Lester's POV

Shit! I can't believe I slept through my alarm. I haven't overslept in six years. I need to be all the way downtown by nine. It's never going to happen. I mean, it's already eight. It's going to take me at least thirty to forty-five minutes to get to the World Trade Center from my apartment in Astoria, Queens. I jump out of bed and into the shower. I take a quick three-minute shower. I shave, brush my teeth, and fix my hair before putting on a pair of navy blue suit pants, a teal button-down shirt, a matching checkered tie, and finally grab my jacket. I pull on navy dress socks and shove my feet into my dress shoes. My watch is the last to go on. I grab my messenger bag after checking to make sure my presentation is there. My laptop is also in my bag. I grab my keys and leave my apartment. I'm about to walk up to the subway when I realize I don't have my power cord. I don't think my battery has enough juice. Fuck! I need to turn back.

I quickly run-up to my apartment, grabbing my charging cable and my phone, which I left sitting next to it. Today is not a good day. I quickly head back to the N subway. I get up the stairs to the platform, missing the train by about three seconds. Bastard conductor. I don't understand why they find joy in shutting the doors on commuters' faces. Now, I'm stuck waiting for the next one, which will hopefully be quick. I glance at my watch, seeing that it's already eight-thirty. Fuck. I'm so going to be fired.

Finally, at eight-thirty five another train pulls in. I squeeze myself on between a bunch of men and stand as the subway moves. We reach the Macy's/Herald Square Station and suddenly stop. The conductor comes over the PA system, in a typically garbled voice, "ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be a fire at the World Trade Center. As a precaution, no trains are operating below 14th Street at this time. Please exit here to get a bus or a cab to take you to your final destination."

Shit. My ass is cooked. I squeeze off the train and head above ground. I get a signal and call my boss.

"Tyler Hemmingway."

"Tyler, it's Lester Santos. I'm stuck at Herald Square. The train isn't going any further. I'm not going to make the meeting."

"Oh, thank God you're okay. Lester, the World Trade Center, was hit by two planes. I'm so glad to hear that you weren't there."

I feel myself getting light-headed but manage to stay upright. "Was Fitzsimmons there yet?"

"No, he was running late as well. Listen, go home. Get out of Manhattan while you can."

Once I hang up, I glance downtown, watching the smoke billow in the sky. I can't help but stare. Then, I hear a car honk. That breaks me from my reverie. I shake my head and begin to walk uptown, hoping to find a bus along the way, but from the gridlock on the streets, I think my best bet is walking. I pass the entrance to Macy's and decide to go in. I can't walk to Astoria in these shoes. I quickly head to the shoe department and grab a pair of Nikes in my size. I pay for them with cash. I put the sneakers on and my dress shoes in the box. I decide to get a backpack, as well. I put all my items in the bag and put it on. I start my trek uptown, hoping to be able to walk across the 59th Street bridge. Once I get on the Queens side, I'll call my buddy to pick me up.

A/N: Firstly, I partially rewrote chapters 26 and 28 to hopefully better reflect life at West Point. Thank you to those who graciously offered me a glimpse into life at the military academies while criticizing my lack of authenticity. It's receiving constructive criticism like that, which makes me a better writer. Thank you.

Secondly, these last few POVs regarding 9/11 were inspired by real first-hand accounts from the day. Mariela's are from about three different teachers who I have met and worked with throughout my career. They were teaching in two different schools, both downtown. The first, the school that Mariela is working at is Stuyvesant High School. That school was used as a triage site and was closed for almost one month following the attack. The other teacher worked at Murray Bertram High School, which is next to 1 Police Plaza (1PP), the headquarters of the NYPD. The story of those teachers who had to stay strong for their students is a story that has not been told. There are numerous teachers and students from the schools in lower Manhattan who have suffered and died as a result of being there on 9/11. In September 2019, the NYC Dept. of Education sent letters to 19,000 former students and 3,000 teachers who were in school in Lower Manhattan on that day. BMCC, a community college downtown, sent letters to 20,000 people who were students there in 2001-2002. All 42,000 people are eligible for compensation under the 9/11 Victim's Fund. These individuals were not first responders. They did not leave their home that morning to go face the destruction. They simply went to work or went to school. I believe that their story is often not told when we talk about 9/11.

Fortunately, I was nowhere near Manhattan on that fateful day, but I was teaching in a High School on Long Island. I was teaching tenth graders. We were not allowed to tell the students what was happening. Finally, at about eleven, the principal addressed all the students, but it was challenging to be business as usual when there was a catastrophe a short distance away. The opening scene, with Steph and crew watching on TV, is my recollection from that day. I hope that we, as a nation, never forget how our world changed in a few short hours. I, myself, remember the feeling scared to go to stadiums or concerts for some time after. All afterschool activities at my school were canceled for three weeks, baseball stopped, and the images on tv every night were of Ground Zero. We had a bad thunderstorm a few nights after, and I remember thinking that LI was being bombed, crying in bed, scared. It was truly a nightmare time, especially for those of us near NYC. These chapters are dedicated to all those who lost their lives on 9/11 or as a result of 9/11. May they all RIP.