The Girl He Used to Know

by Tracey Garvis Graves

  He finally—finally!—picks up. “Annika.” He sounds weird and out of breath. It’s very noisy in the background, and I can barely hear him.

  “What tower are you in?” I scream it into the phone.

  “The south. We heard a giant boom ten minutes ago. Brad went to see if he could find out what’s going on.”

  “Jonathan, I’m watching it right now on TV. It was a plane.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! Matt and Katie are saying a plane has hit the North Tower. There are flames pouring out the side of the building.”

  “That’s what Tom’s wife said. She said a small plane coming out of JFK might have gone off course. Some problem with air traffic control or something. We’re looking out the windows, but we can’t see anything from where we are. There’s no TV in this conference room.”

  “The buildings are way too close. You’ve got to get out. Right now. Tell the others. Make them go with you.”

  Jonathan shouts to his coworkers. “Hey! It was a plane. There’s a ton of fire. Go, get out. Take the stairs.”

  “Go with them,” I say.

  “What?” I hear him say to someone in the background. “Brad just came back. We’re supposed to stay put because there might be falling debris outside. They’re working on getting the fire contained. He said they told him we aren’t in imminent danger of the fire spreading to this building.”

  My logical mind cannot wrap itself around the directive they’ve been given to stay put, because it makes no sense at all. Brad doesn’t know what I know, what all of us watching TV know because it’s unfolding live before our eyes. This is not a fire that will be contained.

  “Jonathan, listen to me. For the first time since the day you met me, I know I am finally right about something. Just do what I say. You can see what things are like on the ground once you get down.” I’m sure he thinks I’m overreacting. That I’ve misread this.

  But I know I haven’t.

  Fire means go. Fire means get out, get lower.

  “All right, we’ll go.” In the background, the shouting grows even louder. Jonathan is telling everyone to leave the room, take the stairs, head for the lobby, where they’ll reunite to assess the situation. I hear Brad telling them to stay, and Jonathan telling him to fuck off. That makes me happy because Jonathan believes me.

  “We’re heading toward the stairwell. I couldn’t get everyone to go with me. Some of them stayed behind. Brad wouldn’t leave.”

  “Okay,” I say. I’m breathing so fast and trying to listen to what Matt and Katie are saying now. Jonathan’s phone is breaking up and I can’t hear everything he’s saying. I dig the cell phone Jonathan bought for me out of my purse, but I don’t have the mental capacity to simultaneously handle another call. As soon as I know Jonathan has reached the bottom floor, I’ll call Janice, Will, my mom.

  I wish I had more phones.

  “Jonathan, where are you now?” I scream, but maybe he can’t hear me, because he doesn’t answer. “Jonathan, tell me what floor!”

  It takes me a few seconds to realize that Jonathan isn’t answering because something has severed our connection.

  And I know exactly what it is because Matt and Katie have cut to a brand-new clip, and the thing that has severed our connection is another plane, except that this one has just hit the South Tower, which is the building Jonathan is in.

  * * *

  I’m flicking my hands so frantically, I can hardly dial the phone. I’m trying to reach my mother but receive only a busy signal. Pacing from one side of the room to another, I redial for what seems like forever but is in reality less than five minutes.

  “I was on the phone with your brother,” she says in lieu of a normal greeting. “He’s okay.” Though I’m desperately worried about Jonathan, and Clay, too, I’m relieved to know my brother is safe.

  “Okay, good,” I say. I’m panting and shaking, because there is so much adrenaline flowing through me and my body doesn’t know what to do with it. “Mom. Jonathan is in New York right now, and he is in the South Tower.”

  Deadly silence greets my announcement. Then my mother says, “Annika,” and I can hear that she’s crying. “Don’t go anywhere. We’re coming.”

  * * *

  I remain glued to the TV while I wait for my parents to arrive. Though I know the phone lines are jammed, I call Jonathan’s number every thirty seconds with my cordless phone, and Janice’s with my cell. Busy signals from both.

  When my parents arrive, my dad is moving slowly and with apparent difficulty. I’ve completely forgotten about the hip-replacement surgery he had a couple of weeks ago, because even though I don’t mean to be, sometimes I am a horrible daughter.

  The surgery went off without a hitch.

  My mother is waiting on him hand and foot.

  I moved on.

  It is my mom’s idea to try to reach someone in Jonathan’s Chicago office after she gets my dad settled on the couch. “Surely they have information for family members,” she reasons. She calls, but it’s to no avail. They are every bit as confused as we are, and the information trickling out of New York is hampered by the fire, the crush of emergency vehicles, the people streaming from the buildings. It’s all happening so fast, yet there is an agonizing slowness as well.

  My mom makes tea, but I can’t drink it. I want to pace and flick. Rock and bounce. I do all of those things, some of them at the same time, but none of it helps.

  I decide to call Will. Maybe he can go down to the World Trade Center and tell me if Jonathan has made it out of the building.

  The call won’t go through, and I slam my hand down on the arm of the couch. On the TV, they are showing things falling out of the towers. Paper rains down like some kind of nightmarish ticker-tape parade.

  The heat has become too intense, and people are jumping out of the windows and the gaping hole in the side of the building. Some of them are holding hands. A woman’s skirt billows up as her body plummets toward the ground. How can they show this on TV?

  I cannot watch any footage of the jumpers. The thought of Jonathan being one of them, the thought of anyone choosing that option because it was preferable to the others, reduces me to a rocking, sobbing, hysterical puddle on my kitchen floor. No amount of comforting from my mother will calm me, and the intensity of my emotions puts me in an almost catatonic state.

  I am not equipped for this.

  No one is equipped for this.

  I think that it cannot possibly get worse than people jumping out of buildings, but I am so wrong, because at 9:59 A.M., on live TV, the South Tower, which Jonathan was in, collapses and falls. Twenty-nine minutes later, the North Tower follows suit.

  39

  Annika

  CHICAGO

  SEPTEMBER 12, 2001

  We have been up all night, and around six thirty in the morning, my call to Will finally goes through.

  “I’m okay. I’ve already talked to Mom and Dad. I wasn’t anywhere near the towers. I tried to call you yesterday, but I couldn’t get through.”

  “Mom told me. She and Dad are here with me now.” My voice cracks and I begin to whimper.

  “Annika, everything’s okay. I promise.”

  “Jonathan flew to New York Monday night. He was in the South Tower for a meeting. I spoke to him yesterday and told him to get out of the building. We were on the phone when the second plane hit. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “What? Oh God. Oh shit.”

  “Can you go down there? Can you look for him?”

  “Annika, the towers fell. Even if I could get near them, which I can’t, I have no idea what I’d do. It’s absolute pandemonium down there. There’s smoke and fire and … The National Guard is here.” He stops talking when I start sobbing. “I’m so sorry,” he yells in an attempt to be heard over the noise I’m making.

  I hand the phone to my mom and I sit in the corner of my living room, MBJ 2.0 in my lap, and I rock. The reality of what I’m facing
is too much for me to handle, and even though I promised Jonathan that I would be brave, that I would not run and hide from the things that scare me, I escape in the same way I always have when things go wrong.

  I shut my eyes and I let sleep’s darkness swallow me.

  * * *

  When I wake up several hours later, still on the floor but with a pillow under my head and a blanket covering me, my body feels like a lead weight. I struggle to sit up. My dad is stretched out asleep on the couch, but my mom is on the phone. She looks at me and the first thing I notice is that her expression seems different. I don’t know what it means, but then she smiles, and when she hangs up, she gives me the first bit of hopeful news we’ve received since the planes hit the towers. While I slept, she decided to try Jonathan’s Chicago office again, and she tells me that he’s been accounted for by someone named Bradford Klein.

  “That’s his boss,” I say.

  “They told me everyone with direct reports is supposed to use their BlackBerrys to communicate with the Chicago office by email.”

  My phone will do no such thing, but Jonathan’s BlackBerry can do things the phone he gave me cannot. I don’t care how they’re doing it as long as they provide an open channel of communication. A feeling of absolutely unmitigated joy rises in me with such force that I clap my hands while running around the room. My dad jolts awake. “What? What is it? What’s happened?”

  “It’s good news,” my mom says. “They think Jonathan made it out okay.”

  “He did make it out okay. Brad said so.” I start pacing again, impatient for details. “Where is he now? Is he hurt?”

  “They couldn’t tell me much. They just said his name is on a list of employees who made it out of the building.”

  “How can they not know where he is?”

  “There’s still a lot of uncertainty,” my mom says. “Many of the survivors left on foot and are no longer in the area, especially once the towers fell. Does Jonathan know anyone in the city?”

  “He knows Will, but I’m not sure if he’d know how to contact him. He knows that Janice lives in Hoboken. I don’t know if there’s any transportation available to take him there. I can ask Janice once I get through to her. I’m sure Jonathan has other friends or business acquaintances because he used to live there, but I don’t know their names or phone numbers.” Maybe his ex-wife will be nice enough to let him stay with her. I wonder if Liz was at the World Trade Center. I hope she got out of the building, too.

  “Your brother will let us know if he turns up, and so will Janice. In the meantime, we’ll have to be patient. Jonathan will go somewhere, and I’m sure he’ll call as soon as he gets there.”

  * * *

  I am never able to get through to Janice, but an hour later, she calls me. “Clay is here. He was able to catch the ferry after spending the night on a friend’s couch a few miles from Ground Zero. That’s what they’re calling it. What about Jonathan? Have you heard from him?”

  “He got out! My mom spoke to someone from his company’s Chicago office. We’re just waiting for him to call and let us know where he is.”

  “Oh, thank God.” She’s crying now in relief. So am I. “I can’t get any incoming calls, but the outgoing calls seem to be going through now. You’ll hear from him soon. I’ll try you every hour. It’ll be okay.”

  “It’ll be okay,” I parrot.

  “It will.”

  “I know,” I say, because I believe her and because it simply has to.

  * * *

  So, we wait. My mom makes lunch and forces me to eat it. The food feels like a lump going down my throat, because Jonathan really should have called by now.

  There’s a reason he hasn’t.

  I know that’s what we’re all thinking, but no one can say it, because that would mean admitting that maybe Jonathan didn’t make it out of the building.

  We wait some more.

  * * *

  Janice calls again. “Have you heard from him?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Clay says lots of people had to find shelter with friends, even strangers. The phone lines are just … they’re still a mess.”

  “That’s what Will said. He checked in half an hour ago. Took him a while to get through. I’m sure Jonathan will call.” My voice sounds oddly flat and unconvincing, even to my own ears.

  “I’m sorry, Annika.” She is silent for a few moments. “I wish we could wait this out together and I could comfort you.”

  She may get her wish, because if I don’t hear from Jonathan soon, the next time she calls, I’m going to tell her what I’ve decided to do.

  * * *

  Jonathan does not call. It’s nearly eight o’clock at night by then. When I break the news to my parents that I’m going to drive to Hoboken, New Jersey, and then go to Ground Zero to find Jonathan myself, they protest. Loudly and rather emphatically. I don’t blame them. It’s an outlandish, foolhardy plan. Surely they don’t believe I’m even capable of it, and why would they? There are lots of things no one thinks I’m capable of, and for the most part, they would be right. But in the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “A woman is like a tea bag; you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water.” This is the hottest water I’ve ever been in. I’m scared, and driving to Hoboken seems impossible.

  But I’m going to do it anyway.

  “Then what will you do?” my mom asks.

  “Janice will help me. We’ll look for Jonathan. We’ll check all the hospitals. We’ll put up signs.” I have gleaned from the news broadcasts and newspaper articles that this is what people are doing. They’re holding candlelight vigils and they’re trading information and they’re helping one another.

  “I can’t go with you. I can’t leave your dad, and he can’t be in a car that long right now.”

  “Yes, I can,” my dad says, but it would be too painful for him. He doesn’t even look comfortable sitting on the couch. And she will not leave him by himself.

  “I’m not asking you to go with me. I don’t want you to go with me.” That’s a straight-up lie, because I have no idea if I have the ability to do this. Even more important than ability is whether or not I have the courage. This revelation makes me feel ashamed. I’m a grown woman, and it’s time to prove—if not to everyone else then at least to myself—that I can do things on my own. Janice said that Jonathan needs me to step up, to be the kind of person he can depend on not to retreat when things get rough. This time, I won’t hide in my childhood bed hoping the world will right itself. Jonathan would do anything to help me, but now he’s the one who needs help, and I’m going to dig deep and be the one to give it to him.

  Janice reacts even more strongly than my parents when I tell her. “I don’t think you have any idea what it’s like here. Clay said the footage on TV can’t remotely compare to what he saw with his own eyes. We won’t be able to get anywhere near Ground Zero unless we can prove we live in the neighborhood. And I’m not even sure that’s enough.”

  “What if Jonathan is hurt? What if he’s at the hospital but for some reason he can’t speak.” I don’t like to think about what those reasons might be. I tell myself that his voice might be too hoarse from the smoke and dust and it’s given him laryngitis and that’s why he hasn’t called. “He has no one. No siblings, no parents. No one is looking for him but me.”

  “Annika.” She sounds tired.

  “His name is on the list. He got out.”

  “What if his name is there by mistake?”

  “Why would it be there by mistake? His boss was supposed to put down the names of everyone who got out and email it to the Chicago office, and that’s what he did. He wouldn’t lie about something like that.” Janice doesn’t say anything. “If I can get there, will you help me?”

  “Of course I will.”

  Before we hang up, I tell her when to expect me and that I’ll have my cell phone so I can call her from the road. “Be careful,” she says.

  My mom’s subsequent
calls to the Chicago office go unanswered. The phone just rings and rings now. “I can’t blame them,” she says. “They must be terribly busy.”

  Jonathan’s company has set up a hotline and also a command center of sorts at a hotel. Family members of missing employees have been instructed to go there.

  I want to go there.

  40

  Annika

  SEPTEMBER 13, 2001

  Because there is a ban on airline travel, I’m not the only one who’s decided they will rent a car to get where they need to go. The line at Hertz is thirty-seven people deep. Some of them curse and drop out, walking away rolling their carry-on luggage behind them, wheels thumping out the door and down the curb. I want to run after them and ask where they’re going, because maybe they know of some shorter line or magic supply of cars I haven’t thought of. But I don’t and now there are only twenty-nine customers in front of me, and that makes me feel a little better. I will wait as long as I have to and then I will drive straight to Hoboken using the directions my mom printed out for me using something called MapQuest. Clay and Natalia will stay home while Janice and I go into the city to find Jonathan.

  I just don’t think it’s going to be as hard as people are saying.

  * * *

  I arrived at Hertz at seven thirty this morning, and it is almost one before it’s my turn. I’m the last customer, because everyone who was behind me bailed a long time ago. I think that’s a bad sign, but I’ve waited this long and it seems dumb to give up now that I’ve finally reached the counter. The man standing behind it says they have only one car left.