We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer by Pasquale Buzzelli, Joseph M. Bittick, Louise Buzzelli Page B
Ads: Link
relentlessly with her little pink terrier tongue. They laughed, and the sound was so familiar, but it was also impossible. He didn’t want to let Louise go as she backed out to make room for him to slide across the seat.
He got out and stood on his crutches, ready to face everyone. There were so many people there, so many faces wearing smiles and tears. People yelled things at him. It was real joy all around. Pasquale felt that, to be sure, but there was also something else. As if looking at his life through a haze of smoke, he saw where he’d come from, back in Manhattan. It wasn’t going to be easy for him to shake very quickly—not all of that.
“I love you,” he said to Louise, holding her close for just a minute more.
“I love you too,” she said, her small, lovely face turned up to him.
They stood there crying, leaning on one another. When he could walk, could hold his head up, could bear to let go of Louise, he wanted to see and touch everyone. He shoved the crutches up under his arms and got going, albeit at an awkward pace. Louise helped him, not wanting to trust that he could take care of himself just yet.
When he raised his head, he saw his father standing in the middle of the walk, a quiet, man, just waiting. Pasquale couldn’t remember the last time his father had hugged him. That hugging stuff is for women. Grown men should just know. But when his father came toward him, Pasquale limped forward. He saw the tears. He saw his father’s strong arms go wide, and in the next instant, they were around him. Pasquale bowed his head to his father’s, and the two stood there and hugged.
When Ugo stepped back, he grabbed Pasquale’s face and kissed him. “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes still damp.
Pasquale nodded, unable to speak.
Then his mother’s arms were around him. Antonia held him, then pushed him back and looked hard at his face. “You eat anything? Come on. Come inside! I’ll make you something to eat.”
He could have burst with laughter. That was what a homecoming was about. She had to feed him, take care of him, to see that her little boy, all grown up, didn’t go hungry. As if all the rest didn’t matter, as if it had never happened, he was back to being cared for by his mother. Pasquale Buzzelli had crawled down from that Tower, and he was back with Louise, with his father and mother. Unbelievably and indescribably impossible, Pasquale was home.
His friend Nico stood on the walk in front of him. He’d taken the day off, the lucky guy. He looked directly at Pasquale, waiting for something.
Pasquale knew what it was that Nico was waiting for: news of Pat Hoey and Steve Fiorelli, their bosses and friends. He looked away from Nico at first, then took a breath and said, “Pat and Steve…I-I don’t think they made it.” How bad he felt having to say those words, but as he said them, he knew he was telling the truth. There had been no one around him. There’d been no one left. A deep sadness fell on both of them at the painful realization.
He made it into the house, to the family room and the green-checkered couch. The large TV was on. He sat back and watched for just a minute. It was all the same: planes, Towers, sky, fire; and then Pennsylvania and Washington DC.
Louise sat down beside him and took his hand. “I don’t think you should watch this, Pasquale.” Her face betrayed her worry.
She’s right, he thought. I shouldn’t watch. I’m home. I’m safe. Still, when he looked at her worried face, he felt she could melt away and leave him, and he would be back atop that pile of rubble with the fires coming closer. He turned back to the TV, almost unable to blink, as if he might miss something he had to see.
After that, everything became a blur. He ate whatever his mother put in his hands. He talked to people: Nara, Ralph’s wife, Mike, and so many supporters, loved ones, and friends. Among them were even Uncle Pio Buzzelli and Louise’s cousin Joanne, and
He got out and stood on his crutches, ready to face everyone. There were so many people there, so many faces wearing smiles and tears. People yelled things at him. It was real joy all around. Pasquale felt that, to be sure, but there was also something else. As if looking at his life through a haze of smoke, he saw where he’d come from, back in Manhattan. It wasn’t going to be easy for him to shake very quickly—not all of that.
“I love you,” he said to Louise, holding her close for just a minute more.
“I love you too,” she said, her small, lovely face turned up to him.
They stood there crying, leaning on one another. When he could walk, could hold his head up, could bear to let go of Louise, he wanted to see and touch everyone. He shoved the crutches up under his arms and got going, albeit at an awkward pace. Louise helped him, not wanting to trust that he could take care of himself just yet.
When he raised his head, he saw his father standing in the middle of the walk, a quiet, man, just waiting. Pasquale couldn’t remember the last time his father had hugged him. That hugging stuff is for women. Grown men should just know. But when his father came toward him, Pasquale limped forward. He saw the tears. He saw his father’s strong arms go wide, and in the next instant, they were around him. Pasquale bowed his head to his father’s, and the two stood there and hugged.
When Ugo stepped back, he grabbed Pasquale’s face and kissed him. “Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes still damp.
Pasquale nodded, unable to speak.
Then his mother’s arms were around him. Antonia held him, then pushed him back and looked hard at his face. “You eat anything? Come on. Come inside! I’ll make you something to eat.”
He could have burst with laughter. That was what a homecoming was about. She had to feed him, take care of him, to see that her little boy, all grown up, didn’t go hungry. As if all the rest didn’t matter, as if it had never happened, he was back to being cared for by his mother. Pasquale Buzzelli had crawled down from that Tower, and he was back with Louise, with his father and mother. Unbelievably and indescribably impossible, Pasquale was home.
His friend Nico stood on the walk in front of him. He’d taken the day off, the lucky guy. He looked directly at Pasquale, waiting for something.
Pasquale knew what it was that Nico was waiting for: news of Pat Hoey and Steve Fiorelli, their bosses and friends. He looked away from Nico at first, then took a breath and said, “Pat and Steve…I-I don’t think they made it.” How bad he felt having to say those words, but as he said them, he knew he was telling the truth. There had been no one around him. There’d been no one left. A deep sadness fell on both of them at the painful realization.
He made it into the house, to the family room and the green-checkered couch. The large TV was on. He sat back and watched for just a minute. It was all the same: planes, Towers, sky, fire; and then Pennsylvania and Washington DC.
Louise sat down beside him and took his hand. “I don’t think you should watch this, Pasquale.” Her face betrayed her worry.
She’s right, he thought. I shouldn’t watch. I’m home. I’m safe. Still, when he looked at her worried face, he felt she could melt away and leave him, and he would be back atop that pile of rubble with the fires coming closer. He turned back to the TV, almost unable to blink, as if he might miss something he had to see.
After that, everything became a blur. He ate whatever his mother put in his hands. He talked to people: Nara, Ralph’s wife, Mike, and so many supporters, loved ones, and friends. Among them were even Uncle Pio Buzzelli and Louise’s cousin Joanne, and
Similar Books
