The Day the Earth Stopped Moving
911: The Act of Conspiracy
One-shot
*In loving memory of one of my friend's dad*
My mother and father would've done anything to protect me. And protect me they did. Along with my little sister, Helen, who had just turned five-years-old at the time. I myself was eight. My father had left that morning to go to a meeting for his job, as a secretary. My mom was a teacher for kids with autism, though she is not anymore. She had left her career behind after it happened.
My dolls were scattered across the living room floor, and the room smelled of pancakes, topped with low-fat butter and maple syrup. My mother's cooking; it always made my stomach smile. Helen was playing with her Fisher-Price xylophone. I took the dress off of Barbie, which had been stained with old grass and dirt (but underneath it all, the pattern itself was plain beautiful, a groovy, seventies theme), and replaced it with a new one, a summer theme. Simple pink dress. The news was broadcasting on the living room TV, and the reporter's voice filled my eardrums until they felt the need to burst. I'd heard the news before, but today it was just plain boring. A new education system built in a different state, an old woman finally managed to get a Hover 'Round, and the simple "charity savings." To me, that was indeed boring. Where was all the exciting stuff? Like rescuing a puppy from malnutrition? Or saving a kitty out of a tree?
I'd seen my mother round the corner, her face lit up like the morning sunshine, in which its rays reflected back up from the water and right into the sky, causing a gorgeous rainbow to appear overhead.
"Okay girls," she began, crossing the island into the kitchen and taking out a skillet, setting it on the stove. "It's 8:49. What do you guys want to eat?"
"Anything that's food," Helen smart-mouthed, and giggled under her breath. I couldn't help but laugh too. I'd taught her how to say that, just to annoy Mom. Apparently, it'd worked. I knew it did for me.
"Very cute. Stop listening to your sister." She pretended to scowl and spread butter around the pan, turning the stove on.
This is why we should all love our lives. Our families. Our friends. We all find a way to live with each other somehow. And this is one of the reasons. We need our family, just as much as we need oxygen. Or food. Or something to drink, like water. Because our family is some of the most important people we depend on, an opinion in my name, no doubt. And many people don't think so, but if they'd stop to think, maybe their opinion would've changed too. Besides, it's because of our family and friends as to how our lives are so cherished. Everything turns out normal for us. And even for me. We are all happy in our ways. Especially on that day, since I'd had a Spelling Bee at my school to attend to. And I was one of the "pee-wee competitors."
Sadly enough, I couldn't attend because I'd missed the bus due to oversleeping, and Mom had gotten too lazy to even bother to fix her hair (she looked like an ape that day, by the way). But something had told me not going to school that day turned out to be a very intelligent idea. Because, though everything, for me, was perfect, the moment that the news topic changed, my life did as well.
It went from the male and female reporter talking and smiling to the male stopping and holding his finger up to his earpiece.
"Say again?" he asked. And shortly after, his smile faded, and he turned pale. I stopped and looked at the screen, and I then knew. The look in his eyes had said it all; there was something wrong. There was something very, very wrong.
"Adam, are you okay?" The female reporter turned to him and asked full of concern.
Sweat had started to bead from the male reporter's, who's said to be named Adam, face, and he switched the camera to downtown New York.
"We're- we're going live to… to downtown… New York right now, which will be reported by our friend David. David?"
The clip went from the news studio to downtown, and I'd seen people running, screaming, crying, and yelling. A man's face appeared against the lens, and I could see it was most likely the reporter, since he had a suit on and a mic in his hands. Behind him, two buildings were standing high and tall, but one of them had a lot of smoke pouring out of it. It looked like a world full of tobacco smokers were cooped up in there, smoking their weeds and pipes and cigars and cigarettes.
"Hello Adam, I'm David Crow, reporting from downtown, where it appears to be that one of the buildings to the World Trade Centre is gagged in smoke…!"
Now, for me being so young, I was confused as to what he was talking about. What's the World Trade Centre? I'd never heard of it before in my life. What's going on? Why do all of those people look so devastated? Will someone please explain this to me!
So many questions ran through my mind, some being more demands than had meant thought.
I look back to Helen, who just shrugged her shoulders and stood up, taking her small TeleTubbies cup and pouring two-percent milk into it. My mother, on the other hand, looked like she was going to fall over from a broken heart. She'd appeared to be staring at the screen in shock, an eyebrow arched, wondering what was going on. And then that curious face turned into a deathly one, as if someone had taken her worse phobias and nightmares and made them all real, right in front of her eyes.
She panicked and freaked out a little, and since my mom was usually the "laid back" type, she had actually scared me.
"Helen, hand me that remote! I need to see what's going on."
Helen swung her legs out, scooting her butt out of the chair as well, walking to the coffee table in the living room, retrieving the remote, and carrying it all the way to Mom, who then took it thankfully out of her hands. The volume adjusting bar increased its size, and David's voice was heard more clearly.
"…Centre, where a plane has just crashed into the tall standing building. This day, on September 11th, 2001, we are witnessing one of the most tragic accidents ever witnessed by the United States of America."
I'd always known my mom as the sensitive type. I'd remember a time we'd watched Titanic, and she'd cried when Leonardo DiCaprio died. Which I do admit, is a very sad movie.
But now, my mother had a look on her face… like she knew something that we didn't. Or, at least, that I didn't, since Helen would be too young to understand.
A hand fell slightly over her mouth, and she looked at her watch.
"8:59," she whispered. And her cell phone rang. She jumped at the sudden noise, and stood frozen for a few seconds before saying, "Take Helen to go play in her room. I'll answer this call."
I nodded and took Helen's hand, gathering her toys along with us, and taking them back to her room. When I came back, I'd found out my mother had been having a conversation with my father.
"Danny, what's going on? I'm scared."
His response over the phone could be heard by my ears, but barely audible at all.
"Danny, I need you to find a stairwell. Okay. Don't… take the elevator, use the stairwell. I need you to come home. Please Danny."
Another response.
"I don't care if they told you to stay or not Danny! Get home please!"
A look of pure grief spread across my face, and I'd feared the worse. Were my mother and father arguing at a time like this? What is going on around here? Everything, everywhere, is just so hectic!
I tried my best to block out the sound of their conversation, and the noises and angst voices and shouts and screams and yells coming from the TV didn't help one bit. But I didn't just want to go to my room and lock myself in while all of this was happening. If people were crying and screaming, then they were frightened, and if they were frightened and my dad may be involved with it somehow, then I needed to know what was going on, pronto.
So I decided to put on my cute-little-girl act to see if I could get any information out of her.
"Mommy, what's going on?"
She turned around quickly and forced a smile on her face through grit teeth.
"Nothing darling. Go play with Helen."
In my grave…
"Mommy, please tell me. I wanna know."
"No, I said. Please… just go play with Helen. Keep her busy."
But as my usual stubborn self, I'd refused to go anywhere until she told me what was going on. I decided to take a seat on the couch and wait for her to get done. As I did, however, my eyes kept glancing back at the TV, and the voices shrilled and beeped in my ears, like the noise of nails scraping slowly over a chalkboard. I lied down and hugged my knees to my chest, a few tears slipping down my cheeks. I wanted to fall asleep, but the thrill of whatever was going on, on TV, with my parents. It all kept me awake. And no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't get the people's panic out of my head, as well as their desperate pleas and cries.
But then again, I still can't today.
At about 9:30, my mom sat on the couch, almost crying hysterically. This was way too much to take in. How was I supposed to take this in? In the beginning, I didn't know how to react. I don't know why I'd said anything about Helen not being able to understand. I didn't understand. But now that I'm older, I know for sure how to react. Now that I know the truth behind all of this…
Helen, I'd thought, would probably have been asleep by then, taking a nap, I was sure. I, on the other hand, wouldn't be able to sleep possibly for another two weeks.
Mom's face was as red as a tomato, and she shook her head slowly, as the tears seemed to pool out of her eyes, and soaked into her shirt near her collar. I didn't blame her. In a span of one hour and eleven minutes, it went from just smoke coming out of one section of the building to coming from another, and the destruction and horror and tragedy was increasing at every passing minute. As time ticked away, I'd worried more and more about my father. Hadn't he'd been involved in this too?
The screaming had seemed to have gained its volume too, and sooner or later, you could see people starting to bust the windows of the tower open and actually… jumping out! Committing suicide and throwing their lives, or what's left of it, away.
"Oh my God," my mom cried, standing up and digging her face even closer to the screen. "Oh my God! I… I can't believe this!"
Her phone rang again, and she stood, fast as lightning, stepping away from the noise of the TV, and answering it. This time, she put the call on speaker.
"Hello?" she wiped however many tears were left in her eyes.
"Sam, are you three okay?"
"Yeah Danny, we're fine. And anyway, why are you asking us that? Aren't you coming home?"
"I… I can't Sammy. They're keeping me here."
"What! No. No, they can't do that! Danny, baby, please! You have to find a way back home! Please, please, please, please!"
"Sammy, I've tried. The stairwells are closed off, along with the elevators. There's no way down."
Mom sighed and cried once more, sniffling over the phone.
"I'm sorry Sam, but I…" he paused to sigh. "Tell the girls that… Daddy's not coming home tonight."
That line, right at that second, shattered all the hope that was left in my heart.
Tell the girls that Daddy's not coming home tonight.
Please Daddy. Say it's not true. Please come home!
Too bad my mind wasn't as hopeful as my heart was.
Mom paused for a second. Gasps and whimpers worked their way out of her lungs and through her mouth, and pretty soon, she was well near sobbing. No doubt she would start as soon as she hung up.
"Can I talk to the girls?" I heard Dad's voice ask.
Mom looked back up. "Yeah. Hold on."
She called for Helen, and her tiny little feet came out silently. Obviously, she was asleep, because her hair had been swept all over, with knots and tangles all around, and her eyes were bloodshot.
"Yeah?" her tiny, soft, sweet voice was in a hoarse whisper.
"Daddy wants to talk to you. And you, too, Makenzie."
I stepped up, Helen right near behind me, and I took Mom's phone out of her hands, kneeling down at Helen's height and putting the mic near our mouths.
"Hello?" I asked.
"Makenzie! Hi honey! How are you?"
"I'm… I'm okay…"
"Are you coming home soon Daddy?" Helen butted in. "We really miss you!"
"I…" Dad stopped, and yet again, another sigh of frustration was heard escaping his lips through the speaker. "…I… no. I'm sorry kiddos, but Daddy's not coming home tonight."
"Oh," Helen's smile faded, but lit back up like a match to the wick of a candle. "So… tomorrow?"
"No honey. Not tomorrow either?"
Helen finally got the memo that he wasn't ever coming home, and she began to see and feel wet liquid in her vision.
"But… but… Daddy…"
"I'm sorry Princess, but Daddy can't ever come home. The people here won't let him."
"But… but…"
All of a sudden, a rage had filled her. A large heatwave of anger flew through her soul and struck her in the heart. She'd went on a full blown-out rampage.
"It's not fair! It's not fair! How can they do that! They can't, they just can't! You're coming home Daddy, and gosh darn it, if I have to go down there myself and drag you back, I will!"
She threw her fists everywhere around her, and I had to back away to prevent from getting socked in the face. Like they always say: "Never stand in the way of a raging bull."
"Helen, Helen! Stop!" I yelled to cease her.
I grabbed her shoulders, turned her to face me, and shook them lightly, rattling her brain and making her slightly dizzy and confused. She was calm now, but still breathing heavily, with a trail of pants to follow.
"I'm sorry," she gasped and snuggled into my chest. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I whisper, pulling you closer.
Mom removed the phone from my grasp and continued a now private conversation with my father.
"Danny," she continued. His inaudible answer followed, but I'm pretty positive he'd said "Yes?" or "What?"
"I love you so much. I love you… so much."
His answer came afterward and pretty soon, a click could be heard, and my mom held the phone back down, sliding it into her pocket, and sinking to the ground in despair. She wept so hard, I'm sure her tears could well have filled a pool by now.
I didn't really know what to do to calm my own mother down. What was I supposed to do? She was always the one to calm me, but now I can't think of anything I could use to help her? What's wrong with me?
All I did was watch for only a quick second, and then I sank to the couch as well. This was getting out of hand. This was turning into some kind of horror movie, and we were the main stars! I turned the TV up a tiny bit and looked to the right to check on Mom. She was gone now, possibly putting Helen back to sleep. Either way, at least she wasn't sinking to the ground in her own pool of despair. When I turned my head back to the TV, it was not a second too late at all when I'd seen another tragic horror. A second plane, possibly flying in from the opposite direction that the first one had flown, had crashed into the second tower! I leaned up and watched unbelievably.
Oh my God! Did… Did that just happen? Oh my God! Oh… my… God!
And that was when I'd pieced it all together. This… this was no accident. This was madness. Some kind of senseless massacre. Or it was possibly the two words that I still dare to say to this day: terrorist attack.
As if on pure instinct, I called for my mom. "Mommy!"
In less than a second, she was all ready facing me, completely out of Helen's room. "What is it-"
She didn't even finish her sentence. And nine times out of ten, I wouldn't have either.
It was all clear to her, just as it was to me. The second plane had attacked the second tower. It was just as understood to her. This was an attack.
And my father was right in the middle of it…
10:57. That's the time. It's been hours since I've seen Dad. And a little over an hours since I've talked to him.
His final call had came around this time.
Mom took what might have been the last call she'd ever hear from her husband and sighed before speaking.
"Hello?"
"Sam… everyone's going… insane."
"Insane? Insane how?" she reached her hand near her face and bit her nails.
"People are… starting to jump… out of the windows. They're all… committing… suicide."
"Oh Danny, please. It's not too late! Come home, my God Danny, please!" My mom was collapsing now, and her heart was probably slowing its rate.
"I can't Sam. I'm barged in. Half of us are dead. The other half… either wounded or too frightened to move."
"Oh my God. I just remembered… the second plane! Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I'd seen the second plane… this is a terrorist attack, isn't it?"
"I bet so Danny, I bet so."
"Osama Bin Laden is probably behind this," he growled.
"Do you want to speak with Makenzie one more time?"
"Yes please. Put her on."
Mom handed me the phone and gave me a small, sad smile. I held it up to my ear, took a deep breath and began.
"Hello?"
"Hey sweetie. Are you doing okay?"
"Yeah… I'm fine. Are you?"
"Uh… no. I… I'm really not going to come home. Ever."
"I know Daddy… I know."
I hesitated and wiped an escaped tear from my chin.
"Daddy."
"Yes?"
"Do you really love me?"
"Of course I do, why would you ask that?"
"I just want to know."
There was silence for a second, and then Dad broke it.
"You know," he continued, trying to make me feel better. "When I was young, you're mother was a Goth."
"Really?" I choked a laugh.
He chuckled. "Yeah. She grew out of it by college. But ask her one day, and I'm sure she'll tell you about it."
"How did you two fall in love?"
"Honestly, we've been best friends since second grade. We started dating in sophomore year of high school. Our first kiss was on a hill I'd taken her up on. I even missed my own assembly for it."
"Really? You're so sweet Dad."
He smirked. "Yeah, I know."
I was still again. Why was I being so distant from my own father?
"Makenzie, I need you to do me a favor while I'm gone."
"Anything Daddy," I began to sob. "Anything."
"Be a good big sister for Helen. Always be there for her. Help her, no matter what, and keep her out of trouble."
"Okay. I promise. I promise Daddy."
"Tell Helen that I love her."
"I will Daddy."
"Okay. Goodbye honey. I love you so-"
Then the phone cut off. A shock of fear swept through my mind, and I panicked on the inside.
"Daddy?"
No answer.
"Daddy?"
I dared look at the TV, but when I did, my heart fell completely out of my body, and my soul felt as if it had left my body. Because right when my eyes landed on that screen, I'd seen that the towers were now collapsing. Falling down completely, debris and all. I dropped the phone and sank to the grown, falling against the floor, and sobbing hard. My mom eyed the TV like a deer in the headlights, stunned. Couldn't move at all. And I listened as the screams became more high-pitched and shrilled. And I listened to the debris and glass and metal all fall against the cement. I couldn't help but imagine that my dad's body was one of the ones that were currently slapping the ground. My dad had died. I had just seen my dad's death, except this is no Final Destination movie. It's all real.
No one will ever know when someone they love dies. So that makes it really important to give as much love and affection as ever. I didn't know when my dad would've died, but I wish I could go back and hug him one more time. We never found his body, but we still kept his records. His birth certificate, social security number, credit card ID, etc. He will always exist in our hearts. But we'll always have to face the facts that it was his turn to go. Even though I grieve today, one generation later, I'll never forget the day my dad died. September 11th, 2001… the day the Earth stopped moving.
*I OWN NOTHING BUT THIS PLOTLINE!*
(No OCC or DP character was harmed in the making of this story.)
PleaseR&R,
DA98 : )