The 95th Floor Page 9

  Since I had paid for a second day, once I had finally gotten up and got around to washing and recalibrating myself to my surroundings, I wanted to make a game plan for at least the next few days. I was in a strange place at a strange time, and I knew full well that I could have a sensory overload once I get out and about. To the people who live here, I am just a country bumpkin. On top of that, I had spent a good part of the last twenty years at home avoiding other people. This would be much more than a culture shock.

  The first thing I had to do was figure out my housing situation. I obviously couldn’t afford to stay in motels every night as that would eat up my funds in a matter of weeks. I could sleep in my car, but I would have to find a safe place to park. The next thing I would have to do is make money. The money I had would only last me so long, even if I were just staying in my car. Once those two things were squared away, I could do what I came here to do: hunt down the beautiful woman who I only know by name. Luckily I did know where she worked. But first things first.

  I would need to research the area and see where I could hide out at night that would be relatively safe. I also wanted it to be close to where I would be entering Manhattan. Upon roaming the area of New Jersey directly across the river from Manhattan, I settled on the parking lot of a Target store which was only a stone’s throw away from the Holland Tunnel which would take me directly into the heart of Manhattan. I couldn’t think of a more perfect location. I just hoped that it would prove safe long enough for me to secure some income and a much more appropriate place to settle. At the very least, it would have all of the things I would need: food, water, restroom, and any other miscellaneous supplies I might need.

  That night I stayed in the Target lot, and it proved to be difficult to get any good rest. Not because of racing thoughts or fear of being robbed, but because this area was so humid compared to what I was used to! Granted, the nights were much cooler than the days, but it was still awfully muggy, and for someone used to arid desert climates, this is a colossal difference. For fear of unnecessary wasting of fuel, I opted to keep my car off which meant no A/C. It took a while, but I was eventually able to sleep.

  To prevent an indignant store manager from bitching about my car being parked overnight, I constantly moved my car throughout the lot, both during the day and at night. Since I absolutely did not want to try driving around Manhattan, I took my bike instead, leaving my car in the Target lot. However, to my dismay, I could not ride my bike in the Holland Tunnel. I bit my lip and returned to my car, crossing my fingers that I wouldn’t get shot for driving like an idiot in the city.

  While I still wanted to avoid doing it as much as I possibly could, driving in Manhattan was not quite as arduous as I had expected. Finding a free spot to park more than made up for that. Upon finally parking my car on some obscure street, I promptly retrieved my bike and began pedaling down the streets of Manhattan, taking in the sights.

  To satisfy my historical curiosity—and relevant to my mission—I wanted to view the famous street corner of Church Street and Lispenard. If those streets don’t ring any bells, this was the exact location that the only known footage of Flight 11’s impact was filmed. For most people, it is just a simple street corner of no particular importance. As a matter of fact, in the time I am currently, that would apply to pretty much everyone excluding myself. But for me, the feeling was surreal. Looking in the direction of the towers—just now realizing the enormity of what I was truly seeing—I kept replaying that short clip in my head. In less than two years, they would no longer exist in any form other than two memorial fountains which wouldn’t appear for many years after.

  After relishing the experience, I headed down Church Street in the direction of the towers themselves. I realized quickly that in the late 90s this city was not very accommodating for cyclists. The few bike lanes that actually existed had numerous potholes—when they weren’t being driven on by disrespectful people in their cars. I had to remain vigilant on my bike to make sure I didn’t ride directly into the back of a car or that a car didn’t do the same to me. This took away from my sight-seeing a bit, but I was nevertheless satisfied.

  The closer I got to the twin towers the taller the various brick and steel structures rose. Mighty columns of residential and commercial space looming above me. All would be dwarfed by the enormity of the two spires just ahead. Knowing that in only a matter of time this area would be a smoldering pile of steel and concrete gave me a sensation of sadness. If everything goes the way I hope, that will never happen. I would do everything in my power to make sure of it.

  Upon arriving at the site of the towers, I parked my bike and visited the underground mall. I was not familiar with the city itself, but I knew about the mall just from documentaries and books I had read regarding the site. I remembered that this particular mall would serve an important purpose for those unable to escape due to falling debris. Many would use the mall corridors to exit via building four or five, at least until they were destroyed by the eventual collapse of the towers. I felt a sense of wonder walking through such an historic place but at the same time felt a lingering sadness because of the eventual demise it would soon face. I decided that I would come back at a later time to see if I could have a chance encounter with Keiko. For now, I wanted to explore more of what Manhattan had to offer.

  I visited Battery Park, the artificial landmass created from the rock and soil excavated from the site the twin towers were built on. From there, I rode around the southern tip of the island and around to see the famous Brooklyn Bridge. At that point, I didn’t know how far away I was from my car and began to feel worried. I was in this exotic place all on my own with no real sense of direction of where I was going. I decided to head back down towards Church Street. Thankfully the towers were easy to spot, so I just headed in that direction until things began to look familiar again. My last trip would be just off Church Street. Instead of heading back the way I originally came from Lispenard Street, I veered off onto Avenue of the Americas.

  I kept going until I spotted a street that I had seen referenced in a couple of movies, one I believe was even available in this time period. I turned on to Spring Street which took me into the SoHo district. Fancy stores with items I would never be able to afford full of people who would never take a second glance at me other than to sneer.

  Riding around the island for most of the day had made me extremely tired and hungry. New York is known for its pizza, so I picked the first one I came to on the corner of Spring Street and Thompson. It was a cozy little joint, and I felt good walking in. The pizza looked delicious, and I was afraid I would be caught with drool coming out of my mouth. It was neat to see a pizzeria with the pizzaiolo actually making the pizza by hand, tossing the dough in the air. It is not something you see much in the west. I walked up to the counter to be greeted by the first real New Yorker today.

  He was a short, rotund man of probably his late 50s with a salt and pepper colored horseshoe of hair around his balding head. He was almost exactly what I pictured a native New York pizza owner would look like. Sauce stained apron and all.

  “Yo, what can I getcha?” The man said in a thick New York accent.

  “Oh hi…um…whatever is cheap I guess?” I stammered immediately feeling intimidated and out of place.

  “Cheese it is. Say, you aren’t from around here, are ya?”

  He had my pizza ready for me before I could even answer his question. “Uh…no. I’m actually from out west. Idaho as a matter of fact. I just got here a couple days ago.”

  “No kiddin’?” he said nudging the pizzaiolo on the shoulder “You hear dat? Dis guy here came all the way from Idaho.”

  “No kiddin’?” the pizzaiolo said in a nearly identical tone and accent as the first guy.

  “Yous guys eat a lotta potatoes back there in Idaho?”

  Ah, it was the old potato joke that every Idahoan hears from pretty much anybody not from there. I usually just play along. Might as well make them feel like
they were the first to think of it. “Haha, you bet. Born and raised on ‘em.”

  “Haha good to hear. I bet you hear dat one a lot, eh?

  “Nah, back home they are stuck in a time warp. The whole place is about twenty or thirty years behind in the times. I think most people there are still talking about the moon landing.”

  “Is dat right? Well, waddaya know? I like you kid. How long are you going to be in the area?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know. At least a year. I am pretty much living out of my car at the moment. I haven’t really planned that far ahead. Just playing it by ear at the moment.”

  “That right? Well, I’ll tell you, you don’t wanna be sleepin’ in your car, brother. Too dangerous around here,” The way he talked came across as slightly humorous to me. “You know anybody you can crash wit’?”

  “No, I don’t know anybody around here. I am basically just a tourist.” I admitted.

  “Dat ain’t no good. You need a place, my boy. You gots any money?”

  “A little. I’ll need a job soon so I don’t run out.”

  “I tell you what. I ain’t got no place you can crash, but if you need a job, one of my guys actually just quit a week ago. It won’t be much, but it will be something. I can’t stand to see a boy from Idaho all alone in Manhattan, it just wouldn’t be right.”

  I wasn’t sure if I looked like a boy to him or if that was just a colloquialism commonly used around here.

  “Well that isn’t something you hear where I am from. Most places there won’t offer you a job until you give them your last ten years of job and living history, the name of your first born, and a blood and stool sample.” I said, hopefully giving enough expression in my face to indicate that I was only half serious.

  “No kiddin’? No wonder ya left the place. Sounds like a real shit hole. I am usually a pretty good judge of character. I take a look at ya and I can usually tell within a few minutes if yous a good guy or not.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you drew a blank on me. The last year has been one hell of a ride. There are plenty of things out there that can change a man, let me tell you.” I said, reflecting on just all of the things I had witnessed or experienced since coming back to the 90s.

  “Ain’t dat the truth. But my offer still stands. If you need a job, my eye says that you look like a good guy. No blood or stool samples needed here.” He said.

  “Uh, I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to impose. I mean, I need the money, but—”

  “Hey, don’ worry about it, my boy. Like I said, it ain’t much, but it’s better than nothing. How does an even ten bucks an hour sound?”

  I wasn’t familiar with what was considered good in Manhattan. Back in Canyon where living is dirt cheap, a single person could pretty easily live off ten dollars an hour. I doubted that would be the case here though. But, like he said, it was better than nothing. I couldn’t refuse.

  “Well, sure…I guess. Th-thank you, sir.” I said, feeling awkward at this sudden stroke of kindness from a man I only just met five minutes prior.

  “You can start tomorrow if you like. Just be here at 2pm and have your papers and all the necessary crap with you.”

  I realized that my ID was issued only a year ago—in my time period. I couldn’t show him that. I had to think of something to explain my lack of documentation.

  “Uh…well, to be honest, I don’t have any identification. Uh...my wallet got stolen yesterday. I’m not good at this whole tourist business…” I hoped I didn’t look nervous.

  “Damn, no kiddin’? Well, I sure hope your luck turns around. Don’t worry about it then, I can fill in the blanks on the paperwork. No need to worry, my boy. Just be here tomorrow at 2 o’clock and we will get you on the road to making pizzas and making money!”

  “Well thank you, uh…” I extended my arm to shake his hand.

  “Oh jeez, where are my manners? The name is Sal. Nice to meecha…”

  “Stan, Stan Lundberg. Nice to meet you, and thank you so much. I hope everyone around here is as kind as you.” I said graciously.

  “I wouldn’t count on it. Good to meecha Stan. See ya tomorrow!” Sal said as he got back to work.

  I quickly devoured what I determined was probably the best slice of plain cheese pizza I had ever tasted. I ordered a second slice from Sal which was eaten just as quickly before I hopped on my bike to find my car and head back to the Target parking lot across the river. I had only spent a half a day in Manhattan, and I had already gotten a job. Things were starting to look up. I had only hoped that my luck encountering Keiko would be as fortunate.

  Chapter 9

  Life in Manhattan turned out being amazing. What felt like mere days ended up being months working at Sal’s Pizzeria. Not only was I thoroughly trained to be an amateur pizzaiolo, but Sal came to be somewhat of a father figure to me. After a month or so, I began calling him Papa Bear or just Pops for short. This name arose not from his fatherly demeanor, but the man was as hairy as a bear. His arms resembled rolls of shag carpet. I could only imagine how often he has to clean his shower drain.

  During the two months I had been in the city, I saw sights I never would have seen in a lifetime back in Idaho. Policemen on horseback, horse-drawn carriages, numerous celebrities, and just about any type of ethnic food you could think of. Then you would probably find more after that. This city was truly a melting pot. Even insignificant things like steamy manhole covers or drainage outlets along the roads were worth noting. I was almost like a kid in a candy store.

  The one unfortunate part so far is I had yet to run into or even spot Keiko. At least a couple times a week before work I would bike down to the twin towers and put on my tourist act with the hopes of maybe spotting her. It would be a lost cause because tens of thousands of people work in the two buildings and that doesn’t even factor in tourists and sightseers who mingle around the lobby and the underground mall. Still, I persisted.

  In the meantime, my life was turning out pretty well. I had a place to park my car during the day, Pops made sure of that. I still drove back to New Jersey to sleep at night. I felt much safer in the Target lot than in a dark alley in Manhattan. Plus, I had gotten used to sleeping here. The management either didn’t ever catch on or they simply didn’t care. I would put money on the latter; this is the big city after all.

  By mid-November, I had a decent amount of funds saved up from working at the pizzeria. Pops let us eat all the free pizza we wanted as long as we did it on breaks. That helped reduce my spending significantly. I had no bills, and the only things I spent money on were gas for my car and the occasional dining out on food that wasn’t pizza. I even took a road tour of the city just to become more familiar with it and to finally be able to travel around without having to pedal my feet. Not to mention, by mid-November, it starts to get chilly at times in New York. One of my few major purchases included a nice winter coat.

  When Thanksgiving came around, I had already told Pops about my parents’ unfortunate demise earlier, so he invited me to spend the holiday with him and his family. I gladly accepted because as I stated earlier, he had become almost family to me. I got to meet his daughter and her family. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a real family dinner.

  The following Monday after the Thanksgiving holiday is when things started to become interesting. Pops took some extra days off to spend time with his daughter, and just because he could; it was his pizzeria after all. I worked in the front taking orders while Ian, the pizzaiolo I had met the night I was offered a job, was making the pizzas.

  It was late in the evening when a woman came in with straight long black hair parted in the middle, about 5’2” and small rimless glasses that accentuated her face with mild Asian features. She was wearing a business suit jacket and a knee-length business skirt. Before I even looked at her face, my heart began to race like a steam engine on the brink of exploding. I knew why once I saw her immaculate face. It was Keiko. And what startled
me even more was the fact that she had a book tucked under her arm. I could read the spine of it. It was the very book I had purchased from Amazon in the future. The one with the sticker bound on the inside cover from her grandmother who gifted it to her.

  I stood there speechless. When I realized that I was staring at her, I immediately broke my gaze and awkwardly tried to get back my composure.

  “H-h-hi, what can I get for you?” I stammered stupidly.

  “Hi, can I just get one slice of your Hawaiian pizza?” She asked in the softest voice.

  I fell in love with the picture I saw on the Internet that reported her death. Now I had heard her voice and didn’t know how much more I could take. This was torture.

  “S-sure. You are the only person I know other than myself that actually likes pineapple on their pizza.”

  She just smiled without saying anything. I immediately felt stupid. I never hit on women. I always felt like a moron if I tried so I just avoided it all together.

  I handed her the pizza and she gave me the exact change for it. I wanted to hear her speak again but didn’t know what to say. “Enjoy!”

  Again, she smiled. Not that it wasn’t the most attractive smile I had ever seen. But her voice made me want to just melt.

  I was mere butter at this point. When I took a step to walk towards the back to try and calm my pulse, I fumbled because I became insanely dizzy. It was another migraine attack. This one was going to be worse than normal, I immediately knew. I braced myself on the counter to keep from falling over due to the loss of balance. I tried not to make a scene, but it appeared that I failed in that too as Keiko finally spoke to me again.