The Falling Man

I winced as the nurse stitched up the last part of the wound, the needle working its way in and out of the skin on my forehead.

She cleaned it with antiseptic once more, then nodded to me as she left the room.

I stared at the bed, one of many filled in the E.R. that day, Katrina’s tiny body not even taking up a fraction of it.

She had over eight ounces of dust and debris in her lungs. They said because of her height, being only a mere two feet and three inches, she took in almost everything that could riqueshe off the ground and pass into her lungs. It clogged her sinus cavities and air passages, causing a lack of oxygen to the brain, and her to pass out.

They cleaned out her nose and throat and lungs the best they could, and hooked her up to an iron lung, forcing her to breathe. They said that after she came to, they would be able to determine what to do next with her. How much damage was actually done to her lungs. She wasn’t out long enough to have any brain damage, they said.

So then, all I could do it wait.

And watch as her chest rises and falls, the machine clicking with each movement as she takes another rigid breath.

And watch as the nurses come in, every hour, on the hour, and draw blood from her tiny arm, monitoring the oxygen levels, white blood cell count, and a thousand other things that even if they told me I wouldn’t understand.

The cut on my forehead was now a nagging pain, and I could feel it more and more with each pump of blood through my veins. I don’t know where the cut came from. I don’t care.

I leaned back in the hard, plastic chair, one of the few available in the quickly filling room.

I felt lucky that we had gotten to the hospital so early.

I felt lucky we had survived the plane crashes.

The news was on in the waiting room and in a few of the patients’ rooms. They were all broadcasting footage of what I had seen with my own eyes.

It felt like I was living a nightmare.

And I felt so hopeless, knowing I couldn’t protect my very own daughter from it.

I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t protect myself.

There was a man in the bed next to her’s. One of the nurses was tending to him, gently cleaning his burns on his body. His face was raw and red, his bright blue and his mouth wide open, forcing each pained breath just to stay alive.

He looked at me, his eyes just barely holding onto life as he blinked before looking away from me again.

I looked away, my own breath catching in my throat, just slowly coming to realize what I had witnessed today.

Tens of hundreds of people died within those two glass buildings. Right before my very eyes.

“Miss?” A soft voice was suddenly in my ear, and I jumped, looking up at a nurse.

“Do you think we could have this chair?” She gestured to the one I was sitting in, “I really hate asking, but there are just so many patients...”

I simply nodded, standing up and sliding the chair towards her. She gave me a weak smile, dark circles under her eyes.

“If you need me to get you anything, I can try,” She offered, holding onto the chair with both hands.

“A glass of water would be nice,” I tucked a few pieces of loose hair behind my ear, then sat next to the wall beside Katrina’s bed, positioning myself so my back was flat against it.

I cradled my head in my hands, wondering what on earth I could possibly do to make this right again.

Kat would have to undergo years of therapy, probably, let alone future medical expenses because of debris in her lungs. I would have to find another high-paying, mindless job to pay for the majority of those expenses, on top of schooling, food, monthly rent...

“Miss? I brought you water,” The nurse stood above me, her hand holding a plastic cup filled half-way with water.

I forced smile, wiping way the few tears that managed to work their way out in the midst of my thinking, and took the cup from her hand.

I couldn’t even say ‘thank you’.

But she simply smiled down at me, and then hurried back to her work.

I swished the water around in my cup, the idea of it in my stomach making me slightly nauseous.

I jumped at the feeling of the vibration from my phone, the cup’s water spilling onto the cuff of my pants and tile floor a bit. I hadn’t even thought to turn it off.

I flipped it open to hit the ‘Ignore’ button, then turn it off, but the numbers caused me to pause.

913-3421.

The phone continuously vibrated in my hand as I wracked my brain for where I had seen the numbers before.

Then I remembered.

It was Gerard.

I hesitatingly answered the phone, resting the cup of water on the ground.

“Hello?”

“Ana? This is Gerard.”

His voice sounded weak and drawn out.

“Hey,” was all I managed to say, rubbing the space between my eyes.

I wondered if he was at the coffee shop. Or if he left when the planes crashed. Or if he had even made it that far at all.

“I take it you never made it to the coffee shop either.”

I snickered, “Nope. I was too busy watching the World Trade Center get assaulted.”

“Oh shit,” he groaned, and then there was a long pause, finished off with a long sigh.

“Ana, are you alright? Shit, I’m so fucking sorry you had to see all of that.”

I’m sorry your daughter had to see it.

“It’s not your fault, Gerard.”

He sighed again, “I know. But are you sure you’re OK? I was on a ferry when it happened, but... shit. You were right on sight? ”

“Yeah,” I gingerly touched the stitches, “I got this cut on my forehead, but other than that and some mental scarring, I’m all right. You were on a ferry?”

“That’s how I get to the city,” he stated as if I should’ve known, then gravely added, “I saw the plane hit the building. The first one. And the second one too.”

“I did too,” I whispered, bringing my knees to my chest. My breath began to catch again, “I was there up until one of the buildings collapsed. Then they took me to the hospital.”

“Hospital?” He gasped, which almost made me laugh. Aren’t only girls supposed to gasp?

“Yeah, Gerard. Hospital. I had to get stitches.”

“And your still there?”

“Yeah,” my eyes lingered on Katrina, lying beneath her white blanket, then I lied through my teeth, “I haven’t been discharged yet.”

“What hospital are you at?”

“Sacred Heart, I think...Wait, Gerard, why do you care?”

“I’m coming to see you. I’m walking in the direction right now.”

My eyes locked onto Katrina. He was going to see her. Like this.

“Gerard, don’t bother. I’m going to be leaving in an hour or so anyways.”

I hope my voice didn’t sound so urgent or pleading.

“I want to see you, Ana. So, I’m coming now.”

“Gerard-”

“I’ll be there in about twenty. See ya.”

And then the phone clicked off.