I watch as the lights at top of the elevator stop at “78”. The metal doors slide apart and those that are waiting in front of the elevator step aside. After others that also work on floor 78 walk through the doorway, I smile at everybody outside of the elevator and step off. 

    78

     “Hey, Thomas! How’s it going?” George asks while leaning back in his chair at his desk. 

    “What’s up?” I exclaim while setting my bag on my desk and settling into my seat. “I heard a new coffee shop just opened down the street. We should check it out someday,” I state while holding down the button on the side of the computer. The screen slowly brightens and the Windows logo appears. 

    “Oh, definitely. It would be great to be able to get refills right down the street. We should go this Friday,” George replies. 

    “Ok.” 

    George has always been one of my best buds ever since we started to work together. About three years ago, we both got jobs on the 78th floor of the North Tower in the World Trade Center. Because our desks are right next to each other, the bond that we share has gotten stronger every single day. Some mornings, we both buy each other a cup of coffee when the other person is running late. During the day, one of us always takes a trip out of the World Trade Center to bring back lunch. Then, after work, we often stop at a restaurant if the lunch was not very filling. We never knew that a job could create such a strong bond between two people. 

    After talking about the past weekend for a couple of minutes, we finally settled into our work. Our eyes are locked on the screens of our computers and our fingers are moving a mile a minute on the keyboard. I look at the tiny clock to the right of my computer. “8:34 AM”. 

    After a couple minutes of working on our computers, George and I agree that taking a break seems plausible. We both lean back in our seats and grab our cups of coffee off of our desks. “Did you hear that the new Lord of the Rings movie is coming out in December?” George asks. 

    “Yes, my son won’t stop talking about-” All of a sudden, a loud engine is heard from a distance outside. 

    “Well, that plane must be low.” Everybody on the floor lifts their heads up and stares out of the window to the right. A wing of a plane appears from the side of the building in front of the North Tower. 

    “Uh, George? Is the plane heading towards us?” I quickly ask with a shaky voice. 

    Everybody in the room starts to panic. Some crawl under desks, some rush towards the stairs, and some just freeze in place. Eventually, the entire plane is visible and only moves closer to the building. As quickly as I can, I crawl under my desk and close my eyes. 

    Everything happens at once. The entire building shifts out of place as flames form in every direction. Every paper, folder, and computer launches off of the desks around the room. It seems like time has stopped in New York City. I try to believe that everything is okay and I am sitting at my desk, drinking coffee on a bright and sunny day. I try to believe that George is sitting a couple seats down, typing on his computer while laughing at another  joke that would  with him after it has popped into his head. Everything seems perfect during this moment, but the chaos in the room  this image. 

    “Thomas?” George shouts

    “George! Where are you?” I shout back, hoping he can hear me. 

    “I don’t know, but I can’t feel anything!” I brush the shreds of paper off of my body and push myself to my feet. The entire room is filled with smoke and I can not see much, so I follow George’s voice. I realize that in order to get myself and George out of the building, I have to stay calm and stoic. 

    “Hang on, I’m coming!” I yell. I slowly trudge across the room, stepping over broken ceiling tiles and folded chairs. Once I finally reach George, I reach out my hand and he grabs it. He manages to stand up on his feet, but he is only balanced on one leg. “George, your leg.” 

    A piece of a ceiling tile falls onto George’s head and he collapses again. “We have to get you out of here,” I exclaim. I grab George’s arms and pull one over my shoulder. 

    “I’m guessing that the plane hit above us. That’s good,” George manages to state. 

    “Yeah. We just have to find our way down. Can you use your other leg to help me?” I question him. 

    “I will try to.” We make it down the first flight of stairs very smoothly and the next floor down does not look much different from floor 78. People are lying on the ground and the actual floor is not visible.

    However, once we reach the next staircase, we realize that only half of it remains, which banters our original plan of escaping smoothly. “How do we get down now?” George asks in a panicked voice. 

    “The space is big enough for me to step over. I will go first and then I will pull you down. Hold onto the railing, “I reply as George wraps his hands around the metal railing on the wall.