I don't usually write serious things, but today I did. Please know that this is not meant to insult or offend anyone at all. It is simply a story to give you a look into the possible life of two people in the 9/11 attacks. This is not a romance story though there is a bit of romance in it. I hope I portrayed the day as accurately as possible, though I was not there and can not be sure of every detail. Please review and remember the people whose lives were changed forever on that tragic day.
Arthur Kirkland rolled out of bed earlier than usual. His live in boyfriend, Alfred, had forgotten to get the dry cleaning. Again. So he had been planning to get up and go get it before work, hopefully not waking the American still sound asleep next to him. Arthur had moved to America two years before, to work in a bank while he saved up for law school. Alfred was a fireman he had met in a bar, who had flirted with him the entire night until Arthur couldn't say no. They had dated for about three months before they kissed; even longer before anything further.
Alfred F. Jones was a light sleeper, so the moment he heard the door creak closed his eyes flew open. Arthur never woke up before he had to. Unless he was trying to do something he didn't want Alfred to know about. He heard the shower turn on and back off a few minutes later. Squinting at the clock he saw that the time was 6:54. Moaning, he pulled himself out of bed and made his way into the kitchen, where a shaggy blonde man in a suite was pouring himself tea.
"Why are you up so early, Arthur? You don't have to be at work until 9 today." Arthur smiled weakly and placed a cup of coffee in front of Alfred as he sunk to the kitchen counter. "It's nothing, don't worry about it." Alfred frowned. That was what Arthur said when he was disappointed. Not mad. Disappointed. For Alfred, that made him feel worse. "What did I do wrong this time?" Arthur grabbed an apple from the fridge and mumbled something thru it. "Mhjkkmhmh." "What did you say?"
Arthur wiped his mouth with a napkin while Alfred munched on a donut. "You forgot to pick up the dry cleaning." Alfred grimaced and set his head down on the counter. "Always. I always do that." Arthur shrugged. "Maybe if you stopped for a minute and used your brain you wouldn't forget." Alfred put his head back up and scowled. "Well if you could remind me once in awhile, it wouldn't be a problem." Arthur sipped his tea and made a haphazard gesture towards the refrigerator. There were three sticky notes saying 'Alfred- dry cleaning.' 'Monday Sept 10- laundry.' 'Alfred. Dry cleaning. Don't forget.'
"You never listen to me. No matter how many times I tell you something." Alfred tried to come up with an intelligent excuse or retort, but couldn't. Instead he decided to pick a fight. "Well, I can't help if I'm forgetful. I'm that kind of person. So learn to live with it." Arthur was losing his patience. "I don't have to 'learn to live with it.' You need to think more often." It was too early in the morning for this. "Arthur, look I'm sorry and all that but get over it." "I didn't start this, you did!" "I don't think we should be playing the blame game right now!" "How old are you Alfred!?"
The two men were face to face now, inches apart, red faced and narrow eyed. They took a breath and Arthur back down slightly. "Look, I'm just going to get the dry cleaning myself and go to work. Have a fabulous day." Thru the cloud of sleepiness Alfred could hear the sarcasm, but couldn't respond before the door to their apartment slammed. Alfred rolled his eyes and huffed, turning to the kitchen sink. He had to be at work at 8am today, so he had a little time.
Stupid Arthur. He was always expecting way too much, to always be perfect. Well, he was sooo sorry if he was just a normal human being. Still fuming from their fight, he turned on the tv they kept on the counter to the news station, moving to the fridge to get more food. He could hear the pretty woman on the screen saying. "Good Morning New York City. It is 7:12 on this beautiful Tuesday morning of September 11, 2001."
Arthur worked in the South Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City, New York. On a normal Tuesday he wouldn't have gotten to work until after nine. His boss was very easy going and let his employees come in anytime they wanted. Arthur would leave the apartment at about nine and get to work at nine fifteen. But today... he couldn't wait to leave. Alfred was so empty headed sometimes, and when he felt insulted he got defensive. Very defensive. True, Arthur was going to get the laundry, but it really didn't take all that long. It wasn't even seven thirty when he got back in his car. So instead of dropping the suites he had picked up off at home before going to work, he decided to drive straight there and simply get there earlier.
Working for a bank wasn't hard, at least not for Arthur. It was somewhat below his intelligence level (or so he personally believed) but he couldn't yet afford law school. He was only twenty five and knew he had all the time in the world to save up and eventually get there. As to why he was in America, England had gotten too overbearing for him. Three very successful brothers, an obnoxious bratty younger brother, and an overprotective mother was a bit too much for him to handle. As much as he loved his home country, he had yet to regret coming to the Land of the Free.
Arthur parked in the spot he parked in every day, saying hello to the parking attendant. "A little early today, aren't we Mr. Kirkland?" Arthur gave him a tired smile as he waited for the elevator. "Had to get out of the house." He was the only one on the elevator all the way to the 81st floor. It was just another boring Tuesday, taking phone calls and staring at a computer screen. When he sat down at his desk, there was one other person already there. A secretary, a new employee. What was her name? Emma? Ella? Eileen. That was it. The clock on the wall said 8:19.
Alfred burst into work at exactly eight o'clock. A second later and the chief would have had his head on a silver platter for sure. He may have had plenty of time to get ready, but Alfred had been distracted by thoughts of Arthur. He felt bad about how they had left that morning, but didn't think he was really in the wrong, at least not totally, so he shouldn't be the one to apologize. Still. It didn't feel right. There was something in the air that day that made him on edge, made him want to pick up the phone and tell Arthur he was sorry. But he didn't.
The minutes ticked by and nothing spectacular happened. Alfred sat around with the other firemen, joking and enjoying the morning. It was such a beautiful day. Looking up at the sky, Alfred decided he would call Arthur and ask him to have lunch in Central Park with him. That should patch everything up. Arthur loved the park. Suddenly a loud crash rang thru the building, shaking everyone slightly. The clock on the wall said 8:46. No one knew what had caused it, and people mostly laughed it off. Those who didn't were running towards the window, pointing at the horizon. Alfred was still thinking about lunch and what he was going to say to Arthur when he next saw him. It was the thought of this plan that was on the American's mind when the first shout to turn the tv on came from the other room. One of the other men got up and flipped the news on. The clock on the wall said 8:50. And one of the Twin Towers was on fire.
Alfred's first thought was of Arthur. It was before nine. He shouldn't be there yet. But he left early that day after their fight, meaning he could be there. Arthur. The next thought came after he heard the announcer on the tv say that that North Tower was hit. Arthur was in the South Tower. Thank heaven. In that moment of panic, everything he wished he could have said had flashed thru his mind, the anxiety and fear over taking the rational part of his brain. But hearing that Arthur was fine brought him back to real life. The next thought was probably what most people were thinking. What was going on?
A plane had flown into the tower. Thats what they were saying over the radio now. They had suited up moments after seeing the crash reported on tv. They were listening to the garbled reports on the police scanner as they raced to the World Trade Center to help evacuate people. Why would a plane crash into the Twin Towers? Was it some horrible malfunction? Was anyone hurt? It would be a miracle if there was no one hurt. Not in an inferno like the one coming out of the North Tower.
It hit high up they saw when they pulled into the lot, sirens blaring. Alfred saw people coming out from the building, covering their mouths and coughing. The time on the clock in the fire engine said 8:59. Many firemen were already inside the building, rushing to get the people from the upper floors out safely from the flames. Alfred was told to stand back for a few minutes and stay on communications. His superiors were setting up bases in the lobby of the building. No one was evacuating the South Tower.
Alfred sat in the truck, talking over the radio and directing people to whom they should talk to. He had a perfect view of the tower that Arthur was in. And he had a perfect view of the passenger plane that flew just above him, too low, and slammed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center. The time that Alfred's heart, along with the rest of America's hearts, stopped was 9:03. The United States of America was under attack.
Arthur had been on the phone with a client when the first plane hit. He hadn't seen it fly in, but he had heard it. The entire building rattled like there had been an earthquake and a huge sonic boom had echoed thru the air. He dropped the phone and ran to the window in the conference room where his co workers that were there were gathered, pointing in horror at the North Tower. There were huge plumes of smoke trailing into the air and from their vantage point they could see fire. So much fire. Everyone was screaming and they began rushing down the stairs to the lobby, intent on evacuating.
Arthur followed, but his thoughts were on Alfred. Hundreds of firemen would be there to put out those flames. Would he? It looked so terrifying. So dangerous. The clock on the wall said 8:51. They heard an announcement thru the building telling people to remain in their offices. Everything was going to be fine. Many complained, afraid of falling debris and the fire. But they all went back to work on the 81st floor. They had the news on now. They were listening to the report that it had been a plane that crashed into the building. A plane? Why?
Out of the corner of Arthur's eye, he saw a plane. Another plane. A large, passenger plane. It was coming directly at his window, though it was still far away. He pointed and shouted that there was another plane. People looked in horror, afraid the North Tower was going to be hit again. It wasn't. "Another plane! It's coming towards us! Oh my God, it's..." The clock on the wall, just before it fell off and shattered into the rest of the ruins of the 81st floor, said 9:03.
Arthur. Arthur was in that tower. He was probably on a floor near where it hit. Was he... No. He couldn't be. Not now. There were people jumping from the first tower now. The radio signals coming in from the firemen were static and garbled. Alfred was dragged away to make statements to news stations, trying to explain the situation and keep the public calm. It was hard to keep others calm when you weren't. Alfred had yet to enter a building, but he knew he would be soon. There were so many people to save. Not enough firemen in the city.
Arthur started breathing again at 9:04. The room was filled with smoke and he couldn't breathe or move. A desk had him pinned to the floor and his eyes watered from the smoke and from pain. It was so hot. He could see fire to his left, and a strange looking door lay on top of the desk, keeping his down. A door from a plane.
Everything was fuzzy, and he seemed to be seeing doubles, but he could remember that moments before a blinding light and searing heat had taken over his senses, he had seen a plane. They should have evacuated when they had the chance. Besides the crackling of fire and falling of office equipment and ceilings and floors, it was silent. No one was screaming. Either they were dead or they were struggling to breathe as much as Arthur. He finally managed to free his leg, opening his mouth in a silent gasp of pain. Blood was gushing from a point on his leg that a bone was protruding from.
After too long of a time, he desperately started crawling. Crawling towards the door to the stairways. He couldn't stand, couldn't even imagine putting pressure on his leg. But he knew he had to get out of the building. The heat and smoke was already too much for his fragile human existence to handle. So Arthur crawled blindly in the direction he hoped was the way out, all the time thinking of Alfred. Alfred, the fire fighter that would have to respond to this disaster. Was he worried about Arthur? Did he think Arthur could be worried about him? It seemed foolish, to be thinking about someone else's safety at a time like this. But it was all he could think about to convince himself to drag his way thru the rubble, over unmoving bodies, and past torturous infernos.
He reached the hall with the stairs. The plane hadn't reached that far. It was untouched besides fire and the shake of the building. There was a clock on the wall again. It said 9:16. At 9:16, Arthur began to make his way down the eighty one flights of stairs to the bottom of the South Tower.
Alfred could barely breathe. Arthur. There was no way he would lose Arthur, not today, not this way. So he had joined a group of men going into the South Tower to help evacuate. The bottom floors were chaotic, but few people were hurt. There were people jumping again, now from both towers. Jumping to their deaths. How bad was it up there that people decided that falling to oblivion was a better way to go? Didn't they even have a chance? That was what scared Alfred the most.
"The plane hit between floors 77 and 85." Arthur was on eighty one. "It has been engulfed in flames and we have no idea if there are any survivors from the plane or the floors. But we have to check. Suite up and start up the stairs. Take down anyone that needs help, don't leave a single person alone. Good luck." The superior waved them off, and Alfred began his climb into the tower, hoping against hope he would find Arthur, save him. He had become a fireman to help people, and now Arthur needed his help more than ever. He prayed he wouldn't be too late.
Their pace was agonizingly slow. They found people in the stairways every few feet, coughing, bleeding, wheezing, crying, screaming, burning. They would then have to send to men down with the person or people, all the way to the bottom, and then start back up. ALfred was on floor 24 when he was sent back down with a fellow officer, to escort two women and five men to waiting ambulances. He did so, though he ached to get higher into the burning tower, to find Arthur. When his feet touched the lobby floor, the clock on the wall said 9:56. He walked out the doors, swarmed by hundreds of other people trying to escape the building. He was behind an ambulance when the clock struck 9:58. Seconds later, the South Tower of the World Trade Center collapsed.
Floor 72. Floor 68. Floor 61. Floor 56. Floor by floor, Arthur made his way to the bottom. His arms were burned and his leg sent shots of pain up his leg with every movement. It dragged behind him, useless in his plight. Floor 49. Would he see Alfred ever again? Floor 45. Was Alfred even ok? Floor 37. Would he make it to the bottom? Floor 33. The pain was... too much. Just as he slumped against a rail in the staircase, he felt someone lift him, heard shouts of, 'He's alive.' 'Bad condition.' The move down the stairs was faster now. Floor 28. Floor 21. Floor 17. Floor 12. Floor 6. Lobby.
Arthur was rushed to an ambulance, quickly strapped to a gurney and given oxygen. The time on the medic's watch said 9:56. He could see the tower thru lidded eyes, right behind the little window in the back of the ambulance. The fire was raging. People were coughing, screaming, crying. He let his eyes close for a moment, praying Alfred was ok. When he next opened his eyes the time was 9:59. And the South Tower of the World Trade Center was gone. In it's place was a huge dust cloud, quickly approaching the ambulance. The medic slammed the door shut, but Arthur and him both looked out the window at the debris. They could see nothing.
Alfred had been pulled into the ambulance by the medic with the woman he had been with. They closed the doors against the dust, debris, and ash that came crashing down as the tower collapsed. They weren't too close to the building; all the emergency vehicles had been kept at a safe distance. Arthur. The tower had collapsed with Arthur inside... no. He got out. He had to. And if he didn't...? No.
They drove down the streets, thru the dust and debris swarming the streets. Alfred knew he would have to go back and help save people. That was his job, it was what he wanted to do. But he couldn't get out of the ambulance yet, keeping the patient safe. The moment they got clear of the dust, the ambulance stopped and Alfred jumped out. People were screaming, pointing, crying. He had only seen the disaster from right underneath it. Now he was looking at it from the outside. The fires were jumping towards the sky from the building that still stood. And you could barely see it thru the smoke, dirt, and dust.
You couldn't tell the South Tower was gone. People thought that pieces of the building had fallen, not the whole thing. Alfred began running back towards the buildings but was yanked back by another officer. "Stay back, we need people back here to control the crowds. Please." "No, I have to go back!" "Stay back!" Finally, Alfred gave in and started trying to calm down the crowds. He saw a clock in a shattered shop window. The time was 10:19. Every thought of Alfred's was of Arthur. Was he alive? He could no longer allow himself to pretend that there was no way he was dead. He had to admit it to himself.
And so he thought about what he would do if Arthur didn't make it. He thought of how he would live his life. It had been two years since he had last been alone, without the grumpy British man. He hadn't realized how dull life had been before. Training to be a "hero". Sleeping, eating, hanging with friends. And then there was Arthur. A challenge, something completely new and unknown. He had tried so hard to turn Alfred down. Night after night. Finally, he had given into the American's charms, but that didn't make him any less of a challenge.
He was always making him clean, organize, and plan. It wasn't something Alfred had done before, and the sudden change was... Difficult. But the fact of the matter was that Arthur had changed his life, changed him. There was no simple time or place that changed him. Each day Arthur's quirky attitude and strange outlook on life had made him a different person. A better person. Alfred continued to push people back from the buildings. The time was 10:28 now. Suddenly, a rumbling came from behind him. They all turned around and watched as the North Tower of the World Trade Center fell.
Arthur was miles away when the second tower fell. He watched it on tv in a hospital waiting room. There were way too many people in the hospitals now, from both the inside of the towers, and the people on the ground. Arthur wasn't in critical condition anymore, but his leg was being tended to. People kept telling him things, but he didn't hear it. He sat staring at the tv, saying nothing. Alfred, you better not be anywhere near there.
When they got him into a hospital room, there were four other people. One was coughing, lungs filled with smoke like Arthur. Another had been hit by falling debris and had a nasty gash on his head. The other two weren't too injured, just shaken and bruised. Arthur was in the worst state. He had a broken leg, three cracked ribs, and the smoke had nearly suffocated him. He knew he was tired. His body was on the verge of shutting down. But all he could do was stare at the tv screens and cough. He hung onto every word.
Alfred was there somewhere. Alive or... Otherwise. He was saving people, or he was trying. That's what he did. He was a hero. Arthur had claimed not to like him at first. But the second he saw the American, he was enamored. The man was charismatic, electric and larger than life. He was messy, disorganized and not always the brightest. But he was so perfect. They had left on such horrible terms that morning. Tears start falling down his face, and soon he is thrashing about. His voice won't work, and he can do nothing but cough. The nurses rush to stop him, and he tried his best to reach the doorway, to find Alfred F. Jones.
Eventually the doctors sedated him to keep him from hurting himself. He slipped into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the plane crashing into his floor, the tower falling, and Alfred standing beneath it as it collapsed, stealing him from view, never to be seen alive again.
The days crawled by. Firemen could go to the station for short periods of time, but never home. They searched the rubble of the towers, looking for survivors. The day after, they found 11 survivors, including six firemen and three policemen. Each day, fewer and fewer people were found. Alfred was terrified. He had heard nothing about Arthur in over a week. He had to fear the worst. Not because he wanted to. Because his mind refused to give him hope. He knew that if he allowed himself hope, it would hurt all the more when he found out.
So he kept searching thru the rubble, hoping he wouldn't see a mop of burned blonde hair and big green eyes with no life left in them. He did his job, but nothing more. He gave hope to others, but none to himself. Finally, finally. September 19 came and one of the people in his unit told him to go home. He knew that Arthur had worked in the building and that he needed to know. So Alfred took off, returning to the first place he thought Arthur would return to. Their apartment.
When he arrived, there was no one there. He couldn't stop the crushing weight on his heart. He walked slowly thru the house, touching the familiar items. It was far enough away that the dust and shutters from the falling buildings hadn't moved a thing. It looked just like it had the day they had left. There was an apple on the table, rotting now. Alfred had forgotten to throw it away when he left. The cup of coffee Arthur had left behind was cold of course, but still sitting on the counter. The hat that had fallen from the coat rack as Arthur had slammed the door on the way out was on the floor. Nothing had changed. But everything had.
Where else could he be? Nowhere. He wouldn't go anywhere else. Not if he was looking for Alfred. The fire stations were not allowing civilians anywhere near them. Police stations were being set up in buildings that had been destroyed by the towers' collapse. Suddenly, the last string of hope hit him. The hospital. A hospital. He would check every one of them, hoping for the best. So he did. Alfred rushed to the nearest hospital and begged the receptionists to tell him anything. It took hours to get their attention, and when he did, no one knew of Arthur Kirkland. So he went to the next hospital.
It was the fourth hospital he visited that he found what he was looking for. Alfred was following a nurse around, begging her for information. She kept saying to wait outside, wait for his turn. He's about to leave, completely dejected, when a British voice cuts thru the hall. "I'm perfectly fine, you idiotic excuse for a medical professional. I have to find someone! Please, I have to leave!" Alfred couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. If that was who he thought it was...
Arthur was struggling again. It had been more than a week the doctors had kept him there, not allowing him to go home. He knew the first place Alfred would go if he was alive would be home. He needed to be there. He had to be there. Just incase. So every day he fought. He would calmly take his medication, let the doctors and nurses look him over, change bandages, force him to drink water. The moment they were done he would ask if he could go home. If the answer was no, he would try to leave on his own. The answer was always no.
And so, on September 19, Arthur was fighting again. He was pressing against the doctor that was holding him down, and trying to wiggle his arm out of the nurse's grasp. "Please, Mr Kirkland. Calm down. We need to give you this. The sooner you comply, the sooner you can leave!" "Look, Doc. He's simply too stubborn to comply. I would stop trying if I was you." Arthur stopped fighting at the sound of the American voice that came from the doorway.
Alfred F. Jones was leaning in the door frame, smirking. His eyes showed the truth though. They were shining with joy, over taking a long lasting look of despair. They surely mirrored Arthur's eyes. The doctor began to speak, began to tell Alfred to leave, but Arthur forced him out of the way and held out his arms to the firefighter. It took less than a second for Alfred to envelope the smaller man in a bone crushing hug, nuzzling his head into Arthur's shoulder. He placed one hand on his head and pressed his cheeks to his hair. "Arthur. Arthur thank God you're ok." Arthur arms were weak around his waist, but they were there.
Tears ran down Arthur's cheeks as he pressed his face into Alfred's chest, pulling on his leather jacket, trying to get him closer. He smelled like fire and ash and hospitals. He shuddered as Alfred ran his hands thru his hair, pulling his closer. Alfred was talking, but he only really heard one thing. "I'm sorry." Arthur pulled back to look at Alfre in the eyes. "What do you have to be sorry for?" Alfred runned his shining blue eyes under his glasses. "I forgot the dry cleaning. God, if I hadn't you wouldn't have been in the office when... When..." Arthur shushed him with a finger over his mouth, shaking his head.
"Never. Never say that. This wasn't you. It wasn't me. We don't know who it was yet. But we will. Someday." He pulled him back in for another hug, feeling Alfred shake with horror and relief. It wasn't ok yet. Not even nearly. But it could be again. Someday.
On September 11 2001, 3000 people died in America from terrorist attacks by the organization Al Qaeda. Four planes were hijacked from various east coast airports. Two were flown into the Twin Towers in New York City, one into the Pentagon in Washington DC, and another that was possibly planned to attack either the Capitol Building, or the White House, though it was by taken over by the hostages and crashed into a field in Pennsylvania.
We can never forget the people that lost their lives or lives dear to them that day. The American way of life was assaulted that day, taking away life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. But America has stayed strong, rebuilding from the attacks that changed history. We can not forget. But we can rebuild. So for the people whose lives were changed that day, we honor you. Thank you for being strong and showing that even in the face of one of the worst tragedies in American history.