Eventually, I found my way inside the lobby of the north tower. I was on my own without a band of brothers behind me and no tools when I noticed a group of firemen huddled around dispersing equipment. I grabbed a Halligan bar and was about to follow them toward the staircase when my eyes darted to the elevators. Something made me walk over to them and the first one I took notice of appeared to be stuck on the fifth floor.
Wearing close to fifty pounds of gear and the Halligan bar in my hand, I ran for the stairs, climbing them two at a time until I reached the fifth floor. I knew I had the key to the city in my hand and could pry anything open with the adze. I only hoped once I had the doors to the elevator opened, I’d be able to rescue those trapped inside.
Banging on the metal doors, I was greeted with a response of strangled cries begging me to free them from the terror they were experiencing and immediately went to work. Relying on the tool and my faith in God, I used the skills I was taught to pry open the doors. As my gaze swept over the seven people inside the elevator, I knew without a doubt, I’d always recall those faces.
One by one, they filed off the elevator and started for the stairs. No one appeared to be physically injured but before the last man could exit an explosion roared to life, shaking the ground. At the time I didn’t realize it was the south tower collapsing. All I knew was the car was slipping and a man about my age was going to get stuck between floors if I didn’t act quickly.
“Go,” he shouted as I leaned into the well of the elevator and extended my hand. Another rumble sounded and the whole building seemed to shift as I latched onto his hand and spread my legs as wide as I could. Wedging one boot against the wall for leverage, I used all my upper body strength to fight against the impact of the fallen tower and hoisted him up. He shrieked in agony as I gave one final tug. Losing my footing, I fell backward but somehow still managed to pull the stranger from the elevator.
“Are you okay?” I asked, rolling him off me. My eyes swept over him, assessing him for injuries.
“I can’t move my leg,” he groaned. “I think I twisted my ankle when the elevator started to move,” he continued to explain.
Before I could check his leg, I was blinded by a flashlight. The firemen pointing it at me, ordered me to head for the stairs revealing the south tower had collapsed. I turned my attention back to the guy laying on the floor and met his frightened gaze.
“It’s okay,” he rasped. “Go.”
Without a second thought, I lifted him into my arms and threw him over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he questioned.
I remember thinking there were a million ways I could answer his question but, in the end there was only one valid response.
“My job,” I replied, looking him in the eye.
“Thank you,” he whispered as I drew in a deep breath and took off.
Moving through the chaos, I carried him down the five flights of stairs as fast as I could. My body ached, but I pushed through, hurrying through the lobby. Reaching the front doors, I stepped outside and was immediately engulfed by the thick cloud of dust. Debris and remnants of what once was the south tower threatened to both choke and blind me. My eyes strained for focus as I crossed the street in search of a paramedic or an ambulance. However, I never found either because a moment later the world paused once more as the north tower began to fall.
With the man slung over my shoulder and death chasing me, I ran as fast and as far as I could. A block or so down, I spotted an old church. Making my way inside, I stared up at the crucifix and asked for a pardon. Not for me but for the man I rescued from the elevator. Then, I laid him down and told him not to move. Glancing around the historic chapel, I wasn’t sure it would hold through the impact but, it was our only shot.
“What’s your name?”
“Jimmy,” I replied as I hunkered down beside him and waited for the tremors to subside.
“You got a last name Jimmy?” he asked, hissing through the pain.
“Casale.” I paused for a moment before turning to face him. “You good?”
“Yeah, I just figured I should know the name of the man who saved my life,” he replied. Unable to find my words, I nodded. My eyes sliced to the crucifix hanging above the alter and I prayed it wasn’t a wasted effort that this little church would prevail.
“How long have you been a fireman?” he asked, drawing my attention away from the man who sacrificed his life for the sake of his people.
“Today is my first day,” I admitted.
“Well, if it matters any, you’re doing one hell of a job,” he whispered.
It was a compliment that any other day would’ve made a man proud but that day, no one wanted praise.
“What about you?” I questioned hoarsely. “What’s your name?”
“Christopher Edwards.”
“It’s good to meet you, brother,” I said, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Those were the last words we spoke to one another and five minutes later, when I was sure the dust had settled some, I left Christopher Edwards in that little church. I found a paramedic and instructed him that there was a man in the church who needed medical attention and then I went back to what had become Ground Zero. For the next thirty hours I stood amongst the debris, searching for signs of life.
When I finally arrived home, I was covered in white dust and the scent of death clung to my being. You can never truly understand how bad it smells until it’s in your face. The days that followed were just as grueling, just as morbid. The firehouse switched our schedules, appointing us to twenty-four-hour tours. Eight of those hours we reported to Ground Zero to help with the recovery. We stood in line for hours, removing debris with five-gallon buckets and only stopped if we recovered a body. That went on for two weeks until we realized the odds of us finding any more bodies were slim to none and the city brought in cranes to assist in the cleanup.
I often thought about Christopher Edwards and what happened to him afterward but, another year would go by before I ever saw or heard of him again and sixteen more before I understood why he remained in my life.
Seventeen years has passed and I’m just now learning, God had a plan for the two of us.
A plan that began the day the world stopped.
Chapter 1
Used to Love You
Jimmy Casale
Every year following the attacks on September eleventh, the FDNY bands together to pay tribute to the victims, including our three hundred and forty-three fallen brothers. The flag in front of the firehouse is flown at half-staff and before we line around the engine for the first moment of silence we have breakfast together. Usually, I find myself with the day off wearing my dress uniform to the firehouse. However, this year I’m on duty and like the rest of my brothers that are working, I’m dressed in regular clothes waiting for dispatch to command me to put my gear on and ride to the next call.
At eight hundred, forty-six hours we take our rightful places around the engine and quietly bow our heads in observance of the first plane striking the north tower. It’s a somber moment and while I’m fortunate to have walked away relatively unscathed not everyone in my house has.
Seventeen minutes later, we observe another moment of silence for the south tower and my eyes dart to our lieutenant, Gary. I watch him swipe away a tear and know he’s thinking about his wife who worked in that building but never made it out. The wounds may be old but they never truly close and every year at Christmas he honors her by decorating the home they shared. People come from all over Staten Island to see the massive display of twinkling lights and pay their respects to a woman they never met. A woman who is still very much missed by the man she left behind.
Then there is my twenty-four partner, Frankie, who lost not one but two-family members to the senseless act of terror. Both his father and his older brother were firemen on duty and he joined the academy to honor them. He’ll tell you himself, being a fireman was never his choice but rather his destiny and as we c
ontinue to pay our respects to the dearly departed, I find myself thinking about my own twist of fate.
I think about the man in the elevator.
I recall the burn I felt in my arms as I carried him away from hell and the look of gratitude in his eyes as I left him alone in the church.
The clock ticks and at nine hundred thirty-seven hours, we surround the rig again marking the time Flight 77 struck the Pentagon. As I drop my chin, Frankie elbows me causing me to pause. I follow his eyes toward the door and my eyes connect with my ex-wife, Lisa. Making her way toward me, her heels click against the concrete disrespectfully disrupting the moment of silence. The remorse I felt only a second ago is quickly replaced by brittle anger as I step away from my brothers.
Her mouth opens and before the venom can spill from it, I grab a hold of her arm and usher her away from the rig.
“Get your hands off me,” she spats, pulling out of my hold. Turning to her, I glance over her shoulder at everyone watching our exchange before narrowing my eyes at her.
“You don’t come in here making a scene,” I growl. “Not today.”
“Fuck you,” she spats, poking a finger against my chest. “You’re the one making a scene.”
Clenching my jaw, I ignore her antagonizing ways and decide the quicker she speaks her peace the sooner she’ll be gone.
“What are you doing here, Lisa?”
“If you would’ve bothered answering your phone I wouldn’t have had to make the trip but, I shouldn’t really be all that surprised. The world always stops for you on this godforsaken day. Fuck everything and everyone else.”
“There it is,” I say, crossing my arms against my chest. “The bitterness you never let go of.”
“That’s right and I never will either because, I married a man who loved his job before he loved anything else, including his wife and children.”
It’s the same song over and over.
“Say what you want about you and me,” I tell her, stepping closer to her. “Call me a bad husband if it makes you feel better but, you don’t get to talk about the kind of father I am.”
“What’s the matter Jimmy? The truth hurts? You’re a part-time parent—
“Whose fault is that?” I shout, forgetting we have an audience.
“Yours! You want to blame me for the divorce but the truth is you were gone long before I threw you out. I slept alone for years, spent holidays without you and parented by myself while you were off saving strangers.”
“I was doing my job,” I fire back, running my fingers roughly through my graying hair. “Did you ever stop to think if I was willing to risk my life for someone I never met, what I’d do for you or our daughters?” I don’t give her the chance to reply and I answer my own question. “No, you didn’t. Instead, you played the victim and cried any chance you got to anyone who would listen to your bullshit,” I argue, my patience teetering.
Stepping forward once more, I ignore the stares and lay the truth between us. “From the beginning you knew what you were marrying, Lisa. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t. I was just foolish enough to believe you respected me—loved me enough, to accept who I was and what I did.”
Selfish to the core, she’s not the woman I pledged my life to. Or maybe she is and love really is blind but, when you don’t have that anymore, when all that’s left is hate you forget all the good that brought two unsuspecting strangers together.
“Oh please Jimmy,” she retorts. “I used to love you.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. “Before you hated me.”
The truth leaves a foul taste in my mouth as I shove my hands into my pockets and watch her divert her eyes toward the door.
“You got what you wanted,” I continue. “You moved on, got yourself someone who is home all the time and still, you’re here busting my balls.”
Her eyes dart back to mine and rage radiates from her irises.
“You think I want to be here?” she spats, waving a hand around. “I hate this place,” she confesses. “This place, that uniform,” she pauses, shoving a hand in front of me. “… it robbed me of everything I ever wanted. So, no, Jimmy, I don’t want to be here. As God as my witness, I don’t want to fight with you either. We’re over and done with and you’re right I have moved on. Sal is a good man. He loves me and the girls. He puts us first all the time.”
Another twist of the knife.
“But Sal isn’t their father, and it isn’t his place to answer the damn phone when Gabriella’s school calls.”
“Wait, the school called?” I question, patting my pants for my phone as she rolls her eyes at me.
“Yes, something you would’ve known if you weren’t so absorbed in your job,” she sneers. “The dean called, she’s in trouble for crying out loud.”
Lifting my phone from my pocket, I glance at the screen and see several missed calls from both the school and Lisa. I force my attention back to my ex-wife and watch as she takes a step backward. Shaking her head in disgust, she hitches the strap of her purse onto her shoulder and drops her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose.
“For once in your life, pretend it’s your daughter trapped inside a burning building. Listen to her cries for help Jimmy because if we don’t act quick we’re going to lose her,” she says before turning on her heel.
Her words are vicious and they cut through me but before I react, I think. I think about our youngest daughter and I wonder if her mother is right. Unlike her sister, Gabriella never truly accepted the divorce. In the years since the ink has dried on the papers, there has been several calls from Lisa regarding Gabby’s behavior. I was always quick to chalk it up to Lisa being a drama queen and told myself she was overreacting. Having the girls more than me made it easy for her to lose her patience and me to point a finger.
Lifting my head, I watch Lisa strut across the firehouse.
“What did she do?”
Pausing at the door, she glances over her shoulder and lowers her sunglasses.
“They wouldn’t say over the phone but, it can’t be good if they’re threatening to expel her,” she says as she moves to start for the exit.
“Where are you going?” I call out, forgetting about the tribute and the men who just witnessed an ugly exchange.
“Where do you think I’m going?” she retorts. “To the school.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
For a moment she simply stares at me and I see the doubt reflected in her eyes.
“I’ll be there,” I assure her.
Without a word, she turns around and I watch her walk away.
Out of sight.
Out of my head.
Out of my heart.
But never out of my life.
Before I hated her, I loved her and from that love came two amazing girls, one of which is crying for help. I never cared for being called a hero but, in this moment all I want is to be my daughter’s.
Chapter 2
Perfect Love
Melissa Moscato
They say there is a reason for everything and that time heals all wounds. But neither time nor reason will ever fill the void left in my heart. I wake up every morning and go through the motions because that’s what I’m supposed to do. I force a smile and pretend I’m carrying on with my life but the truth is the heartache still lives inside of me. It burns deep and cuts like a knife.
Especially on days like today.
On September eleventh the country mourns and until seven years ago, I did too. I was only seventeen years old when the attacks happened but like everyone else; I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when those planes crashed into the twin towers. Like so many others, I stood paralyzed watching the television in horror as innocent people were terrorized. It was a horrible day for all of humanity and while I may have been fortunate not to lose anyone close to me, I still took a moment to pause and reflect.
Seven years ago, I sat in the corner of a packed coffee shop in lower Manhatta
n studying for my finals. I was a semester away from getting my Masters Degree and one step closer to becoming a guidance counselor. My coffee had gone cold, and I peeled myself away from my books to get a refill when I glanced up at the television and saw the live footage of the memorial taking place just blocks away from me.
I wasn’t paying attention when the man in front of me turned around and we collided. I lifted my hands to steady myself and wound up knocking the piping hot coffee all over him. It spilled down his leg, and he flinched at the burn. Quickly, I grabbed a stack of napkins from the counter behind him and offered my apologies as I patted his wet thighs.
Yeah, you heard me correctly.
In the middle of a crowded coffee shop, I manhandled a complete stranger.
How’s that for first impressions?
We laughed about it years later but; it took some time for me not to turn all shades of red whenever we talked about how we met.
In case you were wondering that perfect stranger became my perfect love.
After the coffee incident, he bought us both a cappuccino. I protested, but he insisted he wasn’t a floozy.
“I usually have to buy the lady a drink or two before she puts her hands on me,” he said with a wink.
He was a comedian. Not literally but, Christopher was the guy who had the ability to make anyone laugh and could put a smile on your face no matter how bad of a day you were having. At least he always managed to do those things for me.
He joined me at my table and asked me about myself, using the stack of textbooks as an opening. I told him about school and in turn I learned he was an investment banker. At one point during the conversation he paused mid-sentence and glanced at the television as the names of the victims were being read.
I would later learn those weren’t the names of strangers but the names of his co-workers. At the time, Christopher worked for Cantor Fitzgerald and he was on his way up to his office when the first plane hit. He, along with several others were trapped inside an elevator until they were rescued by a fireman.
Burn Me Anthology Page 6
