A Day They Would Never Forget: Chapter Four

*POV Mary*

Chapter Four

I grabbed a hold of the marble counter to keep myself from falling to the floor. The room was spinning and all I saw was blurs of colors. My whole head pulsed, and throbbed with pain. Slowly, hand over hand, footstep by footstep, I started making my way to wherever my body would take me. Some how my confused body took itself to the bed and collapsed into the soft, black comforter that it knew so well.

The world trade center has been attacked... the world trade center has been attacked... the world trade center has been attacked...

kept playing over and over in my head like a broken record. It just hadn't hit me yet. My ears were ringing, and all of the blood in my body rushed to them. I was in shock, so I closed my eyes; trying to let it all sink in, but it wouldn't . I kept telling myself that it wasn't real life, and that it wasn't a reality; as if it would make the situation any better. But it obviously didn't. Why wasn't I crying? My husband just died and I didn't even feel a thing. No sorrow, no pain, no anger, just nothing. I hated myself for not crying. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do? I mean, I'm a widow now. I should be in a ball, on the floor bawling. But I wasn't. I was on the bed telling myself it wasn't true. I kept cursing at myself for not being sad and I kept that up until the ringing slowly faded away, and my blood returned to normal and I fell into a deep, dark sleep.

John came over to me and caressed me in his arms. I slowly stepped down from his grasp, until I was balanced on both of my feet. I looked to my left and saw a full length mirror. I was dressed in a yellow ballgown with gems covering my waistline. Part of my hair was pulled into a bun, but the rest gently lay on my shoulders in elegant curls. My attention was back on John. He was dressed in a blue tailcoat with black slacks lined with a gold string. I did a slight curtsey in his direction. He bowed and held out his arm, inviting me to dance with him. I daintily placed my gloved hand in his and he whisked me away into the glowing ballroom. The whole room shone a brilliant golden yellow as we moved and swayed in time to the quartet on the other side of the room. He flashed his blindingly white smile at me, and I put on a slight smile. He told me I looked beautiful. I was afraid to reply at all. His smile quickly faded, and it was replaced with a look of longing. His eyes sunk into the back of his head, and his kind face turned into a grimace. His clothes became ash and fell to the floor revealing the skeleton that they were hiding. My expression went from contentedness to shock. I tried to scream but nothing came out. John's skeleton fell onto me but I didn't push him off. The room started spinning and the walls melted into nothingness. The quartet went from Bach's Minuet, to a slow, solemn song. Everything went to slow motion and then to blackness. Finally I woke up.

The covers were a mess, and my whole body was covered in cold sweat. I looked around the room, for not really anything in particular. My thoughts were random until finally everything clicked. John was dead. My eyes flooded with tears, and I cried so hard that no noise was made. I lay there on the bed, just shaking with tears streaming down my face for who knows how long.

The phone rang. I didn't answer. Probably some relative trying to tell me what I already knew. I was done with my breakdown so I tried to find something to fill my time with other than sitting there on the bed as an emotional wreck. I tried to get up from the bed, but was to dizzy to hold myself up on my own, so I stood there holding onto the bedpost for a few minutes, regaining my balance. Once I was ready to move on, I let go and aimlessly walked around the apartment trying to find something... I didn't even know what I was trying to find. I hate that feeling. The feeling of knowing that you should try and find something, but you just don't know what it is. Finally a light bulb went off in my head. I rushed to John's desk as fast as I could, and found the drawer that he kept his will in. I always told him that it'd be safer to just type it on a computer, but he was one of those people who preferred pen and paper. You know, down to earth. I held the slick, wooden knob and pulled it open. Pens and papers went flying everywhere. I didn't even flinch. I rummaged through the drawer until I found a paper that said 'Will' on it. I glanced over it to see if it was what I was looking for, but it was just an unfinished letter to his father, Will Turner. I tossed it behind me, into the sea of all the other papers that had flown out of the drawer. Letters, bills, work papers, candy, calculators, and just about anything you could think of was in that drawer, just not the will. Wow, I thought to myself. He must have not wanted anyone to see his will. I kept pushing on though. I was busy taking and throwing papers until I stopped when my hand came upon a small, slippery, rectangular piece of paper. I turned it over to find that it was a picture of us. I smiled as I remembered that day. We had been on 'vacation' in a few cities over. It was mainly his business trip, but on the days he had off, we just hung out. It was nothing special. Just going from restaurant to bar, to hotel. Wherever we felt like at the time. I liked those times. Just him and me. Those were actually the times that we learned the most about each other. I chuckled to myself as I remembered... pickles and peanut butter. It was one of those times that you had to be there. Tears were starting to well up in my eyes, but I wiped them away, and hesitated before tossing it into the ocean of everything else.

Finally as I looked down into the empty drawer, I noticed there was a small hole in the bottom of it, but it was strangely black. I put a finger in it and pulled up. This revealed a hidden room, which had a manilla envelope lying within. My hands shook as I picked it up and I stared down at it as if it would tell me the meaning to life. My eyes darted back and forth over the top of the desk until they landed on his letter opener that was shaped like a knife. I carefully slid it under the fold of the top of the envelope and quickly jetted my hand to the other side. The folder ripped open with ease. Part of the paper inside slid out of the top, revealing the words:

My Last Will and Testament

My breathing faltered for a second as I pulled out the rest of the paper.

When I shall die, I would like...

I gulped, trying to hold back tears, which utterly failed.

...to be cremated on the top of the mountain that my dear wife Mary and I climbed in the summer of 2003. She'll know the location. Also I would like to ask Mary to move to Pennsylvania. I know it's a hard deed to do, but I know she's strong enough. Then I wish for my ashes to be spread across all of Pennsylvania, where I would also like my memorial service to be held. All that I want my wife to keep in remembrance of me is a portrait of me drawn by my brother. I instruct her to hang it over the fireplace of wherever she is living at the time. If she moves, I wish for her to bring it with her and hang it in the same spot in every house. Lastly, I would like for no one to feel sorrow. I want them to know that I am at peace and with Him from now until forever. He will keep me safe in his arms. That is all I have instructed.

To my dear Mary, I leave the rest of m....

Of course. Of course he never finished his will. Typical him; the procrastinator. I sighed and placed the paper back into the envelope and re-sealed it. I had to make a list. I turned to face the giant span of papers and pens covering his office floor space and looked around. My hands groped around the floor until I finally fished out a pen and a blank sheet of paper. All of my joints popped and I groaned as I straightened my back to get up. I sauntered over to the middle of the desk, rolled the chair over, and plopped down to start writing. I neatly positioned the pen and paper in front of me and settled into the chair. Come to think of it, I had never sat in his chair before then. My focus came back to my writing and I uncapped the pen and straightened out the paper once more. The pen made a scratching noise as it scraped across the page, attempting to make a mark. Crap. It was out of ink. I got up, my joints popping once more, and finally fished out a different pen. I got situated once more and started to write. This time, the ink flowed freely and made smooth, neat marks on the crisp,white paper. It was a list. A list of the things I had to do on the will.

1) Get a plane ticket to Hawaii.
2) Invite friends, family, family's friends to Hawaii for John's cremation.

Did I really want the whole family to invite their friends? That could be awkward... oh well, John wanted us to be happy, and I guess happiness comes from friends right? I pushed those thoughts away and got back to my list.

3) Get a plane ticket to Pennsylvania.
4) Get a rental car to drive around all of PA.
5) Spread his ashes around every place I drive.

I started bawling again as I thought of letting all that was left of my husband fly freely around a state that I barely knew. But it was his favorite state... he never said why.

6) Get a hold of John's brother and get him to paint a portrait of John.
7) Move to Pennsylvania.
8 ) Keep John's portrait above the fireplace at all times.

I sighed as I looked at the list. It was going to be a lot of work for just eight tasks. But I found strength knowing that John had said I was strong enough in his will. I loved John. A lot. It hurt to see him go. I know that I didn't say I loved him every single day, but I let him know by my actions. At least I thought I did. We had our struggles, but every couple has them and we worked them out. I hadn't always been the best wife and he hadn't always been the best husband, but we stayed together. We had to. We just had to.

My mind raced, thinking about all of the times that we had had together, and how we had stuck through the good and the bad. There were our arguments, and there were our cuddle times. There were our times of sorrow, and their were our times of joy. There were our times of pain, and times of contentment. Suddenly I came back to reality. Time to do task number one on my list.

1) Get a plane ticket to Hawaii.

I rushed to the door, remembering to grab my purse as I slammed the door on my way out. I didn't grab any of my personal belongings other than that. I ran down the stairs, not even caring about counting each step as I went down like I usually did. Once my feet flew off of the last step, I was on my way out the entrance to the complex. I can't remember if I even told the front desk lady in the lobby that I was never coming back. I was on my way to the airport. I was going to Hawaii.

Let me preface this by saying that I remember 9/11. I had just delivered the attendance sheets to the office when the TV they always have playing the news switched to live footage of the first plane striking the North Tower. My father had a business meeting scheduled that day for 9 AM in the North Tower. The rest of the day at school was spent with everyone crowded around the TV watching the news in complete, attentive silence. Except for me. I read a book. I don't even remember which book, only that it was a book and while I was busy reading it, I didn't have to think about or worry that my father was probably dead.

That said, I really didn't feel any of that emotional anguish reading this chapter. In the beginning, there was numbness, which was fine because everyone felt numb at first, but that numbness wore off so quickly, too quickly, and then she has a breakdown which she gets over in less than a day? She doesn't even have any hope, as crazy and impossible as it may be, that her husband is still alive?

There is always hope. Always. Even when the official or a crying relative comes to your door and you know they're dead, you still have hope.

A lot of people, some of whom may be future readers, still remember 9/11 and remember it clearly because they lost a loved one or someone close to them lost. Keep that in mind while you write and be sure to do your research thoroughly and try to depict the characters as realistically as possible. Interview people. Read first-person accounts. And above all, treat the issue with the delicacy it not only deserves but is required due to how so many still-living still remember. When tackling a topic as sensitive as this one, there is no excuse for laziness.

I was lucky that day. My father is still alive. However, I know many who were not so lucky, and I know several who were first responders and helped search for survivors who are affected by it a decade later.

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