Tuesday {The Manhattan Trilogy #1}

Hospital (J)

Above: A team of doctors

The girls will definitely not have school today. No one is going to allow their kids to attend their normal classes after what just happened yesterday. Today is Wednesday, September 12, 2001. Early yesterday morning, the building selves of my identical twin daughters were taken down by two hijacked planes.

"Towers!" I shout to my girls from the kitchen.

"What?" Both of them respond at the same time. I hear two pairs of running footsteps thudding down the hall in our apartment.

"Don't run, you two," I tell them as soon as they're in front of me. "I don't want those wounds to open up more. We're going to the local hospital to get your condition checked before you are allowed to go to that public free skate at Cantor Fitzgerald Arena tonight with your new hockey teammates."

"Boring!" North Tower protests, crossing her arms.

"We're spirits, though," South Tower argues. "It's not like we will die from these wounds, Dad."

Trying to cheer them up, I tickle them under their armpits while laughing. "You need to come with me to the hospital if you don't want all those icky guts of yours to come spilling out all over the floor!"

"Dad, stop that!" North Tower giggles, shoving me away. That plane wound is so big, I can see her lungs inflating and deflating fast as she laughs. Jesus.

"Dad, you're—" South Tower has to take a deep breath before she continues, "—you actually have a point. I can see my organs moving while I breathe and eat and stuff, and it's honestly kind of frightening."

"Precisely, kiddo," Helena says. "Let's hail a cab and go to the emergency room."

AT THE HOSPITAL.

"This is pretty interesting," the doctor informs us as he checks to make sure the stitches he sewed into the injuries of my twins are tight enough. "I've never had buildings, let alone the Twin Towers after being hit by jetliners, come to see me for treatment in my entire career. Anyway, these plane wounds are quite serious. You girls can still play the hockey game you told me about, the one taking place this Friday, but your injuries need bandages that always require changing every six hours. As long as you do that, I'll let your coach know you're medically cleared to play."

"When do you think the girls will return to school?" Helena inquires.

"Probably by Monday, September 17," the doctor responds. "I have a son and a daughter in high school, and that's when they are returning."

"We're actually driving out to Illinois that day to watch our Yankees play the Chicago White Sox on the eighteenth," North Tower announces.

"Oh," the doctor smiles at my older daughter. "That sounds very fun, and I hope you enjoy the baseball game. Well, you guys will likely have to return to school whenever you get back from Chicago."

"Will the jet wounds be healed by the time they go back to class?" I ask, counting seventeen stitches in the abdomens of each of my daughters.

"No," the doctor turns to me, a serious expression returning to his face. "But they should be completely by the end of the month. If they are not better by October 1, or if they begin feeling feverish and leaking fluid from the area around their stitches, come back here right away. It could mean infection."

"Okay," my twins chime in. They're both wearing New York Jets shirts that say "FLY HIGH, JETS!" How ironic, I think to myself. The Towers, Helena, and I are all fans of the New York Jets football team. After yesterday's plane incident, both Helena and I expected the Towers to stop cheering for a team called the Jets, but they have not shown any sign of disliking the team yet. In addition, they don't seem to mind that the team they'll be playing that hockey game for on September fourteenth is also called the Jets.

Once the first bandages are secured around the twins' waists, we pay the doctor for his quality treatment and leave the hospital.

My entire family of four is in a great mood. North and South Tower try to run ahead of us. They laugh and play in a way that only twins understand. I discuss happy and sweet things with my wife to try and lift the unsettling mood that still looms in the atmosphere around us from yesterday's plane strikes.

The stench of the fallen World Trade Center buildings still hangs in the polluted Manhattan air, but that doesn't affect my mood. Or Helena's mood. Or North Tower's mood. Or even South Tower's mood. We lift our heads up high to show the terrorists that they'll never scare us, no matter how hard they try. America will never be broken down by the evil people that hate us.

We're all very optimistic today. Things will get better soon, and we know it. Something horrible did happen yesterday. We do have to grieve a little for the people that were killed, but not for eternity and more.

We have to enjoy the beautiful things in life, not just focus completely on the bad ones.

I smile to myself as I think of these motivational thoughts. September 11 of this year, 2001, is now a date of the past. It's September 12, 2001 now, not September 11. As I hum a tune to myself, I watch my amazing daughters, the Twin Towers, ignore the smell of their own death and prepare to dash into the loving arms of their successful, happy future.

North Tower will score lots of goals and South Tower will make lots of saves for many different professional hockey teams. Their millions of fans around the world will cheer them on until they retire. When they are eighteen, they will graduate from high school with high honors and attend a great college. I will be so proud as I watch my twin girls achieve everything they've ever wanted to since they were born.

Because they definitely will. The attacks yesterday may have killed them, but their spirits are not dead just yet.

TO BE CONTINUED...