Next Tuesday

The woman next to Ben leaned in as the pilot announced their descent into JFK. 

“I still look for the towers every time,” she said. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to those empty spaces.”  

Ben grabbed the Polaroid picture that fell from his laptop case, staring at the picture of Justin and him, with Elise in the middle. If he squinted, he might be able to see the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

“Beautiful girl,” the woman said, bringing him back.

 She pressed a napkin into her crimson lips and inspected her face in a small mirror.

“You visiting or going home?” 

 “This is home but I haven’t been back since end of 2001.” 

 “Things have changed a lot there since then. What brings you back?”

  He thought about his father’s phone call a month ago, asking him to help design an entry for the 9/11 memorial contest – his inability to say no.

“I came back for a job. How about you? Is New York home for you?

Her face lit up as if he’d asked about her grandchildren.

“Brooklyn girl through and through. Never had a reason to leave New York before but I had a new granddaughter to meet.”

“Mazel Tov.”

They were silent as New York Harbor rose behind the tiny window. He braced himself for the landing but it was the sudden ache in his heart that took him by surprise.  

Two days later, Ben sat in his new office, rubbing his eyes. He’d been reading the same email for what seemed like an hour. When he looked up, his father stood at the doorway.

“Still jet lagged?”

“I guess so.” He caught a hint of concern in his father’s eyes.

 His father took in the details of Ben’s office. He wore a navy suit, shunning the firm’s business casual policy, and Ben noticed he could still command a room at seventy-five. 

“It’s so good to see you working in your grandfather’s office. He would be so proud of us working on the 9/11 Memorial design together.”

“I wish he were here,” Ben said.

His father shrugged in resignation then tapped his knuckles on the desk.

“Speaking of your grandfather, I met with the estate attorney and he mentioned a large donation to Justin’s family made from your trust before you left New York.”

Ben tapped the tip of his pen on the desk. He hated lying to his dad. 

“The firm was supposed to match the funds we collected but they kept stalling. Layla was counting on that money so I covered it. I should have told you Pop.” 

His father put up his hand.

“No need to apologize. You’re entitled to spend the funds as you see fit and Justin was your best friend. It was a lot of money, though.”

Ben stared at the phone, willing it to ring – anything that would help him escape this conversation.

His dad got up to leave, pausing at the door.

“I almost forgot. Metro is doing a story about the Memorial contest and they scheduled a photoshoot for tomorrow morning. Your mom already bought you a new suit. It’s in my office,” he said before leaving.

Ben picked up the magazine his father had left, leafing through a sea of ads until he reached the first article, a piece about efforts to revitalize Lower Manhattan. He agreed with the writer’s disdain for the fancy cycling studios and gluten-free bakeries that had replaced several of the old business after the attacks. According to E. Alexander, the area around Ground Zero would soon resemble a strip mall if the developers got their way.

Outside, the remaining afternoon light filtered through the blinds. He thought a run might help his mood and so he shut down his computer for the day.

The walk to Battery Park confirmed the points of the article – a Starbucks where the shoe repair shop used to be, a cookie cutter yoga studio in place of his favorite Chinese takeout spot. The last time he’d walked these blocks, everything was covered in a fine white dust. Even the city’s steadfast residents seemed to move like ghosts in the bleak aftermath of those weeks.

Without realizing it, he’d come to Phil’s Diner. A “coming soon” sign was tacked to the front door, announcing the grand opening. He cupped his hands next to his face, looking through the window as his mind drifted back to the last day he’d been here on the Friday before 9/11.

Ben had been dragging Justin to Phil’s on a daily basis and it was not for the food. He had nothing against Phil’s cooking, but it was the girl who served their lunch that kept him coming back. Elise was a graduate student at Columbia. Every time he tried to ask her out, he felt the stutter that had plagued his youth coming back.

 That day, Ben had won the weekly raffle and Phil had come to the table with an old Polaroid camera to snap a picture of him and Justin, with Elise in the middle. On his way to the bathroom later, he’d snatched the Polaroid tacked to the bulletin board it pocketed it.

Emboldened by his petty theft, he’d gone back to the table and asked Elise out to dinner.

She’d regarded him with those eyes and he forced himself to not look away.

“I’ll be out of town this weekend. How about next Tuesday, my shift ends at 5.”

“Perfect. See you next Tuesday then.”

It was the last time he’d seen her. It was also the last time he’d seen Justin.

As he rounded the corner towards the park, someone called out his name.

His heart sank at the sight of Justin’s widow and son, who slept in the stroller she was pushing.

“Are you back? I called your mom a year and a half ago and she told me you’d moved out of the country.” 

“I just moved back. I’m helping my dad with a design for the Memorial design contest.”

 He stood on the sidewalk, shifting his weight and leaned in to share an awkward embrace.

Justin and Layla had met freshman year of college at a sorority party. “I’m going to marry her,”Justin had told him in that matter-of-fact way of his. 

“Hey, I’m sorry I did not stay in touch.” He looked down at his running shoes. “The company needed me to start right away; I could not even say goodbye or attend the funeral.” 

Now it was Layla who looked away.

“We have not buried him yet.”

“What? Why not?”

“They haven’t identified his remains. The ME office has promised to work as long as it takes, but we’re starting to lose hope.”

Ben searched for something to say.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, she spoke again.

“It’s great that you guys are entering the design contest. It would be so comforting to know you had a hand in it.”

Ben felt a weight settling like a stone in his stomach. Then the little boy woke up, looking up at him with curiosity. When Layla picked him up, Ben saw that he had her serious gaze and pale skin. He reached out a chubby hand and touched Ben’s cheek, before breaking out into a smile. It was Justin’s smile.

#

The receptionist gave him a look when he walked in the next morning – afternoon, if you wanted to get technical about it. After running into Layla and Noah, he’d called an old friend and spent the evening at her place drinking cosmopolitans; not his choice of drink but they did their job.

His father walked into his office, the familiar look of disapproval on his face.

“You missed the photoshoot for Metro,” he said, glaring at Ben’s unshaven face. “Though given the shape you’re in today, pictures may have been a bad idea.”

            “Shit, the photoshoot. I’m sorry dad. I got no sleep last night. I completely forgot.”

“Spare me the tired excuses. You’ve been coming in late, unfocused and barely meeting deadlines. I don’t get it, Ben. It’s as if you’re going out of your way to sabotage this project. Do you know the opportunities this could bring you?”

“Dad, I left a good job in Tokyo to do this. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

His dad opened his mouth to speak then appeared to change his mind.

“Look, I decided to come out of retirement for us to do this together. I wanted it to be my last big project and the first of many, for you. But if this isn’t something you’re committed to, then just say so. I don’t want to end my career on a mediocre note.”

Ben let out a dry laugh.

“It must be hard to have such a mediocre son.”

“Oh, here we go. Don’t make this about you and your insecurities. This design, it’s bigger than you or me. We have a chance to honor the victims and their families. Do this to honor Justin”

The words landed like a gut punch but he managed to compose himself.

“Do you know they haven’t identified his remains yet?” he said.

His father sank down on the chair.

“I had no idea. That’s terrible.”

“You know, we were planning to start our own firm, even had a name. We were gonna build skyscrapers. Now, his name can’t even grace a tombstone. So, yeah, it’s a little hard for me to focus on my legacy.”

His voice broke and his father rose to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, survivor’s guilt is common, it’s understandable. But it’s not your fault. He was just at the wrong place at the…”

Ben cut him off. 

“Dad, he wasn’t at the wrong place at the wrong time. It was supposed to be me. It should have been me.” 

His breaths became shallow. Justin should be here now, watching his son grow up instead of being a piece of DNA. He was sobbing now, the wall inside him collapsed. His body shook as the shame he’d been living with released like a flood.

His father sat next to him pale faced as Ben told him he’d overslept the morning of the attacks and was going to be late to assist a partner with a client presentation at the World Trade Center. He’d called Justin at the office half an hour before the meeting and asked him to go in his place.

You owe me big time, Justin had told him when, like always, he’d agreed to have his back. 

#

It was the first time Ben had told anyone about the morning of 9/11. Though there was initial relief at the unburdening, he realized the confession could not ease his guilt any more than leaving New York had. Every night, he had dreams about Justin walking into the lobby of the towers that morning. More and more, he relied on a bottle of gin for the quick, yet temporary relief of blackouts.

And so, it was the empty gin bottle that prompted him to leave his place to find the nearest all night bodega. In the elevator, the girl in the club-hopping couple form upstairs gave him a side look.  

On his way back, light rain fell on him. He pulled his hoodie over his head and broke into a jog which became a run as the raindrops pelted him with more intensity. He ran for a while, past his apartment building, until all thought had been wiped from his mind, all the way to the river. The sensation that he was being watched overtook him, though the streets around him were deserted.

He was on the bridge now, the mild urge to jump into the black waters that had started back in his apartment intensifying now.

I see you’re still trying to take the easy way out.

Ben swung his face around to face the familiar voice but no one was there. He shut his eye and opened them again, the fast moving below looking more menacing than before.

Go home Ben.  

This time, it was a whisper, close to his face.

He stepped off the ledge.

“Who’s there?”

Adrenaline coursed through him, his fists clenching by his side. Something moved in the bushes on the edge of the bridge. A cat, grey and white striped and emaciated stepped out, locked eyes with him before turning away.

Ben ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly feeling foolish. He may have been hungover, yes, but there was no doubt he’d felt Justin’s presence there.

#

Back at his apartment, he dumped the remaining liquor bottles and sobered himself with black coffee before going to the office. He was already at the drafting table when his father came in.

“Hey, Ben. I saw your light was on. Didn’t expect to find you here.”

He looked at his son, taking in the suit, the new shave.

“Morning dad. I wanted to finish the new rendering before that reporter gets here. Tell mom thanks for the suit.”

His phone rang. Ms. Alexander from Metro had arrived. He’d assumed E. Alexander, the writer behind the articles he’d been enjoying was a man.

“Right on time.” His father said.

Ben went to straighten the papers on his desk. When he turned around, it was Elise standing there and, this time, she wasn’t taking his lunch order.

“Ben, this is Elise Alexander from Metro.”

They both smiled as his father looked to them.

“You two know each other?”

Afterward, Elise stayed in his office.

“You know, I went to Phil’s for weeks after the attacks looking for you,” he told her.

“I never made it to work that morning. I was still in my apartment when Phil called,” she said. “What about you? I often wondered if you and your friend were ok. I wish I’d had a way to get in touch with you.”

“I never made it to work that morning either.”

He glanced at her hand, unadorned except for a large silver watch.

“How about we make good on that lunch we never had?”

She nodded, grabbing her bag.

“I know the perfect place.”