I was late every single day for my entire career, except on that day.You could say I hated my supervisor. She was bitter. She was gratuitous in both her praise of her boss and her scorn for her employees. I was her only employee.

Yes. She was bitter.

Her name was Inez.

She was cursed with a masculine face, that while not fat, was rounder than usual.

Her husband Gershwin was cadaverous and silent.
He barely acknowledged me any time that I saw him over twenty years of work functions.
Gershwin was a tenured professor in some soft science at a small college with no name-brand cache, but a large endowment.
She and Gershwin and some success in life, they bought derelict real estate in Manhattan when derelict real estate in Manhattan was almost worthless.

In life our acts become our habits.
She picked her nose in her daily briefing meeting.
She never did this with a superior but only with the staff. It was unpleasant to sit while a grown adult rooted deep into her nostril with no shame or acknowledgement of the unpleasantness of the search and disposal of her prize. Not a scratch.
Not a brief turn of the head to handle a discreet itch.
Not an occasional indiscretion.
And not a pinky finger, but a long ring finger or sometimes her middle finger.

Her taxpayer funded expeditions always somehow dovetailed with a family trip and her husband's soft science research mission.

She despised me yet she trusted me with knowledge of her petty embezzlement and her internecine power struggles.

At her most ridiculous she quoted Machiavelli's The Prince", you know, the famous line about whether it is better to be loved or feared, quoted by all mobsters in all mobster movies: "I come to the conclusion that, men loving according to their own will and fearing according to that of the prince, a wise prince should establish himself on that which is in his own control and not in that of others."

I wanted to grab her by her fashionably large collar, while her finger was still deep up-nose and shout.



So to delay my exposure to her tiresome antics to the last possible minute I was late every day.

It was my little act of rebellion and her opportunity to express disdain as I walked in.

And so it was this little dance, every day but that day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On that day I woke up early.
The day was brisk but not cold.
I wasted little time getting myself into the subway station, on the train and on down the isle of Manhattan to work.

As I walked up the stairs from the subway to the street I saw a cloud of black and felt a stinging in my eyes and skin.
I climbed the last stair and could see smoke but no fire.
Smoke, dust, ash all around me.

With nowhere else to go I cautiously walked to work.
I heard a crash and felt another rush of hot air.

A further block and I found an old woman sitting on the curb  and staring into space.
I asked her where she was going and she said she did not know. She was covered in soot, her clothes and hair matted with debris.Her eyes were wide and distant. I felt fear and confusion. I approached her and asked where she was going, but she didn't respond. I tasted soot when I opened my mouth, the smell was thick and acrid.

With a high pitch of panic she asked "What is going on? Help me. Help me."
She was not injured but she was walking with difficulty.

We walked in silence.

I walked up the stairs, slippery with soot.
I know now that all around me was chaos but at the time I could not see anyone else.
I know that there was much noise and commotion but today all I remember is the crash. I heard the sound of shattering glass, the screams of panicked people, and the wailing of emergency sirens. The sky was a dark grey and orange, with ash and dust swirling in the air.

The old woman said she could find her way home.

She walked east, away from the collapsing building, and I walked south to my office. Ray the security guard greeted me.

"Run for your life, miss." He said teeth clenched and tearful. He barely held on to his authoritative pose.

"Aint no work today miss."

From above I saw people drop from the gaping burning hole of the tower still standing.
Human beings diving from a mile in the sky.

"miss, you got to go" Ray yelled from the top of the stairs. I stepped forward and stumbled, I caught myself and with a deep breath tasted the bitter burning ash that now enveloped everything.

I walked for miles, past the haunted survivors, past the crash of the second tower and finally into the safe quiet of midtown.

I will never know why I was not late that day.
Maybe the weekend had been better than normal and still carried my spirits.
I like to think my supervisor was kind to me that Friday and the gesture inspired me on Tuesday. I've tried to remember and find I remember nothing.
All I know for sure is that I was on time to see what I would never forget.

Today I am still scared of loud noises.

I walked into my best friend’s apartment which was in my apartment building. She was sitting with her husband eating chicken for dinner. She offered me wine and food. We sat together sharing stories about everyone we knew and where they were. She said to me: "I did not worry about you because I thought you would have never gone downtown since you were usually late leaving.

" I laughed and said "Today was the first day that I have been on time."