Kazon briefly stirred next to me as he found another comfortable sleeping position. I reached out and dreamily rubbed his head for just a moment, as much assuring him that he could remain where he was as telling myself that I did not intend to get up yet. Neither of us demonstrated any interest in stirring from our attempt at slumber. The rest of The Kids already vacated sleep’s embrace in search of breakfast and some morning attention, something they knew I was not quite ready to provide in my still half-asleep state. Derek, on the other hand, could be heard downstairs already watching the morning news while contemplating a trip to Starbucks. I knew, as did the cats, that he would give them whatever they wanted while I tried desperately to sleep, even if only capable of pretending at this point, and even if only for a few minutes more.
I pulled the covers a little higher trying to block out the morning sun now shining through the window’s half-open blinds (always kept half-open to accommodate The Kids). I could see a few clouds drifting by silently, caressed by the morning light of day painting one side with its golden brightness while the last vestiges of night’s shadow clung hopelessly to the other. They hung in the sky and danced quietly as they made their way to their morning commitments. They did not see fit, however, to help me by blocking out more of the sun’s morning jubilee that now violated the whole of my bedroom.
It’s far too bright. Who authorized this invasion? And what time is it? The morning must be progressing too rapidly, for the day’s intrusion seemed to indicate it was later than I would care to admit. Had I promised to be at the office by 10 AM? How foolish of me, yes? With only four or five hours of sleep under my belt, somehow I still found the drive to initiate the mental process necessary to face the day.
I should get up. I need to take a shower. I don’t want to disturb Kazon. What am I wearing today? What’s on my plate today? Can I call in sick? If not, maybe I’ll call in dead and surprise them by being resurrected tomorrow.
Last night was a long night at work, so I was in no hurry to get out of bed. Arriving at the office by 10 AM would be sufficient, I knew, and I made sure my boss knew as much before I came home. Even superheroes like me need sleep. Now, with the morning undeniably thrust upon me, I realized I should have said noon.
I reached out again and stroked Kazon lazily, rubbing his head and scratching his ears, eliciting that most comforting of purrs embodied with absolute contentment. His eyes slowly closed to mere half-slits as he raised his head so that I might have better access to his chin. I scratched it obediently before working around to his ears and down his neck. His front paws stretched out as he splayed his claws; oh, he’s definitely a happy cat. He kneaded the blanket absentmindedly while I continued the scratching.
“Jas?”
I heard Derek’s voice as he came up the stairs. His tone was both cautious and excited, questioning and imploring, as though he wished not to wake me while simultaneously hoping I was already awake so he could share some important tidbit of news with me, perhaps even hoping to have “accidentally” awakened me with his call.
Please, leave me alone. Let me pretend I’m sleeping for a few minutes more. It’s too early.
His footsteps were clear as they rapidly climbed the stairs carrying him into the upstairs hall as I finally began to stir from my pretend slumber. I could no longer deny the morning. One glance at the clock helped me realize why it felt so late: it was already 8:51 AM.
Derek rounded the corner and peaked into my room. “Jas?” he questioned again. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I responded as I continued petting Kazon, mentally wiping sleep from my brain and searching desperately for the motivation and energy needed to get out of bed. “What’s up?”
“A plane hit the World Trade Center.”
“What?” I was definitely awake now. “What kind of plane? What happened?”
Looking at Derek I could see he considered it nothing more than a curiosity, an odd happenstance worthy of no more than a brief mention. My immediate impression was the same as I assumed his to be: what a bizarre accident.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “They think it was a small commuter plane that flew off course. It’s on the news right now.” He turned and headed down the hall to his room, most likely in search of his cell phone or other life accouterment. I listened intently to his rummaging here and there, heavy and deliberate footsteps carrying him in this direction and the other. Having discovered whatever it was he sought, or perhaps having discovered it could not be found upstairs, I listened to his footfalls as they carried him back to the stairs and downward. He would momentarily be parked in front of the television again. I was quite familiar with this predictable habit, his entire morning routine that was as reliable as the sun rising every morning and setting every night.
I pushed the blankets off me as Kazon finally realized Daddy was not staying in bed all day. He rose, stretched in that feline way that we humans often wish we could imitate for its apparently satisfying result, then leaped to the floor. He glanced at me as I shifted my weight and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, moving myself into an upright and seated position facing the window. The morning light was now fully upon me. It violated my eyes and forced me to blink a few times in ready denial. Kazon briefly rubbed against my dangling feet before heading to the bathroom where there was food and water, and where he knew Daddy was soon to follow. This, too, was a predictable and consistent routine.
I stood and gave my best approximation of Kazon’s stretch, moaning and groaning in that silly way humans often do, as though it somehow increases the success of our stretching. Mentally, I’m sure that’s true, but physically I doubt it. My body writhed this way and that way, my arms first out to my sides, then behind my back, and eventually climbing above my head. My mind’s eye pictures the increasing flow of blood to those areas of my body which survived the night with only minimal circulation. A lazy and satisfying yawn distorted my face for a moment as I stepped closer to the window. Wearing my normal sleeping attire — nothing — how I was happy no one chanced across this scene as I stood stretching and yawning in front of this enormous view of the world that in turn provided a clear view of my room. My robe hung on the back of my desk chair where it had been laid to rest the night before. I retrieved it, slipped it on, lazily tied it around my waist, and finally turned and walked to the bathroom where Kazon waited.
After splashing some cold water onto my face, I once more scratched Kazon about the head and neck with rote precision. Grendel and Loki joined us, having just come up the stairs after hearing Daddy finally getting his lazy self out of bed, and they both beckoned for morning attention. I would not deny them. I prepared my toothbrush for its assault on whatever aliens had taken root in my mouth overnight, and then I leaned down and began petting the fur people around my feet as I brushed my teeth. After finalizing the sterilization of my mouth with a rinse of Listerine, I turned and carried my still disinterested body down the stairs with three cats weaving around my feet all the way down. This always helped to wake me fully each morning as attempting this maneuver otherwise was an exercise in danger.
I reached the bottom floor and turned into the living room where Derek sat perched on the couch intently watching the news. I could heard Good Morning America‘s Charles Gibson and Diane Sawyer conversing in serious tones. The screen was split between the studio where they sat and the burning north tower of the World Trade Center viewed from a camera some distance away.
“They still don’t know what happened, but they think it was a commuter plane that flew off course or had other problems,” Derek said. This was a repeat of the earlier assumption; that meant new information was not yet available since his earlier report.
I looked at him plainly, almost disinterestedly, before turning quickly back to the television with a muttered response of “interesting…” I make no claims to aeronautical or architectural mental prowess. In that regard, now looking at the burning high-rise I began to question the assumption that a small plane might somehow have caused the amount of damage that was evident. Even with the retardation of my point of view by the television camera and its distance from the scene, I was quite aware that the entirety of the damage was significantly greater than a small plane might cause. I said as much to Derek: “I don’t think that was a commuter plane. There’s too much damage, the whole is too big, and there’s far too much smoke and flame. I bet it was something bigger.”
Derek stood and walked into the kitchen. “I think you might be right,” he said as he passed by me, “and they’ll let us know as soon as they know more. But it does look like a lot of damage for a commuter plane.” I snorted some agreement to this affirmation of my observation as he grabbed his cigarettes and headed out the kitchen door into the garage, no longer glued to the television and the events unfolding before us. The excitement and awe was replaced by detached curiosity for the details of this incident. I yawned again as he stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him.
Charles, Diane, and some unknown voices were discussing their surprise at this event, trying diligently to sound sure about something they were apparently unsure about, scrambling to locate any tidbit of information that might provide clarity, each offering promises of more information as soon as possible. I stared intently at the burning building viewed from across the city and wondered how anyone could hit that building accidentally. It’s so large, so tall, and so obvious as it towers with its twin above the city.
“What a bizarre accident…” I mumbled to no one in particular. That sentiment would be shared by several television personalities over the next few minutes.
I was aware of The Kids scurrying about, doing their own things, the three boys finally joined by Kako who decided to grace me with her presence. As usual in her case, everything must happen on her terms and schedule, and only now did she come to me for some attention. I obliged with gentle rubs on her head and back, and she obliged with affectionate rubbing against my legs followed by a soft mew intended to let me know that this activity was satisfactory and should be continued. I glanced at the clock on the television screen and noticed it was 9:02 AM.
I stood up and walked to the bar where I could lean comfortably and watch a few more minutes of the news. It was later than I would like. Work beckoned to me subconsciously; I responded by mentally planning my morning: go upstairs and take a shower, get dressed, leave the house, get my morning Starbucks, and head to the office. I lived no more than five minutes away from work, so I knew it would not take long for me to get there once I escaped from home. Still leaning against the bar, I spoke silly little things to The Kids as they walked and pranced about, as much assuring them I must eventually leave as I was convincing myself of the same.
I looked back to the television. It was 9:03 AM. The smoke from the north tower rose in great billows, rolling over and over as it flew into the sky. Licks of flame, small from this distance and vantage point, could be seen as they danced out and around the gaping wound in this engineering marvel. Far too much fire and smoke was present to be explained by a small plane. Not even a puddle jumper would produce this level of damage. Again I thought about how bizarre this accident was.
Confident that it was indeed an accident and not worthy of more delays, I resolved to motivate for work. A peripheral view of the television halted that thought and action, however, as I could see something entering my field of vision from the right side of the screen, something dark and distant that only now revealed itself to the camera. I felt an ominous pause in my own thoughts. There was a sinister quality about this new interloper, some inherent danger that I only perceived on a subconscious level as the thought attempted to break through to my conscious mind.
“What is that?” I whispered quietly to myself. “It looks like a plane.” I suspected it might pass behind the buildings, but that was an attempt to placate my own dire impression of this situation. My mind, already beginning to grasp the events in their entirety, held out for my review the gruesome veracity of what was happening: this was an attack. I held my breath as the dark object grew nearer the buildings.
In disbelieving horror I watched as this dark object flew deliberately into the south tower of the World Trade Center, producing a massive explosion throughout the two sides of the building which were apparent to me. I was vaguely aware of my head leaning to one side, as a dog might when you speak to it in sweet little tones which beg a question they are unable to comprehend. It was as though I listened for some inaudible clue to what was happening, as though this altered view of the images pouring out from the television screen could make clear some yet unseen truth. I wanted to breathe now, to inhale deeply and carefully in the hopes of finding repose, but I could not inhale without exhaling — and I believed any exhale would come in the form of sobs.
“I think that was another plane…” I knew I was talking to myself. I also knew it was not a conversation but instead some attempt to rationalize events with thought, words, sound, emotions, and impressions, perhaps assuming that verbalizing my own surprise and distress might somehow minimize it and make it more easily managed. How long could I go without oxygen? How long could I stand here and not breathe before passing out?
A moment of silence fell upon the Good Morning America studios. My ears listened intently to the silence. My mind saw that as confirmation of my fears. My mind fluttered with a self-involved conversation, as much meant to keep me from losing my grip on reality as it was to beg answers from anyone capable of providing them. The words raced through my mind and exited my mouth in demand of answers: “What did you see? The same as I? Was that another plane? This can’t be an accident.”
Charles Gibson voiced that same thought: “That looks like a second plane has just hit…”
“Oh my god…” I heard Diane Sawyer exclaim in a whisper, repeated again for the sake of ensuring her own sanity. “Oh my god…”
I think I exhaled. I could not be certain of this as time blurred around me. It became increasingly difficult to fully comprehend what was happening, as much on the television as in the very room where I existed. Was I becoming light-headed?
I stood upright, placing my full weight upon my own feet which now seemed unwilling or unable to carry me. Motionless for only a second or two, I realized things were going very wrong this morning. Finding the will to force myself into motion, I walked around the bar and through the kitchen to the backdoor. My hand reached out and grasped the knob — only then did I notice the slight tremble, a sudden shock and fear that ran through my entire being, eventually manifesting itself in this shaking. I could feel it in my stomach, the butterflies joining together to tie my insides into knots. I pulled my hand away abruptly and shook it violently. “Stop that!” I commanded. It now ran down through my legs all the way to my feet. I could feel weakness in my knees and dizziness in my head and the pins and needles of trepidation running up and down my spine. The world was changing more quickly than I ever thought possible. I was witnessing the end of an era, I believed, and the end of life as we knew it. I was watching the end of the world.
I reached out again and turned the knob with force, not allowing myself time to realize my own unease at these events. I pulled the door open with significant force and speed. Derek stood just inside the garage on the other side of that door, leaning against the wall lazily smoking a cigarette. He turned, startled a bit by the surprise of my pulling the door open with such fervency. He regarded me with seriousness as my eyes met his. He knew something was wrong. I could see that realization in his face, especially his eyes, and I responded before the question could even form in his mind.
“Another plane just hit the other tower. I watched it happen. This is not an accident.”
How could we have known that the horrors of that day were only just beginning?
