The following short story was prompted in a creative writing session by the leader with this direction: “Write a short scene or poem where a character experiences a strong emotion and expresses it through their body. Think about how they move. Do they pace in frustration, collapse in exhaustion, or tremble from adrenaline? How does their physical state mirror or contradict their internal thoughts? Use the sensations you observe in your own movements to bring authenticity to their experience. If you’re stuck, try focusing on a moment of tension or relief and describe how the body reacts before the character even realizes what they’re feeling.” As always, draw from experience.
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“Turn on the TV!”
Robert burst into the living room, having just dropped the children off at school, shouting before the door to the house was even fully opened.
Sharon was finishing her makeup. She looked at her watch—8:55 AM. They had to leave for the airport by 10:00 if they were going to make it in time.
“Come here, quick!” he shouted once again.
Hearing his shout, his voice, its tinniness in fear, the urgency, her shoulders stiffened. A prickle trailed its way up her neck, electricity weaving its way up, ending in her ears, ringing in alert. Her fingers loosened involuntarily, and the brush clattered into the porcelain bowl of her sink.
Moving as if through thigh-high waves, she pushed toward the stairs, vaguely aware of a growing desire not to know. Whatever it was, she was safe, in this moment, without knowledge. Time could pass, but she desperately wanted it to do so without knowledge. She held her body, every muscle taut, at the top of the landing.
“Sharon!”
Hesitating, she forced herself to take that first step. Her clenched calves lumbered her feet forward, one by one, each tread down, down, down toward the news. Something horrible was pending—she felt it—her gut wavering in ripples. Her intuition had never failed her. This one felt big.
The glare of the television assaulted her eyes as she entered the living room, curtains still drawn tight from the night’s sleep. On the screen, a brilliant blue sky. A gleaming office tower, smoke billowing from its side about one-third of the way down.
Sharon’s brow creased, tightening in her confusion.
“What is that?”
Without looking at her, he replied, “One of the Twin Towers.”
She scrambled to catch up, her thoughts tumbling as she peered more deeply toward the screen. “It’s on fire?” she asked.
“A plane flew into it.”
“A plane?!”
As they watched, another plane appeared, blazing across the screen. The announcer shouted.
The silence in the room lengthened.
“Is this a replay?” Sharon broke in and blinked hard, squinting.
“Holy shit.” Robert’s voice, flat and low, came from underwater, muffled as her brain devoted its entire focus to unraveling the images in front of her.
A wave of brightness washed across her vision. Clarity.
“We’re under attack,” she whispered.
“What?” his head swiveled toward her.
A sudden lump in her stomach, frozen solid, icy cold, and all-knowing. She felt her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, with the tension held deep inside.
“What did you say?” he repeated, his eyes widening.
A torrent of thoughts released within her—My kids, I need them here. Where do we hide? There’s nowhere to hide. Somewhere underground? Will they tell us? We are on our own. She felt lighter than air and energized.
Inhaling deeply, she admonished herself, chill. “It looks like we are being attacked.”
“Really? Why do you say that?” His voice rose in disbelief at the end.
They stood, numb and blinded in the fog of war, attempting to orient themselves again.
“I can’t fly in this,” she finally said.
“I know.” He picked up his cell phone.
“I really can’t.” She started to moan. Water rose behind her nose to eye level. She concentrated on not letting it spill out, but her voice keened as she said again, “I can’t.”
“I’m calling the airline.”
A buzzing thrummed in Sharon’s ears. Her eyes, peeled to the television, flickered slightly. A sudden sense of urgency vibrated through her.
“We have to get the kids!” she burst out and spun on her heel.
“Hold on,” she heard Robert shout behind her and then the thumping of his heavy footsteps quickly approaching. But her hand was on the knob, and she was stepping out. A dense tug on her sleeve and a sudden halt to her forward movement. The door slammed shut before her.
“Wait.” He turned her toward him.
Her muscles fluttered and then, with watery release, she melted into her husband, her chest sucking in the air around deeply and bellowing out in a long wail.
“Okay,” she heard him murmur, his broad hand stroking her hair. She pushed deeper into the cavity of his clavicle and breathed in the warmth of his wool coat. Her sobs came furiously now, and she let go of all control, allowing herself to be held up in her husband’s arms.
They wavered back and forth in this way for an eternal minute. Then he led her to the couch, and they both fell into it, locked in their agitation.
“I can’t get through to the airline,” he said.
She grasped onto this problem, grateful for something tactical and solid to cling to. Her thoughts came into focus, “I’ll call Jean at my office. Ask for her help. Have her call.”
The phone rang twice, and Jean answered, her voice breathy and on edge.
“Hi,” Sharon paused, inhaling through her nose.
“Oh, dear God.”
“I know. We are home.”
A weeping floated from the earpiece of her phone. Softly, it stroked Sharon’s nerves.
“You’re safe.”
“Yes, we are. We hadn’t left for the airport yet.”
There was a short period of no one speaking. Sharon stared at the receiver.
“Jean?”
“No, no. I mean you are safe.”
Curious, Sharon reflected. Of course, we are safe. “Yes, our flight wasn’t until this afternoon, so we had time. But I need you to do something for me. Can you call the airline and cancel our tickets? I cannot fly in this today.”
“Sharon, no one is flying today. The government shut down all airlines. Every airport is in lockdown.”
Sharon felt her chest tighten. “Really?” she breathed.
“Yes, no one is flying. Planes have been diverted. This is horrible!” Jean trilled.
Sharon cupped the receiver and yelled to Robert, still seated in the living room with the television blaring its alarm. “Everything is shut down!”
“Makes sense.”
“Sharon?” Jean’s voice squeezed through her muffling hand.
“Yes,” Sharon responded, lifting the receiver to her ear again.
“It could have been so much worse.”
Sharon’s thoughts were apprehended by this statement. So much worse? I mean, two buildings are flaming, hundreds if not thousands of people are trapped—how much worse could it get?
“How so?”
She heard—or sensed—a deep inhale from her administrative assistant.
“Jean?”
“Yes, sorry, I wanted to find the email. Hold on.”
Sharon’s neatly marching thoughts now swung in disorder. Email? What email? What is she saying?
“Here.” Jean’s voice came back on the line. “I’m forwarding the original email for your flight to you.”
Sharon jolted. “No, Jean, I cannot be making these calls right now. We have to go to the schools, get the kids, I need you to—”
“No. The original email for your flight to L.A. Out of Boston.”
“What about it?”
“You were on that first flight.” She could hear Jeans voice catch, a quick gulp of air.
“What first flight? I’m so confused, what are you talking about.” Sharon felt heat rise from her neck to her face. Her irritation with Jean was often palpable. Robert’s head came around the corner, she watched him stare her down.
“What do you need?” she asked her husband, who shook his head briefly and waved his hand, as if for her to continue with her call.
“Ok, I have to go.” Sharon said, staring back at Robert.
“Wait!” Jeans voice was shrill, and Sharon startled at her tone.
“Wait,” Jean repeated. “I need you to hear this. You must understand how lucky you are right now.”
Sharon heard Jean’s breath emphasize the last word Now.
“When I originally booked for you, you asked for a direct flight. The only one was out of Boston. It was American Airlines Flight 11. That’s the plane that first hit the tower!”
Sharon leaned her back against the wall, her thigh muscles clenching as she slowly lowered herself to the floor.
Jean’s voice, softer now, continued. “Then you decided to leave out of Hartford instead. But I never get rid of any old emails, especially when it comes to budget items or agreements. So, when I saw the news this morning, something made me so uneasy. I thought it was just the shock of it all, but then I remembered the travel plans I had made for you. My God, Sharon, you and Vic would have been on that flight!”
Sharon’s vision grew wispy around the edges, a grey veil compressing her sight to a single occipital point on the grainy knot in her walnut kitchen floor. A black, swirling hole, as the sounds around her stopped. Staring into the dark abyss of wood she slowly closed her eyes and slipped into the calm of nothingness.