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Seeing New Jersey
by
Harry Buschman
The superintendent in the trailer outside the building entrance asked to see my
ID. His lips were moving
as he looked it over and I could tell he was trying to think of a good reason to
refuse me.
“Deutsche Bank had an office here,” I explained. “Foreign Exchange. I worked
here. It was on the fiftieth
floor – facing the north tower.”
He was still reluctant. “It’s all been cleaned out up there now,” he said.
“there’s nothing to see.”
Maybe he was right, there probably was nothing to see – maybe I shouldn’t have
come. As I turned to go, he
asked me ...
“You were there ... I mean, that day, the eleventh.”
“Yes.”
“The fiftieth floor was just across the street from where it hit.”
“I know.”
“You want me to come up with you? You’ll never find your way alone.”
I nodded quickly. “Would you – please?” He picked up his walkie-talkie and two
flashlights.
He handed me a flashlight and said, “There’s still only emergency lighting up
there. No heat either, it
might be chilly – take this.” He handed me a bright yellow jacket.
We took the service elevator all the way up and when we got to the lobby there
was the sour smell of
charred wood. The carpeting had been taken up and the wood paneling was gone. We
walked through the lobby
and into the office. “My desk was over there,” I pointed, “by those windows.
There was a roar of the
engines, then a shadow ...”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
No, I didn’t have to tell him. I didn’t have the words to tell him anyway, and
I’ve never read anything or
seen anything that adequately described it. A shattering concussion and a cloud
of fire and suddenly the
air was full of debris – like a sudden summer downpour of paper, shards of glass
and metal. They struck
our building like hailstones – the window next to mine shattered and blew in
covering the office in glass
splinters. There was the strong smell of diesel. I found myself on the floor and
Mr. Gibbons staggered out
of his office, his shirt torn and bloody. “Everybody out of here!” He shouted.
“A plane just hit the north
tower.”
The superintendent stood by the door and I felt I should say something ... “It’s
strange. I mean looking
across the street and seeing New Jersey. Nothing in the way now, but it’s the
first time I’ve ever seen
New Jersey from this office window.”
He walked over to the window and stood next to me. “Deutsche Bank is moving back
here, you know?”
“Yes, I know. The company wants us to tell them if we’re willing to come back.”
In my mind’s eye the north
tower was still there. “There were people I could see over there every day, all
day – we’d wave to each
other from time to time – exchange telephone numbers. It was like ...”
“I don’t want to hurry you, Miss, but maybe you’ve had enough.”
The concrete floor was gritty under my feet as I turned from the window. We
walked out of the office and
back into the lobby. “Aren’t you going to lock the door?” I asked him.
“No.”
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