Erin Sullivan: Charlie Caraher was on the 68th floor of the World Trade Center, starting his day as a computer programmer for Morgan Stanley, when the first plane hit the other tower.
Office paper fluttered from the building, like snow. Charlie smelled jet fuel. He saw people plummeting.
He was leaving a message for his wife at her work to tell her he was okay when the second plane hit his building.
"Hi, Catherine, this is Chaaaaaarrlie," he said, his voice quavering from the impact.
The building lurched and the floor felt like gelatin.
"I'm okay. All right?" he said. "I'll talk to you later. I want to see you. I'm going to hold you."
Keep reading with a membership
This story is for Gangrey members. Join to read it in full, unlock the archive, and support narrative nonfiction.
Become a MemberAlready a member? Sign in
Leave a comment