Ray Black was in prison, so we weren't able to talk to him. I did some research on the Internet and found out that he was in prison because he murdered two kids after he raped them. There were also pictures of the dead kids, and even though I knew it would only hurt me to look at them, I did. I printed them out and put them in Stuff That Happened to Me, right after the picture of Jean-Pierre Haignerè, the French astronaut who had to be carried from his spacecraft after returning from the Mir space station, because gravity isn't only what makes us fall, it's what makes our muscles strong. I wrote a letter to Ray Black in prison, but I never got a response. Inside, I hoped he didn't have anything to do with the key, although I couldn't help inventing that it was for his jail cell.
The address for Ruth Black was on the eighty-sixth floor of the Empire State Building, which I thought was incredibly weird, and so did Mr. Black, because neither of us knew that people actually lived there. I told Mr. Black that I was panicky, and he said it was OK to be panicky. I told him I felt like I couldn't do it, and he said it was OK to feel like I couldn't do it. I told him it was the thing that I was most afraid of. He said he could understand why. I wanted him to disagree with me, but he wouldn't, so I had no way to argue. I told him I would wait for him in the lobby, and he said, "Fine." "OK, OK," I said, "I'll go."
As the elevator takes you up, you hear information about the building, which was pretty fascinating, and I normally would have taken some notes, but I needed all of my concentration for being brave. I squeezed Mr. Black's hand, and I couldn't stop inventing: the elevator cables snapping, the elevator falling, a trampoline at the bottom, us shooting back up, the roof opening like a cereal box, us flying toward parts of the universe that not even Stephen Hawking was sure about...
When the elevator door opened, we got out on the observation deck. We didn't know who to look for, so we just looked around for a while. Even though I knew the view was incredibly beautiful, my brain started misbehaving, and the whole time I was imagining a plane coming at the building, just below us. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop. I imagined the last second, when I would see the pilot's face, who would be a terrorist. I imagined us looking each other in the eyes when the nose of the plane was one millimeter from the building.
I hate you, my eyes would tell him.
I hate you, his eyes would tell me.
Then there would be an enormous explosion, and the building would sway, almost like it was going to fall over, which I know is what it felt like from descriptions I've read on the Internet, although I wish I hadn't read them. Then there would be smoke coming up at me and people screaming all around me. I read one description of someone who made it down eighty-five flights of stairs, which must have been about two thousand stairs, and he said that people were screaming "Help!" and "I don't want to die!" and one man who owned a company was screaming "Mommy!"
It would be getting so hot that my skin would start to get blisters. It would feel so good to get away from the heat, but on the other hand, when I hit the sidewalk I would die, obviously. Which would I choose? Would I jump or would I burn? I guess I would jump, because then I wouldn't have to feel pain. On the other hand, maybe I would burn, because then I'd at least have a chance to somehow escape, and even if I couldn't, feeling pain is still better than not feeling, isn't it?
I remembered my cell phone.
I still had a few seconds.
Who should I call?
What should I say?
I thought about all of the things that everyone ever says to each other, and how everyone is going to die, whether it's in a millisecond, or days, or months, or 76.5 years, if you were just born. Everything that's born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they're all on fire, and we're all trapped.
You can see the most beautiful things from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. I read somewhere that people on the street are supposed to look like ants, but that's not true. They look like little people. And the cars look like little cars. And even the buildings look little. It's like New York is a miniature replica of New York, which is nice, because you can see what it's really like, instead of how it feels when you're in the middle of it. It's extremely lonely up there, and you feel far away from everything. Also it's scary, because there are so many ways to die. But it feels safe, too, because you're surrounded by so many people. I kept one hand touching the wall as I walked carefully around to each of the views. I saw all of the locks I'd tried to open, and the 161,999,831 that I hadn't yet.
I got down on my knees and crawled to one of the binocular machines. I held it tightly as I pulled myself up, and I took a quarter from the change dispenser on my belt. When the metal lids opened, I could see things that were far away incredibly close, like the Woolworth Building, and Union Square, and the gigantic hole where the World Trade Center was. I looked into the window of an office building that I guessed was about ten blocks away. It took me a few seconds to figure out the focus, but then I could see a man sitting at his desk, writing something. What was he writing? He didn't look at all like Dad, but he reminded me of Dad. I pressed my face closer, and my nose got smooshed against the cold metal. He was left-handed like Dad. Did he
have a gap between his front teeth like Dad? I wanted to know what he was thinking. Who did he miss? What was he sorry for? My lips touched the metal, like a kiss.
I found Mr. Black, who was looking at Central Park. I told him I was ready to go down. "But what about Ruth?" "We can come back another day." "But we're already here." "I don't feel like it." "It'll just take a few—" "I want to go home." He could probably tell that I was about to cry. "OK," he said, "let's go home."
We got at the end of the line for the elevator.
I looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.
There was a fat woman with a fat kid, and a Japanese guy with two cameras, and a girl with crutches whose cast was signed by lots of people. I had a weird feeling that if I examined it I would find Dad's writing. Maybe he would have written "Get better soon." Or just his name. An old woman was standing a few feet away, staring back at me, which made me self-conscious. She was holding a clipboard, although I couldn't see what was on it, and she was dressed old-fashioned. I promised myself I wouldn't be the first to look away, but I was. I pulled on Mr. Black's sleeve and told him to look at her. "You know what," he whispered. "What?" "I bet you she's the one." For some reason, I knew he was right. Although no part of me wondered if maybe we were looking for different things.
"Should we go up to her?" "Probably." "How?" "I don't know." "Go say hello." "You can't just go say hello." "Tell her the time." "But she didn't ask the time." "Ask her the time." "You do it." "You do it." We were so busy arguing about how to go up to her that we didn't even realize that she had come up to us. "I see that you're thinking about leaving," she said, "but could I interest you in a very special tour of this very special building?" "What's your name?" I asked. She said, "Ruth." Mr. Black said, "We'd love a tour."
She smiled, took a huge breath in, and then started walking while she talked. "Construction on the Empire State Building began in March of 1930, on the site of the old Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, at 350 Fifth Avenue at Thirty-fourth Street. It was completed one year and forty-five days later—seven million man-hours of work, including Sundays and holidays. Everything about the building was designed to expedite its construction—prefabricated materials were used as much as possible—and as a result, work progressed at a rate of about four and a half stories each week. The entire framework took less than half a year to complete." That was less time than how long I'd been searching for the lock.
She took a breath.
"Designed by the architectural firm of Shreve, Lamb, and Harmon Associates, the original plan called for eighty-six stories, but a 150-foot mooring mast for zeppelins was added. Today the mast is used for TV and radio broadcasts. The cost of the building, including th
e land that it rests on, was $40,948,900. The cost of the building itself was $24,718,000, less than half of the estimated cost of $50,000,000, due to deflated labor and materials costs during the Great Depression." I asked, "What was the Great Depression?" Mr. Black said, "I'll tell you later."
"At 1,250 feet, the Empire State Building was the tallest building in the world until the completion of the first tower of the World Trade Center in 1972. When the building was opened, they had such a hard time finding tenants to rent space within it that New Yorkers began calling it the Empty State Building." That made me crack up. "It was this observatory that saved the building from going into bankruptcy." Mr. Black patted the wall, like he was proud of the observatory.
"The Empire State Building is supported by 60,000 tons of steel. It has approximately 6,500 windows and 10,000,000 bricks, weighing in the neighborhood of 365,000 tons." "That's a heavy neighborhood," I said. "More than 500,000 square feet of marble and Indiana limestone encase this skyscraper. Inside, there is marble from France, Italy, Germany, and Belgium. In fact, New York's most famous building is made with materials from just about everywhere but New York, in much the same way that the city itself was made great by immigrants." "Very true," Mr. Black said, nodding his head.
"The Empire State Building has been the location of dozens of movies, the reception site of foreign dignitaries, and even had a World War Two bomber crash into the seventy-ninth floor in 1945." I concentrated on happy, safe things, like the zipper on the back of Mom's dress, and how Dad needed a drink of water whenever he whistled for too long. "An elevator fell to the bottom. You'll be relieved to know that the passenger was saved by the emergency brakes." Mr. Black gave my hand a squeeze. "And speaking of elevators, there are seventy of them in the building, including the six freight elevators. They travel at speeds from 600 to 1,400 feet per minute. Or, if you so choose, you can walk the 1,860 steps from the street level to the top." I asked if you could also take the stairs down.
"On a clear day like this, you can see for eighty miles—well into Connecticut. Since the observatory opened to the public in 1931, almost 110 million visitors have enjoyed the breathtaking vision of the city beneath them. Each year, over 3.5 million people are whisked to the eighty-sixth floor to be where Cary Grant waited in vain for Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember, where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan had their fateful meeting in the movie Sleepless in Seattle. Also, the observatory is handicap accessible."
She stopped and put her hand on her heart.
"All in all, the feeling and spirit of New York City is embodied in the Empire State Building. From the people who fell in love here, to the ones who have returned with their children and grandchildren, everyone recognizes the building not only as an awe-inspiring landmark which offers one of the most spectacular views on earth, but an unequaled symbol of American ingenuity."
She bowed. We clapped.
"Do you young men have another minute?" "We have a lot of minutes," Mr. Black said. "Because that was the end of the official tour, but there are a couple of things I really love about this building, and I only share them with people I suspect will care." I told her, "We'll care incredibly much."
"The dirigible mooring mast, now the base of the TV tower, was part of the original construction of the building. One attempt to moor a privately owned blimp was successful. But during another attempt, in September 1931, a navy blimp was almost upended, and nearly swept away the celebrities attending the historic affair, while the water ballast drenched pedestrians several blocks away. The mooring mast idea was ultimately abandoned, although it was very romantic." She started walking again, and we followed her, but I wondered if she would have kept talking even if we hadn't followed her. I couldn't tell if she was doing what she was doing for us, or for herself, or for some completely other reason.
"During the spring and autumn bird-migration season, the lights that illuminate the tower are turned off on foggy nights so they won't confuse birds, causing them to fly into the building." I told her, "Ten thousand birds die every year from smashing into windows," because I'd accidentally found that fact when I was doing some research about the windows in the Twin Towers. "That's a lot of birds," Mr. Black said. "And a lot of windows," Ruth said. I told them, "Yeah, so I invented a device that would detect when a bird is incredibly close to a building, and that would trigger an extremely loud birdcall from another skyscraper, and they'd be drawn to that. They'd bounce from one to another." "Like pinball," Mr. Black said. "What's pinball?" I asked. "But the birds would never leave Manhattan," Ruth said. "Which would be great," I told her, "because then your birdseed shirt would be reliable." "Would it be all right if I mentioned the ten thousand birds in my future tours?" I told her they didn't belong to me.
"A natural lightning rod, the Empire State Building is struck up to five hundred times each year. The outdoor observation deck is closed during thunderstorms, but the inside viewing areas remain open. Static electricity buildup is so mammoth on top of the building that, under the right conditions, if you stick your hand through the observatory fence, St. Elmo's fire will stream from your fingertips." "St. Elmo's fire is sooo awesome!" "Lovers who kiss up here may find their lips crackling with electric sparks." Mr. Black said, "That's my favorite part." She said, "Mine, too." I said, "Mine's the St. Elmo's fire." "The Empire State Building is located at latitude 40 degrees, 44 minutes, 53.977 seconds north; longitude 73 degrees, 59 minutes, 10.812 seconds west. Thank you."
"That was delightful," Mr. Black said. "Thank you," she said. I asked her how she knew all of that stuff. She said, "I know about this building because I love this building." That gave me heavy boots, because it reminded me of the lock that I still hadn't found, and how until I found it, I didn't love Dad enough. "What is it about this building?" Mr. Black asked. She said, "If I had an answer, it wouldn't really be love, would it?" "You're a terrific lady," he said, and then he asked where her family was from. "I was born in Ireland. My family came when I was a young girl." "Your parents?" "My parents were Irish." "And your grandparents?" "Irish." "That's marvelous news," Mr. Black said. "Why?" she asked, which was a question I was also wondering. "Because my family has nothing to do with Ireland. We came over on the Mayflower." I said, "Cool." Ruth said, "I'm not sure I understand." Mr. Black said, "We're not related." "Why would we be related?" "Because we have the same last name." Inside I thought, But technically she never actually said her last name was Black. And even if it actually was Black, why wasn't she asking how he knew her last name? Mr. Black took off his beret and got down onto one of his knees, which took him a long time. "At the risk of being too forthright, I was hoping I might have the pleasure of your company one afternoon. I will be disappointed, but in no way offended, if you decline." She turned her face away. "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have." She said, "I stay up here."
Mr. Black said, "What the?" "I stay up here." "Always?" "Yes." "For how long?" "Oh. A long time. Years." Mr. Black said, "Jose!" I asked her how. "What do you mean how?" "Where do you sleep?" "On nice nights, I'll sleep out here. But when it gets chilly, which is most nights up this high, I have a bed in one of the storage rooms." "What do you eat?" "There are two snack bars up here. And sometimes one of the young men will bring me food, if I have a taste for something different. As you know, New York offers so many different eating experiences."
I asked if they knew she was up there. "Who's they?" "I don't know, the people who own the building or whatever." "The building has been owned by a number of different people since I moved up here." "What about the workers?" "The workers come and go. The new ones see I'm here and assume I'm supposed to be here." "No one has told you to leave?" "Never."
"Why don't you go down?" Mr. Black asked. She said, "I'm more comfortable here." "How could you be more comfortable here?" "It's hard to explain." "How did it start?" "My husband was a door-to-door salesman." "And?" "This was in the old days. He was always selling something or other. He loved the next thing that would change life. And he was alwa
ys coming up with wonderful, crazy ideas. A bit like you," she said to me, which gave me heavy boots, because why couldn't I remind people of me? "One day he found a spotlight in an army surplus store. This was right after the war and you could find just about anything. He hooked it up to a car battery and fixed all of that to the crate he rolled around. He told me to go up to the observation deck of the Empire State Building, and as he walked around New York, he'd occasionally shine the light up at me so I could see where he was."
"It worked?" "Not during the day it didn't. It had to get quite dark before I could see the light, but once I could, it was amazing. It was as if all of the lights in New York were turned off except for his. That was how clearly I could see it." I asked her if she was exaggerating. She said, "I'm understating." Mr. Black said, "Maybe you're telling it exactly as it was."
"I remember that first night. I came up here and everyone was looking all over, pointing at the things to see. There are so many spectacular things to see. But only I had something pointing back at me." "Some one," I said. "Yes, something that was someone. I felt like a queen. Isn't that funny? Isn't it silly?" I shook my head no. She said, "I felt just like a queen. When the light went off, I knew his day was over, and I'd go down and meet him at home. When he died, I came back up here. It's silly." "No," I said. "It isn't." "I wasn't looking for him. I'm not a girl. But it gave me the same feeling that I'd had when it was daytime and I was looking for his light. I knew it was there, I just couldn't see it." Mr. Black took a step toward her.
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