The Day the Towers Fell

  Grayson Cross had been fifteen then. An irresponsible, miserable teenage boy who had lost his mother and had no knowledge on the whereabouts of his father. Chief Joe Mancuso was all he had, a man Gray had always admired and looked up to. Joe was never particularly good at discipline or laying down rules. He let Gray make his own decisions and mistakes, said it would help shape him as a man. Joe was the bravest man Gray knew. Always the first one in to a burning building and the last one out. He had saved countless lives. He saw it as his duty and was nothing but humble when family members thanked him for rescuing their loved ones.

 The morning of 9/11 was like any other. Joe was on duty at the firehouse so Gray was left alone in their small, one-bedroom flat where he slept on the couch. He had contemplated skipping school but remembered he had a History test that day so he reluctantly climbed out of bed. Five minutes after the first bell, he made it to class just as the teacher was beginning to pass out the exams.

 "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Cross," the teacher had said in a wry tone.

 "No problem," Gray had answered, eliciting a chorus of giggles from the group of girls in the seats behind him.

 Gray had not studied for the test, but he still managed to pull out a B. History was a strength of his. After the test the teacher plopped a pile of worksheets on everyone's desk and told them to get to work. Not much "teaching" involved in that class. Gray hated worksheets and rarely completed them. He could remember the information well enough without having to fill in the blanks on a piece of paper. So he cupped his hands over his eyes to make it look like he was studying the book intently when really he was attempting to catch another thirty minutes of sleep.

 Just as his head began to feel heavy and his eyes were sliding shut, a massive sonic boom—or, at least, that's what it sounded like—echoed throughout the classroom. Gray's eyes shot open and he looked around the room at the other startled faces.

 "It was just a jet passing by," the History teacher said irritably. "Go back to work."

 "That didn't sound like a jet," the boy next to Gray whispered nervously.

 Minutes later the eccentric English teacher from down the hall came rushing into the classroom. "Turn on the news," she said breathlessly. "The World Trade Center has been hit by an airplane."

 Gray craned his neck as the History teacher pointed the remote at the classroom television and tuned the channel to CNN. A horrifying picture filled the screen of the North Tower with a gaping hole near the top. Smoke was billowing out and malevolent flames were licking the air.

 "My mom works there!" one of the girls in his class sobbed, her shaking hands covering her gaping mouth.

 One of the news reporters on the television was saying it had been a small aircraft that accidentally ran into the tower. A small aircraft? Gray thought. That hole is too large to be a small aircraft. Sure enough an eyewitness began telling the news reporter that the plane looked more like a twin-engine passenger plane.

 Gray's school was within walking distance of the World Trade Center so the entirety of his class rushed to the windows, pulling the blinds open, and peered out to find out if they could see the Twin Towers from there.

  The towers themselves were not visible, but they could see the clouds of smoke pumping into the air in the distance. Fire engine horns blared as they passed by and Gray's thoughts went to his uncle. He was on duty. He would be there. Suddenly a nervous worry clenched his stomach and he listened more closely to the news as he watched the smoke fill the sky. Time seemed to both stop and speed up at the same time.