickly from a horrible plane crash. Smoke exited the building. I then noticed some of our windows shattered from the blast, and glass was now strewn on our floors. 

“The World Trade Center, North Tower, has been hit by an aircraft. It’s an unprecedented day…” the voice on the news said with shaky breath.

“What a terrible accident” I heard a coworker say.

“What the hell is going on?!” I heard our boss say. He wasn’t saying it in a “why aren’t you busy working?” kind of way. It was an “are we in danger?” kind of way.

***

9:03 a.m. The building shook and I thought it could be an earthquake…for only about 2 seconds. Could there be an earthquake caused by a plane crash into the building next to us? Or some natural disaster on the same day? I truly thought the world was ending. Clearly my thinking wasn’t operating well. But I wasn’t totally wrong to be in such confusion and dismay.

I saw a coworker screaming in my face, mouthing words, and in my shock, I couldn’t hear anything. There was a ringing in my ears. How long have I been standing here? It can’t have been a whole minute, could it? As I turned my body, heart pounding that I suddenly couldn’t hear, I saw coworkers running, some hiding under their desks, others on their phones if they had them. Something fell on my face, and as I looked up, it was plaster dust or something falling from the ceiling above, which was caving in. The screaming coworker grabbed my arms and pulled me away and I tripped over my feet as I became mobile again. Something fell from the ceiling right where I was standing seconds ago… an unrecognizable piece of equipment.

I realized it wasn’t just dangerous now. We were fighting for our lives, and this wasn’t an accident. Our building was also hit and I heard screams from below, and crumbling sounds all around me.

*** 

9:36 a.m. After the longest half hour or so of gathering things, trying to check my hearing, and checking on others, I frantically reach for my phone. I need to call Cynthia, I think to myself. My first attempt to call I can’t even tell if she answers. I can’t distinguish her voice on the phone versus the voices of those around me, above me, and below me.” Cynthia?!” I say loudly. I hang up. But I see she is calling back moments later. I can barely hear her saying “Derek, love, what’s happe-...” and I interrupt her, feeling the urgency, and say, “I need you to listen and I need you to stay calm, okay honey?”

“I tried calling you earlier…” she begins saying, obviously crying hysterically. That I can hear.

“It’s really bad. There’s so much smoke and we might be trapped. I have to find a way out of here. I love you. I’m going to see you again. I promise.” 

“Don’t go! Derek! I need to stay on with you. What can I do?”

I could barely hear her, and I felt so scared my phone would die so I hung up. I hated it. I didn’t want her afraid, but I needed to stay alive.

This isn’t a normal Tuesday…I considered how badly that routine monotony sounded so good at this moment.

I see a text come in from Cynthia. “Whatever happens, come back to me.”

"It isn't looking good. If anything happens, know that I love you so much. I’ll propose to you if I make it."

I didn’t know it would be my final communication with her.

***

9:47 a.m. I swear I could see a metallic piece of the plane that hit us sticking out of a window just outside and above us, hanging on, creaking between the building’s frame. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to live or die… In the distance toward the North tower, I saw some shadowy figure falling. Do birds fall? It’s so big… Oh hell…that’s not a bird, I thought, in horror and hysteria. Something within me felt resolved to consider that myself, though my stomach churned at the thought. My other option was to watch familiar work friends dying from falling objects, hot temperatures, and panic.

9:53 a.m. In pure adrenaline-induced fear, I ran to every doorway, stairwell, and exit I could find. But in the chaos, I couldn’t find an escape.

9:56 a.m. We were told via the public address system to stay in place and wait for further information. Not like we have a choice… 

9:58 a.m. I do have a choice…I'm going to take my life and death into my own hands and jump. I don’t want to. Cynthia loses me either way. Before I could truly find a way to do the most frightening thing of my life, I felt the building crumbling around me, mostly from above. 

9:59 a.m. “May it be quick, God.” I whispered as the tower filled so dark and hot with ash and smoke around me, flying paper and scenes of bloodied coworkers everywhere. The tower did what I was about to do myself. It was the loudest moment, something my whole body felt and heard, even with ringing still in my ears. “I don’t want to die” I wailed, crouched on the floor now, as it shook beneath me, taking us down.

10:05 a.m. CNN's headlines read: "SOUTH TOWER AT WTC COLLAPSES."