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Description
I met him on the stairs.  Well, “met” might not be the best word.  But that was the first time I saw him.  His shoulder brushed hard against mine as I attempted to fly faster down the stairs.  A flicker of anger went through me at his apparent disregard for me and my urgency, but suddenly I was back in the midst of things.  I felt disgusting for ever feeling any anger.  His name was displayed prominently on his suit, and it burned into my mind- Lyons.

As I took the stairs two at a time, I occupied my mind with this Lyons fellow.  Who was he?  Was he really here for what I thought he was?  Was all of this actually happening?  What was going on?

I kept running, and began forming a make-believe history for Lyons.  I imagined him with a nice apartment on the skirts of the city.  He would come home from work every day to a loving wife, and she would smile and kiss him as he passed through the door.  He would hang up his jacket, throw open his arms, and call out to his son, who would be around 4 or 5 years old.  The little tyke would spring up from watching Sesame Street to run to his daddy and give him a great big hug.  I imagined the child’s too-cute-to-be-true speech.

Lyons would sit down with his son in his lap and watch public TV with him while they waited for dinner to be made.  Lyons and his child would count with vampires and sing about cookies.  Shortly, his wife would politely call them both to dinner.

The family would sit around a petite dinner table and discuss their day.  Little Lyons would loudly smack his lips and spill food.  Lyons’ wife would rub her foot against Lyons’ burly leg.  The food would be good, but not great.  The whole apartment would smell wonderful, though; a mix between home cooking, perfume, musk, and freshly bathed child.

Lyons would tuck his son into bed and read him a bedtime story.  His son would slowly nod off, desperately clinging to his consciousness in a vain attempt to hear what happened to The Cat in the Hat next.  Lyons would gently play with his son’s hair, watching the boy’s soft expression.  His wife would come to the doorway, and Lyons would follow her out of the room.  The two of them would retire for the night.

More than anything, I imagined Lyons lying awake at night, appreciating his life.  Thinking about how good he had it.  Out of anyone, this Lyons guy would enjoy having so many things that so few of us have.  He wouldn’t take it all for granted.

As I hit the ground floor, I exploded through the doors, and the morning sun scalded my eyes.  I was unfazed, though; I was filled with purpose and resolve.  However, they weren’t particularly braggable.  In fact, I’m ashamed to admit it.  I had one thing on my mind- escape.  I had to get far away as quickly as possible, and that was all that mattered.  I climbed over gawkers, pushed old ladies out of my way, and ran faster than I ever had during Gym class in high school.

I kept going, disregarding traffic laws, in my selfish attempt to survive.  After I had lost count on the number of blocks I’d run, I allowed myself to slow down.  As I turned around, I noticed something moving high in the air.  I screamed, and chills snaked through my body.  I was just in time to watch a second airplane smash into the Center.  My stomach turned over like an old car on a cold day.  I vomited in the street, and leaned heavily against a building. I watched as people began to crowd the streets.  Time seemed to stand still.

I melted onto the curb and tried to make sense of it all.  Today was just another day, wasn’t it?  Tuesday, the 11th.  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.  I had just gotten to work.  I had a lunch meeting with my boss in two hours.  I looked up at my workplace.  As the second tower collapsed without warning, I watched hundreds of people turn heel and run towards me, chased by the ashy ghost of the tower.

Suddenly, the image of Lyons flashed into my head: his yellow fireman’s outfit, his enormous helmet, the red lettering of his nametag.  I put my head in my hands and mourned the death of someone I’d met moments earlier, someone I felt like I’d known a very long time, and someone I was sure was a noble human being.

Description
I met him on the stairs.  Well, “met” might not be the best word.  But that was the first time I saw him.  His shoulder brushed hard against mine as I attempted to fly faster down the stairs.  A flicker of anger went through me at his apparent disregard for me and my urgency, but suddenly I was back in the midst of things.  I felt disgusting for ever feeling any anger.  His name was displayed prominently on his suit, and it burned into my mind- Lyons.

As I took the stairs two at a time, I occupied my mind with this Lyons fellow.  Who was he?  Was he really here for what I thought he was?  Was all of this actually happening?  What was going on?

I kept running, and began forming a make-believe history for Lyons.  I imagined him with a nice apartment on the skirts of the city.  He would come home from work every day to a loving wife, and she would smile and kiss him as he passed through the door.  He would hang up his jacket, throw open his arms, and call out to his son, who would be around 4 or 5 years old.  The little tyke would spring up from watching Sesame Street to run to his daddy and give him a great big hug.  I imagined the child’s too-cute-to-be-true speech.

Lyons would sit down with his son in his lap and watch public TV with him while they waited for dinner to be made.  Lyons and his child would count with vampires and sing about cookies.  Shortly, his wife would politely call them both to dinner.

The family would sit around a petite dinner table and discuss their day.  Little Lyons would loudly smack his lips and spill food.  Lyons’ wife would rub her foot against Lyons’ burly leg.  The food would be good, but not great.  The whole apartment would smell wonderful, though; a mix between home cooking, perfume, musk, and freshly bathed child.

Lyons would tuck his son into bed and read him a bedtime story.  His son would slowly nod off, desperately clinging to his consciousness in a vain attempt to hear what happened to The Cat in the Hat next.  Lyons would gently play with his son’s hair, watching the boy’s soft expression.  His wife would come to the doorway, and Lyons would follow her out of the room.  The two of them would retire for the night.

More than anything, I imagined Lyons lying awake at night, appreciating his life.  Thinking about how good he had it.  Out of anyone, this Lyons guy would enjoy having so many things that so few of us have.  He wouldn’t take it all for granted.

As I hit the ground floor, I exploded through the doors, and the morning sun scalded my eyes.  I was unfazed, though; I was filled with purpose and resolve.  However, they weren’t particularly braggable.  In fact, I’m ashamed to admit it.  I had one thing on my mind- escape.  I had to get far away as quickly as possible, and that was all that mattered.  I climbed over gawkers, pushed old ladies out of my way, and ran faster than I ever had during Gym class in high school.

I kept going, disregarding traffic laws, in my selfish attempt to survive.  After I had lost count on the number of blocks I’d run, I allowed myself to slow down.  As I turned around, I noticed something moving high in the air.  I screamed, and chills snaked through my body.  I was just in time to watch a second airplane smash into the Center.  My stomach turned over like an old car on a cold day.  I vomited in the street, and leaned heavily against a building. I watched as people began to crowd the streets.  Time seemed to stand still.

I melted onto the curb and tried to make sense of it all.  Today was just another day, wasn’t it?  Tuesday, the 11th.  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.  I had just gotten to work.  I had a lunch meeting with my boss in two hours.  I looked up at my workplace.  As the second tower collapsed without warning, I watched hundreds of people turn heel and run towards me, chased by the ashy ghost of the tower.

Suddenly, the image of Lyons flashed into my head: his yellow fireman’s outfit, his enormous helmet, the red lettering of his nametag.  I put my head in my hands and mourned the death of someone I’d met moments earlier, someone I felt like I’d known a very long time, and someone I was sure was a noble human being.