A
Twist of Fate
Daylight
filtered through the thin, nylon curtains of the motel room. Beth lay on the
bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. That split second each morning when she
believed that everything was all right had passed, leaving her with the too
familiar dragging sensation in her stomach. She rubbed her temples but couldn’t
stop the pounding in her head. The room stank of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol,
making her nauseous. She pushed herself up on her elbows and reached for the plastic
cup of water on the shabby bedside cabinet. A half empty pack of Marlboro Lights
lay beside the cup. She shook one out and lit it, then coughed as the acrid
smoke filled her lungs. As she pulled on the cigarette her mind began to clear
and she remembered why she was here.
‘Not long now sweethearts. Mommy’s
coming,’ she whispered, as she swung her legs off the bed and padded over to
the shower room.
She peered at her reflection in the
dim light of the solitary light bulb over the mirror. Haunted brown eyes with
dark shadows under them stared back at her. She splashed some water on her face
and dragged her fingers through her short, brown hair. A small, white plastic bottle
with a ridged cap lay by the sink, its printed label faded by constant handling.
She hadn’t needed them for a while. She used alcohol to help her sleep these
days.
Beth
screwed up her eyes against the early morning, autumn sunshine. People hurried
by, their coats wrapped tightly against the cold north wind. She tried to light
a cigarette, but her hands were shaking too much. In front of her stood the
tall, pentagon-shaped structure of the Baltimore World Trade Centre, dominating
the skyline. She stared at it, oblivious to the jostling of people going about
their business. It was Thanksgiving and the air was filled with the sounds of
children, chattering as they stood in line for the National Aquarium. A man
walked by with a child on his shoulders, another one skipping along beside him.
Beth looked away, but not before her throat began to ache and the familiar
feeling of emptiness settled in her stomach.
She sat down on one of the benches in
the harbour. The cold of the stone seeped through the thin material of her old,
black coat, but she was unaware of the discomfort. She lit up and, through the
haze of the smoke, stared at the Baltimore 9/11 monument which lay in front of her.
Sheltered from the sea breeze by the Trade Centre building, the rectangular,
grey, marble base reminded her of a tombstone. Her eyes travelled up to the
three steel beams lying on top and shivered at their twisted, fused appearance,
their bronze colour a stark contrast to the grey of the marble. Designed to act
like a sundial, the shadow of the World Trade Centre crept across the base. She
watched until it reached six minutes past ten, the time that Flight 93 crashed
and then, ahe names
and dates of birth of all the passengers that had perished on that day; their
names engraved forever on its marble surface, a sad reminder of their brief existence.
Her heart skipped a beat as, at last, her eyes lit upon the three names she’d
been looking for. Through vision blurred by tears, she lifted her fingers to her
lips, and kissed the tips before tracing them over each name.
On the 11th September, Beth drove her
husband and two daughters to the airport in Newark, New Jersey.
‘You
better go honey. You don’t want to miss your appointment,’ Frank said, his grey
eyes twinkling and she remembered noticing a few grey hairs that had appeared
at his temples.
She’d
tried to smile, but only the left side of her lips lifted at the corner. Her
right cheek throbbed.
‘Bye
Mommy. Miss you already,’ said Zoe, as she stretched up her arms for a hug.
‘Bye
sweetie. You be good for Dad and Grandma. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘I’m
always good!’
‘I
know you are. I’m just kidding you.’ She’d laughed, rubbing the dark curls on her
eldest daughter’s head. At five years old, she considered herself to be all
grown up.
‘I
be good too, Mummy.’
‘Course
you are Jenna. You’re the best little three-year-old in the world,’ she’d
replied. Then kneeling down, she’d kissed the top of her youngest daughter’s
head. As she’d stood up, their cheeks had touched and she’d winced at the pain
that shot through her swollen cheek.
‘Bye
honey. I hope the dentist can sort out that abscess once and for all.’
‘Me
too, I don’t know how much more of this pain I can take.’
Beth
had watched as the three of them disappeared through security, Frank carrying Jenna,
her face resting on his shoulder, Zoe skipping alongside him, holding his hand.
Five
years on, she could still feel the softness of her daughter’s cheek as it had touched
hers. Her face had been hurting, but she realised now that she hadn’t know what
real pain was then.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’
Startled, Beth stepped back and
stumbled as her foot gave way underneath her.
‘Oh jeez, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean
to scare you,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Are you OK?’
She winced at the pain that shot
through her foot as she turned to glare at the tall, blond-haired stranger
standing behind her.
‘I’m so sorry. You’ve hurt yourself.
Here let me help you.’
‘I think you’ve done enough already, don’t
you?’ she retorted through clenched teeth.
‘I’m really sorry,’ he said, a tinge
of red appearing under the golden tone of his tan. ‘My wife’s always telling me
off for “accosting complete strangers”
as she puts it.’
‘Look. I’m fine. I just need to sit
down for a minute, that’s all.’ But as she tried to put her weight on her
ankle, a sharp pain shot through it. ‘Ouch,’ she cried, tears of anger and
frustration now falling down her cheeks.
‘Please, at least let me help you over
to the bench?’
‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but I
just want to be left alone.’ She tried once more to put her weight on her foot,
but stumbled as another sharp pain pierced her ankle. ‘Damn it! Well don’t just
stand there. Help me if you’re going to.’
He reached forward and lifted her
right arm and placed it around his broad shoulders. Beth’s foot barely touched
the ground as he helped her hobble over to the stone bench.
‘May I?’ he said, pointing at the
foot. ‘I know a bit about first aid.’
Beth nodded, and then flinched as he
lifted her foot; the pain making her feel light headed.
‘Sorry. Mm … looks pretty swollen. You
need to get this looked at. My car’s just parked over there. I can take you to
the ER.’
‘No. Thanks. I’ll call a cab and go
myself.’
‘That could take ages and how are
you going to get yourself into the hospital? Please, let me take you. It was my
fault after all.’
Beth looked down at her ankle. She
knew he was right. ‘Ok,’ she sighed, ‘but I’d feel more comfortable if we took
a cab.’
‘No problem. I’ll be back in a minute.
I’m Ethan by the way.’
But Beth just closed her eyes and
remained silent.
Ethan’s
footsteps echoed on the polished, grey floor as he pushed the wheelchair along the
corridor. The smell of antiseptic and polish were making Beth’s stomach heave. She
subconsciously began to rub the scars on her wrists. Memories of another
hospital corridor tried to push their way into her mind, but she stared at the
signs on the walls, reading each one in an attempt to chase the memories away.
As they approached the reception desk,
the young woman standing behind smiled at them.
‘Hi, how are you today?’ Ethan said,
returning her smile.
But Beth looked down at her lap; she’d
had enough of cheerful people today.
‘My friend’s had an accident. I think
she’s done something to her ankle.’
‘Well you’ve come to the right place. I’ll
need a few details, if you can just fill in this form for me please?’ she said,
as she handed him a large white form. ‘The doctors are all with patients at the
moment. There’s a bit of a wait I’m afraid.’
Beth looked around at the stark white
walls and grey floor, the sickening smell of antiseptic seemed to cling to her.
Her heart was pounding and she ran her tongue over her dry lips. The unwanted memories,
quiet up until now, forced their way into her mind.
Later that day, she was in Newark hospital’s
orthodontic department. She’d watched in horror as the television screen replayed
the moment the first plane hit the north tower. She stood transfixed as they
reported that Flight 93 had gone down with no survivors. Three days later, she’d
woken up in a bed in a side room of the psychiatric department. Her wrists had
white bandages wrapped around them, but she’d been too numb to feel any pain.
The
sound of Ethan’s voice brought her back to the present as he handed her the
form.
‘Sorry. I can’t do this bit. I don’t even
know your name.’
‘Beth; it’s Beth. Look, you don’t have to wait
with me, I’ll be fine.’
‘So you keep saying! You sure are
one stubborn lady.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just having a bad
day.’
‘I’d worked that one out for myself!’
he laughed.
Despite herself, Beth couldn’t help
smiling.
The
waiting room was remarkably empty. Ethan placed her wheelchair beside one of
the orange plastic chairs before sitting down beside her. It was so quiet that
Beth was sure he could hear her heart. It was beating so hard, almost as if it
was about to leap out of her chest. She hated hospitals.
‘Is it something to do with the
memorial?’
Beth started at the sound of Ethan’s
voice and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Why do you care? You don’t even know me.’
‘True. But I’m guessing that you were
at the monument for a reason. I know I was.’
‘Well it’s my business if I was.’ she
retorted as she pulled down the sleeves of her coat, once more conscious of the
scars.
‘I realise that. But I think that we
might have something in common. Look, we’ve got a while to wait. Why don’t I
tell you why I was at the memorial today?’
Beth got the feeling that she wasn’t
going to like what he had to say, but something in the tone of his voice made
her nod her head in assent.
‘I was in the north tower when the first
plane hit. I was an investment banker with Cantor Fitzgerald and worked on
floor 101. I was lucky, but I lost thirteen friends and colleagues that day.’
He stopped and ran his hands, through
his close-cropped hair. Beth saw that they were trembling.
‘I’m sorry, that must have been
terrible,’ she murmured.
‘It was.’
He leaned forward and put his face in
his hands, she noticed that he had burn marks on the back of them. Like hers,
the scars were faded, but still visible.
‘I had nightmares for years,’ he said
so softly that she had to lean in closer to hear. ‘Every time I closed my eyes
I would feel the heat of the flames and taste the dust and smoke in my mouth.
But the worst thing was the sound of screams and cries for help.’
Beth waited as he took a deep breath
before continuing. She seemed unable to tear her eyes away from his scars.
‘I have images in my head that no-one
should have.’
Beth’s throat and chest seemed to
constrict; she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She continued to stare as he took
a tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. Her eyes were stinging as she
fought to hold back the tears that had begun to well in them.
‘I’m sorry; it must’ve been very difficult
for you,’ she sniffed.
Ethan nodded his head, ‘The guilt’s
the hardest thing to bear. You keep asking yourself, why me? Why did I survive
when others didn’t? I was in therapy for a long, long time.’
He sat up and Beth found herself mesmerised
by the brightness of his blue eyes.
‘A couple of months after the disaster
I quit my job and moved my family out of New York. When you’ve been through
something like that, it makes you think about what really matters.’
Beth clasped her hands together to try
and stop their trembling. She wanted him to stop but instead found herself
saying, ‘So what do you do now?’
‘I manage a holiday resort in
Vermont. I plan my work around when the kids get home from school. I try to
spend as much time with them as possible. I’d been a lousy husband and father;
working all the hours God sent. Now I make sure I have time to do things with
them.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Beth whispered, a
wistful note in her voice.
‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that,
when something tragic happens, it is possible to move on.’
Beth shivered and tugged once more at her
sleeves, but said nothing.
‘There’s one thing the therapist said that
I’ve never forgotten. Would you like to hear it?’
‘Sure,’ she shrugged.
He took her trembling hands in his and
continued. ‘She said that the best way to honour my friends was to live the
best life I could, make each day count. I realised that that’s what I would’ve
wanted for my family, if I’d died that day. I’ve been given a second chance and
I’m taking it.’
Beth stared at the large tanned hands
holding her small pale ones. ‘But what if you don’t want a second chance? What
if there’s no family to live for?’ she whispered, tears now running unchecked
down her cheeks.
‘Well in that case, you should live it
for yourself, in honour of their memory.’
Ethan
was in the waiting room when the nurse wheeled her back, his blond head nodding
as he slept in the chair.
She tapped him on the shoulder,
‘Ethan, I’m back.’
Startled, his head shot up, his eyes
blinking rapidly. ‘What? Oh good, how did you get on?’
‘It’s just a sprain. I just need to
rest up for a few days.’
‘That’s great. What’s that you’re
holding?’
Beth looked at the letter of
referral she was clutching in her hand. ‘Oh nothing, I just had a little chat
with the doctor. That’s all.’
He nodded his head and she knew that
he understood. ‘How about a coffee before I take you home?’
‘Coffee would be great thanks, but I
could murder a cigarette. Do you smoke?’
‘Nope! Gave it up after 9/11.’
‘Funny, that’s when I started.’
They
sat by the window in the cafeteria. Beth stirred her coffee as she stared out
on the garden. Children played on small wooden animals as their parents looked
on. A little boy sat in a wheelchair, his left leg encased in plaster. He
laughed as his mum tickled his foot. Beth smiled.
‘That’s more like it! I was beginning
to think that you didn’t know how to smile?’
‘I don’t think I did! Not for a long
time anyway.’
‘Want to tell me about it?’
A father walked by carrying a little
girl, her face resting on his shoulder. Beth watched them until they disappeared.
She shook her head. ‘Not now. I’m tired. Can you call a cab please?’
As
Ethan pushed her along the motel corridor in the borrowed wheelchair the
hospital had insisted she use; he talked about his son and two daughters. Beth could
see by the way his face lit up as he talked that he was a devoted father. As she
listened she closed her eyes and waited for the familiar sharp pain, but, this time
it was more of a dull ache.
Ethan opened the door and pulled her
into her room. It seemed brighter than Beth remembered.
‘Thank you, I’ll be fine now,’ she
said, as she watched him taking in the shabbiness of the room.
‘Are you sure? I can stay for a bit
if you like?’
‘No thanks, I’m tired. All I want to
do is sleep.’
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ he reached into
his jacket pocket and took something out of his wallet. ‘Here’s my card.
Anytime you want a holiday in Vermont, just give me a call. Or, just call. I’d love
to hear your story someday. When you’re ready.’
‘Thanks. You’ve been really kind. Sorry
for being rude.’
‘No problem. I get it. Just
remember, everyone deserves a second chance.’
‘I will,’ she whispered, as he
closed the door behind him.
Beth
pulled herself up out of the wheelchair and hopped over to the shower room. She
looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Was it really possible? Could she really have a second chance? She
closed her eyes and pictured the names on the memorial.
Frank Reynolds; 1956; Zoe Reynolds;
1996; Jenna Reynolds; 1998.
They’d
been so full of life. She thought about what Ethan had said about living life
for them. It was exactly the kind of thing that Frank would have said. She picked
up the bottle of pills from where she’d left them that morning. She turned on
the tap and opened the bottle. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she watched
the contents briefly swirl around in the water before disappearing down the
drain.
Photos, Isabel's own.
Isabel Johnstone 2017 ©
