Act I, Scene 3

[Apron.  Enter Taylor.  She walks into a spotlight.]

Taylor:     I rode into work on the subway, just like every morning.  I walked up the stairs to the main lobby for the exercise.  Then I took the elevator.  It was crowded.  Two of the men from my office were talking about plans that evening.  They were going to play racquetball, then have beers at a favorite bar.

Waiting at my desk were three interoffice memos and one voice mail.  My boss had called in.  He would be late.  I took a couple of calls.  I joked a bit with a favorite client.  Had a cup of coffee.

About 8:45 I felt the impact.  It shuddered through the whole building.  It was like the floor moved suddenly under my feet.  Just a few inches to the left.  It knocked me against a file cabinet.  A lot of things fell to the floor.  The lights went off.  All the phones blinked off and on for a moment before they too went dark.  I realized the building was swaying slowly back and forth.

Someone screamed.  A voice said, "The building's on fire."  I went to the window, holding my hands out to steady myself.  Trails of smoke snaked their way past the window.  I flattened my face against it and looked down.  Billowing black smoke rushed out everywhere below me.  Flames leapt up like angry waves crashing against rocky cliffs.  I stood there, mesmerized until the window became so hot I was afraid it might crack and spill me out.

Smoke began to fill the room.  I worked my way, bent low, towards the stairway.  104 floors down.  A long way to walk.  A progression of bodies was moving in the same direction.  I joined the flow.  Smoke poured out of the stairwell.  I coughed.  My eyes stung.  I grabbed a hold of a shirt and let myself be pulled along.

A voice said, "The stairwell is blocked.  Go up to the roof."  I followed.  Stumbled on the stairs.  Someone helped me up.  I held on to that shirt.  We developed a rhythm.  The person in front stepped up, then I did, then the person behind me followed.  We were all clinging to each other.  It didn't matter who had a hold of what.  We were blind, frightened, inching our way to daylight.

We climbed the six stories slowly.  I heard shouting.  I heard crying.  I heard prayers and angry obscenities.  I couldn't identify the voices.  I didn't even open my eyes to see who was there because the smoke burned.  I kept part of my blouse over my mouth to keep it out of my lungs.

We reached the roof.  The air cleared somewhat.  There were fewer people than I had imagined.  Apparently I was in one of the few groups to work its way all the way to the top.  I stood, grasping my shoulders to keep from shaking.  That didn't work so well.

Some men were running back and forth across the roof.  They said that the fire was on all sides.  That we were trapped.  Like rats.  That it was only a matter of time.  The smoke got thicker.  The air was getting warm.

I slowly walked to the edge.  I don't know why.  I guess I wanted to see for myself.  I tried to peer over and look down, but the heat drove me back.  I moved back to the center of the roof and listened to the men talk about our chances.

There didn't seem to be any.

I spied a young boy.  Hispanic.  I had seen him from time to time in the office.  He brought me mail.  Delivered papers.  He seemed like a lot of young boys, brash and bold at times, subdued and uncertain at others.  He stood there, staring at the edge, trembling, like me.

I went over to him.  His name was Miguel.  He looked at me and said, "Miss Taylor.  We're going to die, aren't we?"  I put my hand on his arm and we talked for a little while.  He told me about his girl and how his baby would come in January.  I told him about my two year old daughter.  The air became unbearably hot.  We knew what we had to do.  We'd seen others go first.  We held hands and walked to the edge. 

And then we stepped off.  Together. 

[Exit Taylor]