The thought of dying weighed on Ann’s mind ever since the elevator that Al had pulled her from dropped out of sight, but she was too afraid to speak the unspeakable. Peter’s comments opened the door for her to voice her worst fears now. The thought of all her loved ones kept her focused on escaping as she descended the stairs. But as their images grew stronger in her heart, her body and mind grew weaker. It was her spirit now that kept her going and her spirit affirmed her will to live.
“We’re not going to die. I’m guessing that we only have about twenty more flights to go,” Al said with a tense smile that no one could see in the darkness. Just then, the stairway and possibly the entire building began trembling, much more so than when the plane had struck. It was like a powerful earthquake that built in intensity with a rolling roar for about ten seconds. It ended with one final tremendous jolt that knocked Ann off her feet and down half a flight of stairs to the next landing. As she tumbled down, Al heard Ann’s shrieks and moans.
“Ann! Ann! Are you OK?” Al called out as he followed her moans down to the next landing. Now, standing near where Ann’s anguished cries were filling the darkness, Al shuffled carefully over until his feet brushed up against her.
“Al. I hurt my ankle. It’s either sprained or broken,” Ann said with a wince while catching her breath.
“Give me your hand so I can pull you up. I can’t carry you, but if you put your arm around my shoulders, I can support you. You’ll have to hop down a step at a time, following my lead.”
Ann did as Al directed. After going down a few steps, it was clear that they could continue, but at a much slower pace. Neither of them brought up that fact as they tried their best to save themselves one awkward step at a time.
“What do you think it was that shook the building?” Ann asked Al after making it down another flight.
Al hesitated before answering. The two likely possibilities, which he kept to himself, were either that the upper floors of their building had collapsed, or Tower Two had just collapsed. Either way, they were in big trouble because their building could and probably would drop at any time. Al’s split-second analysis forced him to make a life-defining choice: either continue to help Ann down and hope that they could make it out together in time, or leave Ann to make it down on her own, so he could get out three to four times faster.
While the odds of him getting out of the smoldering death trap alive were much better if he continued on without Ann, he instantly concluded that a part of him would die along with Ann if he left her, so he decided to try saving all of him and Ann.
“Could it have been a bomb or an earthquake?” Ann’s strained breathing and troubled voice reflected her growing bewilderment.
“Who knows? We’ll find out when we get out of here,” Al said with more confidence than he actually had. “Can you do two steps at a time?”
“I’ll try.”
Somehow they managed and they made a little better time for the next six flights. But then they ran into much more traffic. There was a backlog of people in front of them who were also trying to escape, and more rescue workers passing them in the opposite direction. It was slow going for the next ten flights, but then a hint of cooler, clean air coming from below told them that their escape was imminent.
The voices of rescuers a few flights down, hollering directions to others like themselves, brought smiles to their exhausted faces. The flashlight beam of a firefighter entering the landing they were approaching revealed the fifth-floor marker on the wall. Farther down, they heard the muffled sounds of sirens and people talking on bullhorns.
Al glanced at his watch and sighed. The last sixteen flights took about half an hour. But now, their seventy-five-minute journey through hell was about to end. The firefighter with the flashlight ran up the stairs, took Ann’s other arm, and put it around his shoulders. Together, he and Al carried Ann down, her feet dangling off the ground between them as they descended much quicker now. But their descent didn’t last long.
Halfway between the fourth and fifth floors, the stairs and the walls began to shake violently.
This time there was no question about what was happening. The building was coming down. They sat on the stairs to keep from tumbling down and braced themselves as the building’s walls cascaded down around them. Acknowledging the inevitable, they clung to each other as the firefighter said, “God help us.” In that instant, time stood still. Everything went black and silent following the roar of the crumbling building that died with a final, thunderous heave.
CHAPTER 11
Childhood Memories
After a few seconds, the silence was broken by someone’s sobs. The person crying kept repeating, “Why? Why? Why? Then gradually, a light revealed to Al from afar that the person crying was a young boy. His face was buried in a pillow as he pounded his fists into his bed. The room looked familiar. When the boy sat up, Al couldn’t believe his eyes. It was him, Al, as a seven-year-old in his boyhood home. Somehow, Al was observing his past life, as if he were dreaming.
It was a tough period in Al’s life. His family had just moved to New York City from another part of the country because his father landed a new job there. He didn’t have any friends and the only times that the kids in his neighborhood paid any attention to him were when they made fun of the way he talked.
Pop, he had learned at that time, was really soda; and, jeans were really dungarees; and, jimmies, those colorful candy ice cream toppings, were really sprinkles. At least that’s what he was told again and again by the kids in New York City, who always began their comments with, “Hey, stupid!” which was then followed immediately by, “Don’t you know what soda is?” or “What are jeans?” or “Jimmies? Are you making fun of my friend Jimmy?”
It got so bad that Al lost his confidence and was afraid to speak. Then the kids labeled him stuck up. His life took a big turn for the worse after the move to New York that summer. The school year was about to begin and the thought that he’d get the same reception that he had gotten in his neighborhood was too much for him, so he cried.
“Why? Why did I have to leave my old friends? Why? Why do these kids hate me? Why? Why do I have to go to this new school tomorrow?”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t answer his own questions, so he began the school year expecting the worst, and he got it. His parents tried to help.
“Don’t worry. You’ll make new friends at school. Treat everybody the way you want to be treated. Didn’t you have lots of friends at your old school?”
They spoke as if these were universal truths about people everywhere, which made Al feel better. But, maybe they were wrong. After all, they were the ones who had given him the names for pop, jeans, and jimmies. Maybe there were other, bigger differences that he didn’t know about yet.
Maybe was a scary word for Al ever since. It said something could go either way, and that he should be prepared for both possibilities.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. I said ‘No talking,’” growled Miss Lemur as she leaned over Billy Bensen’s desk, put her hand on his shoulder, and firmly squeezed. All the other second graders in the class, including Al, watched with interest as Miss Lemur smiled a sneer while she surveyed the room and looked into the eyes of all her new students. Al and the others knew two things right away: Miss Lemur was a no-nonsense teacher and this wasn’t first grade anymore.
With each passing day, they learned something else about Miss Lemur; they learned to despise her for the way she treated them, and they dreaded school because they had to spend the day with Miss Lemur.
To the casual observer, Miss Lemur ran her class like other teachers ran theirs. But to understand what was really happening, you’d have to know that Miss Lemur was a frustrated, would-be movie star. After a year of unsuccessful auditions, she settled on teaching because it provided her with a captive audience. While she still dreamed of becoming a celebrity, it was a fading vision. The classroom became her movie set, where she was always th
e star since she also directed and produced the shows. Pity anyone who dared to take the spotlight from her.
“Class, please pay attention. I’m going to teach you how words work together for the next few months so you can learn how to read. And once you learn how to read, the words will take you to faraway places and teach you to do all kinds of important things. Maybe one of you will even become president.”
Al was fascinated by words because they were doors to a new world of ideas, people, and places, which then made him more curious. The more he learned, the more he wanted to learn. He was excited about breaking the reading code like his parents and older kids had. It was an amazing time in Al’s life because everything seemed so new. The world around him was beginning to come into sharper focus. The letters and words that he saw all around him every day—on signs, in books, in the movies—all started to make sense to him. But it wasn’t Miss Lemur who opened this world for him.
As Miss Lemur read the latest copy of the Hollywood Reporter magazine at her desk, her class was busy practicing their penmanship. Today’s all-day “lesson” consisted of copying twenty-six alphabet worksheets: one for each letter, fifteen letters per line, and twenty lines per page.
Al had just completed his Z’s sheet when he was inspired to create a few words with the letters he and his classmates were drilling into their heads and hands. After thinking a minute about what he wanted to say, he carefully wrote in his broken English, “I hav to iz to erz wun noz,” on a piece of his notebook paper. Then he read it to himself a few times and smiled. Suddenly, he felt empowered to communicate in a new way. Beaming with pride, he strutted up to the front of the room where Miss Lemur was entranced with a story about Marilyn Monroe that she was reading.
Al placed the paper that showcased his new talent on top of the magazine that Miss Lemur was reading because he was sure she would be as thrilled as he was by his new writing skill.
“What’s this?” she asked as if it were something that he had just taken from the trash.
“Look. I wrote it,” Al gushed.
She glanced at the paper and then said loudly so everyone in the class could hear her, “No! No! No! You don’t know how to write. I don’t want you to write anything except the alphabet. Now, go back to your seat,” Miss Lemur scolded Al before tossing Al’s paper into her trash can and returning to the Marilyn Monroe story.
Al walked back to his desk with all the other students’ eyes on him. They smiled, chuckled and pointed at Al to show their pleasure in his pain. His teacher’s comments and the students’ responses clearly damaged Al’s self-esteem, which had been soaring before Miss Lemur berated and embarrassed him in front of the class.
Why did she do that? He asked himself over and over at the time. Why didn’t she feel as good about my writing as I do? So he felt bad about something that should have made him feel good, and he was confused. When class ended, Al took the ball of paper from Miss Lemur’s waste basket when nobody was looking. He quickly smoothed out the wrinkles as best he could and placed it between the pages of his notebook.
Later that day at home, he took out his notebook to look at his paper. As he read it to discover what was so bad about it, his mother walked by and asked, “What’s that?”
Al hesitated before he cautiously said, “I wrote this today in school.”
His mom picked up the paper, smiled, and then hugged Al as she said, “Wow, you can write! I’m very proud of you.”
“You like it?” Al said in a puzzled voice.
“Yes, it’s very good. I don’t think I started writing until the third grade. Your teacher must be very proud of you.”
With confusion written all over his face, Al said, “No. She told me I don’t know how to write and she threw this in the garbage. She told me to stop writing.”
Al’s mom closed her eyes and began shaking her head in disgust. When she opened them, a sigh exploded from deep within her. “Can I please have this paper? I want to frame it and put it on the wall of your room.”
Al handed it to her and a loving smile spread across her face.
“Al, this is really a special piece of paper. It’s the first of many things you’ll write in your life, and I want to give it the special recognition it deserves.”
Al smiled warmly at his mom. From then on, he considered Miss Lemur a mean person, in addition to being very strict. His assessment of her was reinforced on many other occasions as the school year slowly, painfully progressed.
CHAPTER 12
School Bullies
“Ouch!” screamed Al as he fell to his knees on the black-top surface of his school’s playground during recess. After picking himself up, he looked down at his knees to survey the damage: a tear in his new school pants and a scraped, bloody knee peeking through it.
The burning pain in his knee faded as the laughter of Billy Bensen, Tommy Simpson, and Brian Giles grew louder—the same three who had conspired to make his life miserable since the school year began. It was one thing after another, and he wasn’t going to let them attack him anymore without responding in kind. He just needed to figure out how.
There’d be no more silent cringing when they called him names and made fun of the way he talked. No more walking away embarrassed after being victimized by one of their practical jokes. And no more being pushed around in school, like now on the playground, without making them pay for what they had done.
A trip to the principal’s office would let them know he meant business. After all, what else could they do to get back at him that they hadn’t done already?
So Al marched over to Miss Lemur, who was on the other side of the playground talking to Mr. Winchester, one of the other second grade teachers. About halfway there, Al looked back over his shoulder at his three foes. Their faces were first full of concern and then rage, displayed by the clenched fists that they waved at Al in their most threatening poses. Al was confident that he was doing the right thing, and that all the injustices this trio had heaped on him would finally be rectified. He smiled contentedly at them before turning to face Miss Lemur, who was now just a few steps away.
“Miss Lemur! Miss Lemur!” Al shouted as he pointed to his injury.
Miss Lemur turned to Al with a perturbed look, a look that told Al that Billy, Tommy, and Brian were in big trouble because Miss Lemur was horrified by Al’s torn pants and bloody knee. Perhaps it would mean a trip to the principal’s office, Al hoped. Judging by Miss Lemur’s reaction, this could even get them suspended from school.
“Al. Can’t you see that I’m talking with Mr. Winchester and that it’s rude to interrupt?”
“But, Miss Lemur, look!” Al said as he again pointed to his injured knee and then to the three guilty ones. “They did this,” Al testified.
“Did you hear what I said? Rude! Rude!” Ms. Lemur turned back to face Mr. Winchester.
Al stood speechless, with his mouth open wide. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew Miss Lemur was strict and mean, but uncaring, too? “But…”
“When will you grow up, Al? Always the victim, you. Always you, you, you. You’d better grow up, young man. The world doesn’t revolve around you. You’re living in a fantasy world,” Miss Lemur lectured Al.
“That’s a pretty nasty scrape you have there, young man,” said Mr. Winchester as he walked over to get a better look.
“Now I suppose I should take you to the school nurse so she can put a bandage on your knee,” Miss Lemur said as she rolled her eyes. Before leaving, she turned to Mr. Winchester and said with a flirtatious smile, “You’ll have to finish telling me about your trip later.”
Al didn’t know what hurt worse, his knee or the injustice Miss Lemur ignored. While he learned the hard way that right doesn’t always prevail thanks to Miss Lemur, he was determined to make the hurt go away. So that night, Al decided to get some ideas from his dad.
CHAPTER 13
Magical Dad
Mr. Masterson stood i
n Al’s bedroom, listening carefully to everything Al said about Miss Lemur and his three tormentors. When Al finished, his dad sat next to him on his bed in silence for a minute— gathering his thoughts.
“I’m very sorry that we had to leave our old home where you had good friends and a good teacher. But sometimes we don’t have a choice about things in life. Now that we’re here, we need to make the best of our situation.” Mr. Masterson put his arm around Al’s shoulders.
“I’ve tried everything I can think of but these boys just won’t leave me alone, and Miss Lemur doesn’t do anything about it. She doesn’t care.” Al turned to look up at his dad.
“Let’s talk about what we can do to stop them from treating you so badly.” Mr. Masterson walked over to Al’s desk, picked up his son’s Yankees baseball cap and put it on himself. “Why don’t you ignore them? They’ll probably stop bothering you if you don’t show them that they upset you,” said his dad, who practiced amateur psychology whenever he needed to solve a pressing people problem.
“That was the first thing I did. They just bothered me more.” Al scratched his head, waiting to hear his dad’s next suggestion.
“Ah, I guess they figured that they weren’t getting to you because they weren’t doing enough to get a reaction, so they made your life even more miserable. Ignoring bullies worked most of the time when I was your age, but apparently not anymore.”
“Then I tried keeping away from them any way I could. I asked Miss Lemur to move my classroom seat to the other side of the room, and they started playing tricks on me before and after class. I started walking to school another way, and they did, too, just so they could bump into me. I sat as far away from them in the cafeteria as I could, but they moved, too.” Al’s face couldn’t look more desperate.
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