Wednesday September 12
Eric spent the last few hours sitting at his office desk, across from Denise Chavez, a fluent spanish speaker, with poor English. She tried to speak threw her heavy tears, but it was pointless.
Denise took may deep breaths, and finally came together.
"He was eightteen years old."
Eric nodded.
"He want to work in New York, with his brothers. I told him big city not good for young boy, but he never listen to me.
"He, was placed in twin towers. He want to run his business there with Danny, my oldest."
"Did you ever visit him?" Eric asked.
"Yes, many times. But only in is apartment. I try and try to keep it nice, but they boys were always messy." She cleared her throat. "I never got the gut to really see his work. It was too high. He was on the sixtieth floor, and I don't like heights."
"Don't feel bad, I don't like being up high either." Just then, the Reverend knew it was wrong thing to say.
"Thanks a lot, but that was the place mi son died. I no care how high he was now. If he was on the hundreth floor, I'd be up there! I tell you, he was my son. I should feel ashamed. I will not blame the stupid floor he was on."
"Ms. Chavez, it isn't your fault."
She ignored him and said, "That is why I am flying to New York tonight."
"Ms, Chavez, all airports are closed."
"No, I am demanding! I am going to find him."
"I thought that your other son said..."
"Oh, no. This morning when I wake up, I say, he was in the building, but he is a survior."
And with that, she left.