Silence

              For the first time in years, the office was completely silent. In fact, it was probably the first time ever. There was absolutely no sound from a normal day of work. No tapping of keys at the computer. No light chatter or gossip between the cubicles. Even the water cooler stood participating in the absence, without a bubble or whir to break the mood. The air was stagnant and heavy with the dumbstruck disbelief that everyone shared. How could this be? What would it mean? The only certainty was that nothing would ever be the same.

              The Harlem Brothers management suite was always abuzz with activity and sound. Though technically just outside the actual Harlem neighborhood, the office was the heart and soul of the company’s operations in that area and others. The firm owned and operated several businesses of various interests all throughout the city. There was the small restaurant in Little Italy that they had bought from Mr. and Mrs. Boracelli when he became too old to keep the kitchen going while their son still served in the Army. There were half-a-dozen laundromats in the neighborhoods along the west shore whose books were checked three times a week to make sure there was not even suspicion of illicit activities. The most important places, though, were the youth centers in Harlem, where Lawrence, Sean, and Duke Parker (the firm’s namesake brothers) had grown up. They had always believed in giving back to the community, and the first enterprise the three were involved in was a young men’s basketball camp to help support education and cooperation. From the program’s success, they built the multi-faceted company whose management center handled hundreds of calls and thousands of clients every day. “Management is people,” read the office’s motto above the door.

              And people were noisy. The office consisted of nearly three-dozen pre-professional managers in training who would answer phones and attempt to solve the clients’ problems as best they could., If the issue was above their level, they would forward the call onto one of the eight experienced managers on staff, sending the loud ringing of the phones into one of the larger offices that lined the suite’s exterior walls. There were also half-a-dozen interns and training members who flew around the space, filing papers and running this or that odd errand. Overall, there was never a dull or quiet moment, and sometimes the noise seemed to make the already close quarters feel even more tight and constricted.

              It was because of this cramped feeling that Duke Parker had announced the move one week prior. A larger space was available in one of the towers in the financial district and the company had just signed the paperwork to start leasing it. That day had been one of the loudest in the office’s ten years of operation. The excitement and anticipation for the move could be heard in everyone’s voice, and sometimes it even seemed like they were shouting into their phones. The interns were immediately put to work taking down and boxing up anything that wasn’t absolutely necessary for the firm to function. Over the next five days, several of the phone managers were taken from their cubicles and put to the same task. Boxes and crates began to pile up in the thin hallways, but nobody seemed to mind. The prospect of a new space, in a new location and with new hires, kept everyone’s spirits up and everyone’s volume on high.

              Then came the day of silence. It had started like any other. Nearly the whole office was packed up and less than half of the staff was there doing the regular work of the day. Computers and phones had been packed up days before, many of the cubicle walls had been broken down and stored away. Lawrence and Duke were in their offices as normal, while Sean was out directing the setup of the new space down south. Calls were slow to come in that morning; most clients and on-location managers were informed about the move and the impact it may have on calls for the time-being. Some final packing was scheduled for after the lunch break and everyone was eagerly expecting to be in the new space by the end of the week.

              Nobody knew when it first hit. Some people would say that had heard or felt the impact, but from over 100 blocks they couldn’t be sure. The sirens were their real indicator; a mournful wail that seemed to issue from all directions, like the city itself was crying out in pain. The first couple raised no alarms, the next dozen were cause for more suspicion. Everyone began to look at each other and mummer questions in curiosity. A single phone line rang, but it was the one directly in Lawrence Parker’s office, muffled by the walls and heavy oak door. No one could hear the conversation, but they all watched through the door window with baited breath as his face became startlingly grave. He came out of the office and demanded that the news be put on.

              The horrifying image on the screen stunned the room to silence. Some people did not or could not believe that what they saw was real. Others had minds reeling with a mix of anger, sadness, and terror. No one knew how to react, whether to cry or scream or run. They all just stood there, eyes locked on the screen, the whole room silent. Or perhaps it wasn’t silent; perhaps the sirens still blared outside and pierced through the air with their wails; perhaps the television reported through the small suite and carried in the unbelievable words on the anchors; perhaps a coworker had let loose their emotions and lamented the atrocity with tears and sobs of anguish. But within everybody’s hearts and minds, in this office and thousands of others around the country and the world, it was silent. The only thing that was there was the image; the billowing black smoke pouring forth, first from the North Tower, then from the South, as both the Twin Towers came down that day.