So I used to work for Bloomberg, the financial information company that used to be run by the current mayor of New York City. At the time, they had offices on West St in Manhattan, right by Pier 30. My hours at the time of this incident were 11-8 PM, Tuesday through Saturday. One Friday night, my girlfriend Taunie came to meet me at the office right around quitting time. She and I had plans to meet up with my cousin Josh and his friends to celebrate his birthday in a Sushi Restaurant/Karaoke Club. In this place, you could reserve a private room with your own karaoke machine and you and your friends could butcher all your favorite songs all night while people came in periodically and served you drinks and sushi. Each year, Josh would reserve a bigger room for about 12-15 people and we would all gorge ourselves on sushi, alcohol (sans me), and Cheap Trick songs until closing time. This was the first time Taunie could accompany me and hear my sexy version of When Doves Cry, so I was pretty excited.
Anyway, she shows up at the office around 7 or so, and I made a big deal showing her around the space, introducing her to my co-workers and like that, and all the while she’s taking pictures of everything. So I wrap up my work for the week, leaving as few things as possible for the next day.
Outside, the sun had just set, and the evening lights of the city had just burst into life. We walk outside, heading in the general direction of the car, and suddenly she turns to me and stops. “Hold it, stay right there!” “What?” I ask, “I have to get this picture! The moon rising and the buildings behind you, just wait a second!”
Now Taunie had not lived in New York for more than a month yet, and the beauty of the city was all brand new to her. I wanted to allow her to be blown away by its magnificence in a way I could only be envious of. So I stood there while she dug for the camera, and held my face in an expression that I’m sure was no where near as cool as I wanted to think it was. She pulls out the camera, I hold my position, and she lines up the shot. I wait for the click that tells me I can relax, but I don’t hear it. “Damn!”, she says, “It jammed up!”
“Okay, try it again.” I say, waiting for her to figure it out. “The dial isn’t spinning either.” she replies, “Damn! We still have space left on this one!” (this was a disposable). I turn to look at my backdrop, and it was, in fact, as magnificent as she had let on. “It’s alright, we’ll get another camera before we get uptown. As for the shot, it will still be here next time!” She sighed, and put away the stubborn camera, and we walked on, not giving it another thought. That turn and glance that I did when the camera failed, was the last time I would see the Twin Towers in all their glory, all lit up and boldly clutching at the late summer/early autumn Manhattan sky. Oh, I saw them again the next day, as they watched me run for the front door of the building later than I had expected, and they were still out there for the four or five cigarette breaks I took before I left to start my weekend. But their place in the nighttime skyline was always the most spectacular.
And late that Saturday afternoon, as I left the building for the last time before the whole world went to hell, I didn’t even think to look back over my shoulder at the gleaming pair of monoliths that had watched over the city for so many years.