Dressed for Disaster

Pat realized what had happened. One of the twin towers must have collapsed, covering an area several city blocks wide with debris. The other tower could still be seen through the awful haze, and next to it stood his hotel. Although his immediate problems were behind him, Pat was still deathly afraid that his secret would be discovered when the hotel staff or authorities opened his room. The thought of someone calling his office or his wife to ask them where to send his skirts and high heels tormented him.

Once again, ignoring the larger risk to his personal safety, Pat set out towards his hotel. Maybe now he could make it back inside, bundle up the rest of his incriminating wardrobe, and dump it outside of his room. If he were lucky, he would also be able to retrieve his laptop computer, with its hard drive full of transvestite literature.

He was halfway back to the hotel when someone screamed, "The other tower is starting to go!" Pat looked up in time to see the monumental television antennae on the roof pitch to one side, signaling the beginning of the end. He turned and joined the frantic crowd racing away from the World Trade Center. Someone ahead of him ducked into a doorway, and he followed an instant before a hurricane of debris swept through the concrete canyon, filling the air again with choking dust. Once more, the sky became dark, and time stood still as Pat huddled in the doorway, waiting for the tumult to subside.

Then it was quiet, and Pat stepped back into the deserted street. He knew that he had just witnessed the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, and suddenly his pathetic problems seemed insignificant. He was just thankful to be alive. Slowly, he joined the parade of refugees heading north, away from the disaster, some limping, others bleeding, many crying hysterically.

He had a special empathy for the women, professionals and secretaries, in their dusty suits and skirts, hobbling along in their high heels. Many abandoned their painful shoes, and trooped through the filthy streets in their stockings or bare feet. He couldn't help thinking how lucky he was to have gotten out of his woman's clothing. Looking at the misery around him, he felt ashamed to have given that a thought.