We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer by Pasquale Buzzelli, Joseph M. Bittick, Louise Buzzelli Page A
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their country from those heinous monsters, those cowards.
Yes, that’s what they are! COWARDS! What kind of animal must someone be to deliberately murder so many like this? Even animals don’t kill in such cowardly ways. He watched until he couldn’t bear to watch another minute. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be with his wife, with his family, with his friends. He wanted to be away from the horror.
“A friend of mine, Domenica, is waiting downstairs. She’s got a car,” Phil said, coming into the room and helping him up from the chair. “We’ll get you back to New Jersey somehow. The tunnels are shut down, and the George Washington will probably be jammed. We’ll head north, maybe take the Tappan Zee Bridge.”
It was 7:15 p.m., the evening of a very long day. It was time to leave the damaged city behind, time to figure out why he was still alive, to figure out a reason for any of what had happened to the world that fateful—and fatal—day.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Finally… Home
“Freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward,
and freedom will be defended.”
~ President George W. Bush
(September 11, 2001)
It wasn’t the same city anymore. It was early September, still high tourist season, but there was no noise, no hustling, no crowds. There was very little traffic. A few pedestrians ambled along the sidewalks, but they walked aimlessly. Pasquale watched out the car window with the unreal sense of watching refugees.
Domenica, Phil’s friend, had to work her way around and through blocked-off streets, taking any street that allowed passage. Every once in a while, they passed small gatherings of people, all of whom looked stunned. When their car passed, the confused hordes would turn and stare at them, almost as if they’d never seen a car before. Nobody bothered to hail a cab, and business meetings and dinner dates had lost their significance; the hustle and bustle that New York had always been known for seemed…pointless and halted. Pasquale had never seen New York like that, nor New Yorkers.
As they drove further uptown, they noticed fewer and fewer people along the walks and no children at all. At 7:00 p.m., those very same streets would usually have been filled with traffic, horns, and noise, but now they were eerily clear and silent.
They got over the Tappan Zee Bridge rather easily, as they were the only car. It was still daylight, but there was no traffic going anywhere. It reminded Pasquale of the times when he’d had to work late or had been out with friends and had ventured home in the middle of the night. There was no one on the road; the empty stretches of asphalt across the Tappan Zee Bridge were yet another eerie and bizarre part of the day.
He lay in the back of the car with his leg stretched across the seat. The pain wasn’t bad, as long as he didn’t have to put his weight on his injured foot. What was bad was the anticipation and the waiting. He needed to be home. What he needed most of all was to feel that something was normal somewhere, even if he could only find that in his own back yard.
Domenica turned at his street in River Vale. Cars were lined down both sides of the road and up into his driveway, with only enough space left for them to pull in. He bent to look out the window. It was all so every day: the big white colonial and the trees. People stood along the drive and on the porch. His heart began beating in a fierce rhythm, as if he were returning home after years away.
The car door opened, and Louise was there, leaning toward him, throwing her arms around him. She cried, and he followed suit. To feel her in his arms again—that wonderful, big belly—was beyond anything he’d ever felt in his life. Touching her hair, kissing her face, and feeling her skin against his was…Heaven. It was a step back into his life, yet somehow into a new life at the same time.
Brittany, their dog, leapt into the car, pushing Louise aside, licking his face
Yes, that’s what they are! COWARDS! What kind of animal must someone be to deliberately murder so many like this? Even animals don’t kill in such cowardly ways. He watched until he couldn’t bear to watch another minute. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be with his wife, with his family, with his friends. He wanted to be away from the horror.
“A friend of mine, Domenica, is waiting downstairs. She’s got a car,” Phil said, coming into the room and helping him up from the chair. “We’ll get you back to New Jersey somehow. The tunnels are shut down, and the George Washington will probably be jammed. We’ll head north, maybe take the Tappan Zee Bridge.”
It was 7:15 p.m., the evening of a very long day. It was time to leave the damaged city behind, time to figure out why he was still alive, to figure out a reason for any of what had happened to the world that fateful—and fatal—day.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Finally… Home
“Freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward,
and freedom will be defended.”
~ President George W. Bush
(September 11, 2001)
It wasn’t the same city anymore. It was early September, still high tourist season, but there was no noise, no hustling, no crowds. There was very little traffic. A few pedestrians ambled along the sidewalks, but they walked aimlessly. Pasquale watched out the car window with the unreal sense of watching refugees.
Domenica, Phil’s friend, had to work her way around and through blocked-off streets, taking any street that allowed passage. Every once in a while, they passed small gatherings of people, all of whom looked stunned. When their car passed, the confused hordes would turn and stare at them, almost as if they’d never seen a car before. Nobody bothered to hail a cab, and business meetings and dinner dates had lost their significance; the hustle and bustle that New York had always been known for seemed…pointless and halted. Pasquale had never seen New York like that, nor New Yorkers.
As they drove further uptown, they noticed fewer and fewer people along the walks and no children at all. At 7:00 p.m., those very same streets would usually have been filled with traffic, horns, and noise, but now they were eerily clear and silent.
They got over the Tappan Zee Bridge rather easily, as they were the only car. It was still daylight, but there was no traffic going anywhere. It reminded Pasquale of the times when he’d had to work late or had been out with friends and had ventured home in the middle of the night. There was no one on the road; the empty stretches of asphalt across the Tappan Zee Bridge were yet another eerie and bizarre part of the day.
He lay in the back of the car with his leg stretched across the seat. The pain wasn’t bad, as long as he didn’t have to put his weight on his injured foot. What was bad was the anticipation and the waiting. He needed to be home. What he needed most of all was to feel that something was normal somewhere, even if he could only find that in his own back yard.
Domenica turned at his street in River Vale. Cars were lined down both sides of the road and up into his driveway, with only enough space left for them to pull in. He bent to look out the window. It was all so every day: the big white colonial and the trees. People stood along the drive and on the porch. His heart began beating in a fierce rhythm, as if he were returning home after years away.
The car door opened, and Louise was there, leaning toward him, throwing her arms around him. She cried, and he followed suit. To feel her in his arms again—that wonderful, big belly—was beyond anything he’d ever felt in his life. Touching her hair, kissing her face, and feeling her skin against his was…Heaven. It was a step back into his life, yet somehow into a new life at the same time.
Brittany, their dog, leapt into the car, pushing Louise aside, licking his face
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