Author's Note:
...Yeah, I'm putting this up LATE. I had it done in time for the anniversary, I swear! I just didn't upload it here till now. It's supposed to read like a transcript of a speech, by the way.
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[Alfred F. Jones walks slowly onto the stage, looking a great deal more pale and lethargic than usual. He waits for the crowd to quiet down after his entrance, then says to someone backstage:]
Hey, can you pull out a seat for me? Your hero needs to sit down for this one.
[Someone pulls out a chair and brings it to Alfred, and he sits down.]
Thanks.
I'm someone who knows September 11, 2001 more intimately than… almost anyone else. I say almost because not even my account could possibly even come close to the accounts of the people that were actually at the site of the attack, and definitely not even touching the most vivid accounts you'll never hear- the stories of those who died.
I can still try to feel how much pain the victims and survivors went and are going through, though. As their nation, I feel their pain literally and figuratively.
On that day, eight years ago, I woke up like every other American did, expecting a normal day. Okay, my normal day probably isn't anything like your normal day, but you know what I mean, right? Anyway, I was off doing one of the things I do best: pestering Arthur. I'd dragged Matthew along, too. It was kind of a guy's day out, really. We were just goofing around in Arthur's house when the first plane hit, and pain slammed into my right temple, making me drop my drink. I don't think I need to say anything about the symbolism of the timing of the glass shattering, do I? That had to be the mother of all coincidences. Things like that happen when you're a nation. As I was saying, after the glass fell, the pain started to go everywhere. What happens in one part of America definitely doesn't stay there, of course. The news of the first impact must have started being broadcasted nationwide, so now people were feeling the hurt all over the country. Arthur was about to say something snide like always, but he shut up when he saw me hit the floor, trying to prop myself up on all fours against the searing pain. Matthew was crouched down next to me, frantically calling my name and demanding to know what was wrong, but all I could do was scream back, "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!" I broke out in a sweat and started to see spots after a while. Both Arthur and Matthew were shouting at me now, but I was too out of it to hear what they were saying. It got so bad that I actually threw up a few times. I still don't think Arthur has forgiven me for puking on his carpet, even considering the circumstances.
When the second plane hit the second tower, I started to see and hear flashes of events happening all over the country.
I saw the massive, fiery explosion of the plane's impact and the clouds of smoke it belched out.
I saw firemen and policemen trying to gather survivors.
I heard people screaming and crying, both at the site of the attack and nearly everywhere else.
I heard friends calling each other on the phone, urging each other to turn on the news and see the horror for themselves.
I saw teachers telling children that no, they would not be able to play outside today, even though it was sunny out.
The yelling, the panicking, the chaos all came together in one blurry image and incoherent sound. It got to be too much for me, and I blacked out just as a third plane crashed into the Pentagon.
When I came to, I was in bed, with Matthew and Arthur standing to my left and right, and the TV showing the ultimate wake-up call: Ground Zero. I wanted the room to just be quiet so that I could take that in, but it couldn't be, and that was my fault. I just couldn't stop crying.
[A pause. Alfred takes a deep breath, adjusts himself in his seat, then continues.]
The pain didn't end then, and it's not ending now.
For every year after that, around the week of the anniversary of the attacks, the pain comes back a bit and I start feeling really anxious and high-strung, like I've been wound up too tight. When it gets really bad, I call up Matthew or Arthur and talk it out with them. Sometimes Arthur will act like a jerk about me calling him or even hang up on me, but here's the funny thing. For all the complaining he does when I call him like that, he still listens to me anyway. Doesn't say much back, but he still listens.
Matthew, on the other hand, never gives me any trouble. He's always there to hear me out and calm me down. He stays totally patient even when I'm screaming at him in gibberish because I'm so keyed up.
Matthew was there for me this morning when the flashbacks began.
This morning began the same way as every September 11th has for the past seven years. I woke up at exactly 8:46 AM- the time the first tower was hit- with that same pain shooting through my body. It wasn't long before I was a shaking, sweating, nervous mess, and I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet. I couldn't bring myself to do much else but wait the remaining seventeen minutes for the second tower to be "hit" and for the flashbacks to come back in full force. The same images and sounds came back, this time with some updated views of the grieving families of the victims. In the end, it all settled into one blur like it did before. I pushed myself through my sensory overload and did what no hero should be afraid to do: I called for support.
I'm pretty sure I woke Matthew up, 'cause he sounded really out of it when he first answered the phone. But he still knew it was me right away. He didn't say "Hello?" when he answered the phone. He said, "Alfred?"
I immediately unloaded on him, bawling my eyes out and rambling about how much it hurt, what I was seeing and hearing, and "Oh-my-God-is-it-happening-again." After about two minutes of that, he took control and started shouting for me to calm down. You know, normally no one ever hears Matthew do anything, but when he's got something to worry about, he can be INCREDIBLY loud. Anyway, he said to me, "Alfred, get a hold of yourself. It's not happening all over again. You're going to be alright." That got me to settle down a bit, but not for long. I looked at my clock, saw that it was 9:37, and promptly lost my head again. This was when the third plane crashed into the Pentagon and when I passed out while it was happening, but I didn't get the opportunity to do that this time.
Matthew stayed on the phone with me for another hour, talking me through the collapse of the South and North Towers. The way everything was timed… Just as I thought I was stable enough to hang up and go about my business, another event would roll around and I'd start spazzing and spasming again. A few minutes after 10:28- the collapse of the North Tower- Matthew said something that put me back together right away.
"Don't you have a speech to give today? Come on, Alfred, pull yourself together. Those people are counting on you to give that speech. You've got to get out of bed today, Al. Your people need you."
God, was he ever right. Thanks a ton, Matt. You're the best brother a hero can ask for. I mean it.
[Alfred pauses, sighs, and seems to droop a little. He eventually sits back up and continues speaking.]
I'm sorry, guys. I'm not feeling so well right now.
I need to wrap this up and then go lay down for a bit. But know this: I'm gonna rest for an hour or two, and then I'm going to get back up on my feet like nothing ever happened…
'Cause that's the kind of nation I am!
[Applause and cheering from the crowd. Alfred slowly stands up and walks offstage, smiling broadly at the crowd as he does so.]