After Death

The First Minute

I took in my final breath. As a white filter descended over reality, I faintly heard the nurse say something.

Time of death 7:54 am.

Then, buzzing filled my ears as everything went out of focus.

Suddenly, I was screaming. Almost against my will. As if I were a passenger watching through my own eyes. A woman cradled me in her arms, and I thought I recognized the shape of her. She felt familiar.

Everything suddenly sped up. My mom smiled down at me, her eyes slowly getting to my level. My dad ruffling my hair and whispering jokes.

A pause. I was sitting up in a large playpen, surrounded by toys and blankets, things to keep me happy.

I looked up at the large television screen, blaring noises. It makes me upset and my mom comes to pick me up, her familiar arms closing me away from the woman delivering the news of the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

Her and my father have a heated discussion, each unsure that I am really safe here and do we really want our two year old being in this city?

I begin to cry again. Vague memories of a hospital room flash across my eyes. A time being repeated over and over until the numbers become meaningless.

My mom rubs my back, singing softly. They both come together to comfort me, despite their argument.

They watch on their screen before turning to our large window. We can all clearly see the towers, burning and falling down. My mother purses her lips and agrees to spend a few days in her parents' home in Albany.

My dad packs in a hurry. He barely packs anything for the two of them, but brings as much for me as he can possibly carry.

My mom holds me close in a blanket as they take the five flights of stairs down to the main floor. The smell of smoke and fire hits me immediately as we step out onto the street. I hear a cacophony of noises, all screaming and names of people. All people.

I start crying as my parents shove their way through the chaos towards a quieter street, where they catch a cab.

My mom finally removes the blanket and I can see again. The buildings flash by and so do the people. Most rushing away from the horror, and the brave rushing toward it. Even then, I knew I'd never see anything like it again.

The traffic jams cause my mother to tap anxiously on my father's knee. A long sequence of short taps and holding ones. And even though I knew it was impossible, I knew what it was. Morse code. ••  •- --  ••• -•-• •- •-• • -••.
I am scared.

She just kept tapping through every jam. And when we got out she stopped. And when another came, she'd resume.

My dad would stay calm. He'd watch the city scenery or ask the cab driver questions when he could. My dad smiles at me a few times. It does nothing to alleviate the heavy feeling in the air.

The feeling of death. The feeling that, even though nobody in this cab had been affected, there was something that was going to end up horrible.

We were almost out. A few more blocks to go. But then, people streamed between the cars stuck in place. They begged for help with injured, or were injured themselves.

A man launched himself at our cab. He was covered in dirt and looked angry. He screamed and slammed on the window, yelling something we couldn't understand through the rest of the world.

I cried, turning my face into my mom's shoulder, waiting for him to go away. Eventually he passed on, finding another reason to be angry.

I felt disturbingly out of place. Nothing felt right. I didn't feel right.

The cab continued on, making it clear of the traffic and insanity. My mom turned in her seat to watch the towers fade. The driver had the news playing on his radio, and my father asked him to turn up the volume so he could hear it too.

It is now 10 am here in New York City, a mere hour after two planes were flown into both towers of the World Trade Center. Already, the streets are flooding with the injured, emergency services, and family of the people in the two towers. Officials are advising citizens to stay inside to reduce the chaos at the site and on the streets so emergency services can better do their job. We will update you on the fatalities and injured in a few moments.

I watched as my dad closed his eyes. As my mom twisted her rosary and rubbed the small little man nailed to a cross.

Oh mother, I thought, if only you knew that he can't help you now. Not ever.

I rested my head against her shoulder. I fell asleep quickly and quietly as she shifted me to be more comfortable.

Dreams flashed on the backs of my eyelids. Brilliant people and vivid bright colors. Several of people I knew I knew. I just couldn't place them. A short, red headed girl with eyes like charcoal. A taller boy with salt watered brown hair reaching for me. Strong arms holding me up, muscle pressing me into a someone that smelled like cinnamon. A someone that was crying.

I breathed in and out slowly as I woke. Even that felt strange. My dad had just payed the cab driver and my mom was standing up with me in her arms. He grabbed the bags and we walked towards a large home nestled neatly in a meadow.

Memories flashed in front of me again. A crowd, all in black and watching over twin caskets. Hot summers here when the weather was kind and didn't make everyone look like they had just gone through a sweatshop.

Finally, the vagueness becomes solid. I realized why I felt so unnerved. I was a passenger in my own body. A passenger to my entire life, all over again.