grounded.

She wanted those Strawberry Shortcake paper plates. And the cups and napkins to match. Thirteen seven year old girls were coming over to the house next weekend. The cake was a surprise. Little pink strawberries and flowers decorated the edges and there were seven little plastic pink ballerinas dancing across the top. The bike was at his mother’s house. He put it together two nights ago and it only took an hour and a half without reading the instructions. He remembered the little white basket attached to the front. Pink plastic ribbons hung from the handlebars and multi-colored beads slid up and down the spokes when he gave it a little push. There was even a small cup holder under the seat which held a matching water bottle. She was gonna love it.

The plane was speeding up. His sweaty hands grasped the small arm rests until his knuckles were white. The clear breathing mask dangled from a small tube in front of his face but he made no move to put it on. The wheels of the drink cart came squeaking by while it rolled towards the front of the plane. The small plastic cup that held his empty bag of peanuts made no sound as it landed in the space between his dress shoes. So many noises, but the drop of one cup was never heard. There were screams. He could distinguish some from others. There was one in row twelve. It wasn’t a sad one; it was more of a ‘If I scream loud enough, someone will hear me and come help’. But of course, at a few miles above the great city of New York, no one would hear those screams. And in row three. This was more of a combination of screaming and sobbing. This was definitely a sad scream. A scream that in between the sobs, begged for its life. But the one that he heard now was coming from row eight. This was a scream of sheer terror. This one knew what was coming and knew it would hurt like hell. Beneath the symphony of their dying music, he could pick out the deep threats shouted in Arabic. No one had a clue what was being said, but he believed it to be something along the lines of “All of you shut the fuck up!” or “You are all going to die!” It was probably best that his fellow passengers couldn’t translate. His calves were clenched and pressed under his small seat and his grasp on the arm rests became even tighter. He could feel the rattling of the large aircraft pulsing through his entire body as he let out a ragged deep breath. There was another scream now. One that haunted him and gave him a small shiver. This scream had children and a spouse, just like him. His weary and red eyes focused on the small sticker with directions stuck to the side of the breathing mask. There were five different languages, but he quickly found English and began to read.

The older one had her first date on Friday. The boy was coming over at eight to take her to a movie. Her and her mother went shopping for makeup yesterday and he sat at home chewing his cuticles. She was a sophomore in high school and he hadn’t seemed to realize it until yesterday. She kept her music loud and her door closed. He always told the nun joke when they had company and she never failed to roll her eyes and sigh. She hated that joke. Her varsity soccer team won all-state this year and he kept a picture of her after their winning game on his desk at work. Her long blonde hair was wet with sweat and pulled into a loose ponytail. The number twenty-nine on her jersey was covered in mud because it had rained the whole game. She hated getting her picture taken and her lips only barely curled in the corners, but beneath the sweat and mud, her green eyes sparkled. She was beautiful. Just like her mother.

He had almost missed his flight this morning. She insisted on ironing his shirt. She was all about first impressions. The cab had already honked three times and she was spraying starch on the sleeves. As she bent over the ironing board, a loose curl fell across her forehead. It was already 6:30 and there was no way he could miss this flight, but there was no way he was getting out of the house with a wrinkly shirt. With one final look-over, she smiled and nodded her approval. She held up the stiff and pressed dress shirt as he slipped his arms into the warm sleeves. Her small hands straightened his silk tie while he shoved his long limbs into his jacket. The last honk was a good minute long and before he even knew it, he was loading his luggage into the trunk. He didn’t remember a kiss goodbye or a wave. All he remembered was the sound the tires made squealing on their paved driveway.He was out of breath when he finally found his seat. He was relieved to find the matching numbers on his ticket on a seat located next to the window. It was 7:45 now and he had planned on a nap until they reached Los Angeles. It was gonna be a long week and he was gonna give the small foam airplane pillow full use. With his bag in the overhead compartment and his safety belt buckled, the wheels of the large aircraft whirred in motion. At 7:59am Flight 11 lifted off the runway at Logan Airport for the last time.

She had a dance recital next Thursday. Her tutu barely fit through the doorway. They had been practicing this routine for “months, Daddy…months!” His parents were coming up for it and they had made sure to charge their video camera. She insisted on trying on her tutu every night after dinner and before her homework. They were learning addition and subtraction now and she always had problems with the number nine. For weeks she wanted to believe that nine minus three was always five. She would pound her fists on the edges of the table and huff, “Daddy, I need a break to try on my tutu. This stuff is wearing me out.” He couldn’t help but laugh and give her a pat on the butt while she ran to her bedroom.

He remembered seeing quite a few empty seats towards the back of the plane, but he loosened his tie and let the rocking of the plane lull him to sleep. Exactly fourteen minutes later, he heard the first scream that would continue to echo through the aisles for the rest of their short flight. His eyes shot open and his fingers fumbled quickly with his safety belt. As soon as he straightened his knees to stand, a sharp blade appeared under his chin. A warm, hot breath steamed the skin behind his ear as he heard a Middle-Eastern accent dripping over the harsh and angry threats. “Sit the fuck down!” The attacker directed his attention to the rest of the terrified passengers, “Everyone sit down and shut up! No one is going anywhere!” His knees slowly bent towards the edge of his seat as his breathing became sharp and hurried. The attacker’s grip loosened as an older man in row twenty-two started to stand. As the blade left his neck and followed with the attacker’s hand, he noticed it was already covered in someone’s blood. He was the only one in his row, but he could hear the older woman in the row in front of him mumbling some recited prayer and sobbing for her life. Before he had time to think or react, another heavily-accented voice came from the back. This attacker came running down the aisle towards the front of the plane ending at the nose in the pilot’s quarters. He stretched his legs out under the seat in front of him and slid lower towards the ground. On his hands and knees, he counted the seats as he passed them. One, two, three, four. With a stretch of his eyes, he saw three of them collected around the front of the plane. Each armed with their own bloody box-cutter. Where did that blood come from? He took a swift glance around the occupied seats and beneath all the chaos and tears, he didn’t seem to find anyone who appeared to be too badly hurt. As his eyes scanned back to the attackers, he looked eye-level and there he found the source of the blood. Lying in a pool of dark red, the torso displayed half out into the aisle. It was the pilot.

She was becoming more like her mother everyday. Although, she would never admit it. The older she got, the more defined her features became. Her face had thinned out and her freckles were disappearing. She definitely didn’t look like a little girl anymore. He remembered sitting in the passenger seat just last week when they went for a practice drive. He was sweating bullets and she had the music up too loud. “Dad, will you seriously just calm down? I know what I’m doing, ok?” Less than five minutes later, she ran up on the curb. Overall, she didn’t kill them and although he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, she was old enough to get her license. Her favorite band was a name he could never remember but it sounded something along the lines of shattering glass, squealing rubber, and a little bit of nails on a chalkboard. Even though she was growing up, he would always remember holding all six pounds, nine ounces of her in the hospital room.

Congregated around the pilot’s body, they were shouting at each other and the passengers in Arabic. He remained crouched on the floor and every few minutes, one of the attackers would disappear into the cockpit; each of them taking turns. He could feel the plane turning now. The floor and the seats surrounding him began to shake and rattle. His knees started to slide on the carpeted row and he inched his way back to his seat. Four, three, two, one. Back in his seat, he trembled. He had loosened his tie and left it on the floor and the screams were ringing in his ears. He no longer heard the Arabic, he only heard the sounds of the roaring engine and the wails of these frightened people. The seat he found himself in was adjacent to the right wing of the plan and he could feel its vibrations through the back of his seat. The pit in his stomach had dropped even further now as he felt the nose of the plane dipping and slicing through the clouds. Were they landing already?The sweat was burning in the corners of his eyes. But those same eyes saw the target only a few minutes later. They were supposed to land in Los Angeles, but he had begun to realize that the attackers had other plans for the aircraft. As they lowered and the New York skyline came into view, his eyes scanned the blurred city for any airport that they could be headed for. A long stretch of runway finally came into view, but they quickly sped past it and lowered even closer to the bustle of the city. Salty tears found their landing at the corners of his lips and he finally heard a familiar scream. His own.

She never painted her nails anything other than pink. Her blonde curls had a mind of their own and his fingers always wound up tangled in them at night. They had fought in aisle three at Bed, Bath & Beyond about what kind of sheets to get. She had her arms full of packages of purple paisley print sheets and pillowcases. “Honey, help me find a duvet to match and then we’ll go to the scented candle aisle.” His hand rested on a stack of packaged plain blue sheets. “What about these? These are much better and I would feel more comfortable laying on these masculine blue sheets. And what the hell is a duvet?” Their cart was already full of shower curtains, bath rugs, and a pink ceramic soap dish that was “absolutely adorable.” He sighed heavily as she unloaded the purple sheets into the cart and sauntered off towards the scented candles. He could already imagine her eyes closed as she inhaled each candle, because of course she had to try each and every one. But in the end, she always settled on lavender.

He didn’t have much time. He was shaking now as he dialed the house. After those five rings that seemed to last too long, he heard her voice. It was only the answering machine, but it was enough to make him weep. Looking out the window again, he saw the World Trade Center in the distance. Surely they couldn’t be headed there. But nothing was slowing down and the shaking was jarring his entire body. He took a deep breath and when he finally heard the beep, he tried to form the audible words and began the hardest task of his life.

She always had this thing. This thing where she would pretend to be so mad and so serious. Her lips would get all tight and little and her eyebrows would draw closer together beneath a few angry wrinkles that lined her forehead. But those eyes of hers always gave it away. She never lasted more than a full minute. It was just this part of her that never got mad at him, not really anyways, and he knew exactly how it felt. He remembered the one cold February morning that she left to go grocery shopping. Not five minutes after she walked out the door, she opened it, wiped her feet off on the rug, and came and sat next to him on the couch. “Honey, I backed into the garage door. Just so you know.” And he just sat there looking at the woman he loved trying not to laugh.

Beep. “Hey beautiful. F-f-first of all, I love you and the girls, but my flight to LA has been hi-jacked and I h-h-have to go soon, so listen carefully.” His voice rattled along with the jarring of the plane, but mostly from the severity of his sobbing. “These past nineteen years with you have been the greatest years of my life and I l-l-love you with all I am. I always will. Never forget that. Tell the girls that daddy loves them and that I am always with them. Give my m-m-mom a call too and tell her I said thank-you for everything.” He had drawn his knees to his chest now and gripped the back of the seat in front of him to keep from falling into the aisle. He clearly saw the towers now. He had to be quick. This was it. “Honey, this is g-g-goodbye. But only for now. I love you.” The phone slid from his trembling fingers. He squeezed his burning eyes closed for the impact and the scream from his own aisle could never be distinguished because it never had the chance to leave his throat.

She was gonna fix pot roast for dinner tonight. It had been simmering in the crock pot all afternoon. The girls were arguing in the backseat when she pulled into the driveway. As the garage door opened, she caught a glimpse of a few remaining scratches on the inside wall of the garage. She just shook her head and smiled. She grabbed the gallon of milk from the floorboard and went around to the front porch to check the mail. It was humid today and the handle of the gallon of milk began to sweat a little from the heat. “Girls, get started on your homework while I finish getting dinner ready.” With the pile of magazines and unopened bills lying on the counter, she headed for the bedroom. A small red light blinked on the nightstand. One new message. She sat on the edge of their bed, began untying her shoes, and pressed play.