Thunder Dog - Michael Hingson [59]
David has been a good friend today, and I hope I have been a good friend to him. I think back to the other people we encountered during the day, both in the tower and outside. As our paths intersected, I tried to help whoever I could.
The experiences of today, as nightmarish as they have been, are also an opportunity, a chance to learn and to grow. I’m not sure yet what the lessons are, but I know they will be there. As David and I part, I set my face toward home. Roselle and I need rest.
“Forward,” I say to my dear Roselle. The station is packed, bustling with people fleeing Manhattan for safer places. We head downstairs and board a train for Newark. The train is packed. People notice the dust still clinging to the creases and folds of my clothes and Roselle’s fur. They know we are fleeing the World Trade Center. They want to know everything.
Were you in the Towers?
Did you hear the plane hit?
How long did it take you to get out?
Talking is hard.
Roselle and I arrive in Newark, New Jersey, and switch to the Westfield train on track 5. I call Karen to let her know we’re getting close. She had been standing by to drive the van and fetch us in Newark if the Westfield train hadn’t been running.
At seven o’clock in the evening, we make it to Westfield. We climb down from the train, and my ears pick up the unmistakable sound of our van pulling up to the curb. Our dear friend Tom Painter is driving, with Karen seated in the back. The door slides open, and Roselle and I scramble in. Our reunion is joyous. I am home.
A few minutes later, we arrive at the house to an excited greeting from Linnie, my retired guide dog. She wags her tail, her whole body wiggling with joy. Then she sniffs us thoroughly.
I take care of Roselle first. I pull off her harness and try to give her a good brushing to remove as much of the dust and debris as I can, but for once she won’t stand still. She runs off like she’s on a mission and comes back in a few minutes with her prized Booda Bone, a braided rope with a big knot on each end. Roselle prances around with the rope bone in her mouth and Linnie trailing behind, hoping for a game of tug-of-war.
I think over the day’s events. From the initial explosion and tower leaning, to the stairwell descent, the mad flight from the collapsing tower, the trek through the dust cloud, the discovery of the subway station, the long walk through Manhattan, and the journey home, it has been a very long day. And while I am spent, Roselle seems to have recovered already. And she hasn’t even been outside yet.
Later, in the shower, I relax as the hot water washes away the dust and the sweat. I am alive. Roselle and I made it.
Karen orders moo shu pork, General Tso’s chicken, and egg rolls from our favorite Chinese takeout. When the food arrives, Karen, Tom, and I enjoy a quiet meal. The television murmurs in the background as the media rehashes the day, but our focus is on each other. There were several times during the day when I thought I would never see Karen again. But here we are, safe and together. And much of the credit goes to Roselle.
My body begins to tingle with fatigue, and I head upstairs to bed. Roselle takes her place on the floor next to my side of the bed. She sleeps peacefully. The storm is over.
After September 11, everything changed. Thousands perished. For some reason Roselle and I survived.
When I woke up the next morning, my emotions were numb, but my body was not. I could barely move. Every muscle ached, and I was so stiff it took me ten minutes to get out of bed. I released Roselle and Linnie from their tie-downs, and they began bouncing around the room, winding themselves up for a game of chase. I moaned and groaned as I pulled on my robe and tied the belt, then bit my tongue so I didn’t wake up Karen.
Even my hands were sore. I shuffled across the room and down the hall, the dogs running ahead. Each step was agony.