Out of Tragedy

This is being submitted for the Winter Holidays Contest 2019. Please vote. Thanks.

The late fall of 2001 looked as bleak as the bare trees that grew near the patch of woodland abutting my neighborhood. The last of the leaves had fallen and winter approached, cold and lonely. Winter's okay if you have someone special in your life. I didn't and hadn't for close to a year. Judy, my girlfriend of eighteen months, had called it quits, and my subsequent efforts to find new romance had been futile. By mid-December, I had nothing much to look back on since our breakup but a succession of awkward meetings and dates that went nowhere.

Alex, my good friend since middle school, was in a similar situation. "Zach, what we need is a change of scene," he said. "So let's do what we say we're going to do every New Year's but so far haven't done. Let's make the scene in Times Square."

Times Square on New Year's. It's an American tradition that dates back to when Teddy Roosevelt was president. Alex was right; we had always talked about being there but for whatever reason we never made the effort. We'd been to New York but not on New Year's. Like millions of others, we made do by watching the ball drop on TV. But that would change in the final days of 2001. We had the money and the time and nothing better to do but sit home and lament our lost loves. No excuses this time; we were going to New York.

We called a few days ahead and, improbably, got a two-night's stay at the Hilton in Midtown. In the past, we traveled to New York by bus. This time, we splurged for train travel from Baltimore's Penn Station. Some say that the time between Christmas and New Year's is the most exciting time to be in New York. There's an energy, a vibrancy crackling in the winter air that can't be denied. We felt it as soon as we hit the streets, particularly in Times Square where people were already milling around. The city, if not the country, was still reeling from 9/11; yet people stayed determined not to let that tragedy ruin the festivities. In a little more than twenty-four hours, a half-million celebrants would be crammed into this iconic space, and two of them would be us, Zach Jacobs and Alex Cunningham. We had to figure out what to do in the meantime.

"Well, we can try to meet some chicks," Alex said as we lounged about in our hotel room after checking in. "There's lots of single women in New York, plenty without New Year's dates I'd bet."

Still pessimistic from my recent frustrating dating experience, I said, "Yeah, and the ones without dates, at least the ones worth meeting, are probably sitting home."

Alex stroked his reddish-brown beard and grinned. "I bet you're wrong, my cynical friend."

Alex always did have a sunnier outlook on life than I did. With him, the glass was always half-full. We were both in our late twenties, college educated with good jobs. Alex held an IT position with a prestigious private school, while I was in business for myself as a physical therapist. We were in shape, too. Alex ran with the Baltimore Road Runners, while I had just begun training for the then infant sport of CrossFit. On paper, we made a good catch for like-minded females. Realistically, though, I didn't see us hooking up, at least here in New York on New Year's. Besides, I didn't come here for that. Trying to pick up women didn't appeal to me at that juncture. I wanted to have fun, not encounter more frustration. "Look, let's just relax and have a good time," I said. "If we meet women by chance, fine, but I'm not in the mood to go out of my way."

Alex understood. We had lunch, then decided to see Gotham's latest tourist attraction, the one born in terror. Three months after the planes hit, they were still clearing the rubble from the twin towers. We couldn't leave this town without seeing it, we decided, and hopped on a south-bound subway. No surprise, others had the same idea, standing around in their winter garb, many of them looking glum, shaking their heads. It was hard to believe that a few guys armed with box cutters could have done this, could have changed the course of history. I stood there in my leather jacket over a sweater, hands in pockets, hunched against the mid-thirties air temp, thinking how terrified those passengers must have been when they realized that their death was imminent.

We had been there only a few minutes when Alex, bundled in a suede fleece-lined jacket, nudged me. Turning my head to where he pointed, I saw two women around our age. One cried, while the other patted her shoulder in an effort to comfort her. "She might have lost a loved one here," I said.

"Or maybe she's mourning the loss of everyone who died that day," Alex said.

We continued to watch them, becoming more curious. It didn't hurt that they were cute. The one wiping her tears had long, light brown hair. She wore a heavy sweater over jeans and no coat or hat. She cried but didn't shiver. In fact, she didn't look cold at all, as if the tragedy of this place and what loss she might have suffered had numbed her to the weather. Her friend wore a down-lined blue ski jacket and red wool cap.

I suggested we talk to them. Alex demurred. "And you're the one who said he wouldn't go out of his way," he teased. "Plus, they might not want intruders at a time like this."

I nodded. "Maybe not. But sometimes people in pain appreciate sympathy from people they don't know. You know, the kindness of strangers and all that. If they blow us off, we'll respect their privacy and leave." I sensed his reluctance. "Look, this isn't a pickup thing, believe me," I assured him. "Maybe we can help."

He grinned. "Be honest. You're hot on the crying one." Then he laughed. "And I'll confess that I wouldn't mind meeting her girlfriend. But since this is your idea, you fire the opening salvo."

I agreed but didn't know what to say. This would require more finesse than what's called for under more normal circumstances. After ambling up to them, I said this to the brunette: "Don't mean to bother you, but we couldn't help notice how upset you are. We're from Maryland, and we're visiting this site for the first time. Did you lose someone close to you here?"

She dabbed a handkerchief at her reddened hazel eyes and nodded. "Yes, my brother. He was a firefighter."

"I'm so sorry," I said. "Those guys were extremely brave. They were heroes."

She sniffled and blew her cute, slightly upturned nose. "Thanks, they were. Growing up, Scott was always my hero."

We introduced ourselves. Then the grieving one said, "I'm Chelsey and this is my friend Veronica, my other hero who's been a big part of my support system since the bombing."

Veronica smiled and draped a protective arm around her friend. "We've been best buds since grade school," she said. "And Scott, I'd known him for just as long. Scott Glascoe was a great guy, always wanted to be a fireman. As Chelsey said, he was a genuine hero." She brushed away a tear. A curl from her shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair swirled down from beneath her wool cap. They both appeared average height, but the heels on Veronica's boots lifted her an inch or so taller.

"So sorry about your loss," Alex added. "We were reluctant to approach you ladies, thinking you might want your privacy."

Chelsey took my hand. "I'm glad you reached out. It means a lot to me." She managed to smile. "So you're from Maryland. I could tell by your accents that you weren't New Yorkers."

"Chelsey, everybody not from New York talks funny," Veronica joked. "These guys are no exception."

We all laughed, and then my exaggerated Baltimore brogue ("Bawlmer, ooshen, ambalance," etc) got them laughing even harder. If it goes no further than this, I thought, it doesn't matter, for we brightened up their day, one day in what must have been a succession of gloomy days since the planes hit. But we talked on while watching the rubble being cleared. We told them where we were staying, for how long, what we did at home, etc., and they reciprocated. These were accomplished women. Chelsey was in her last year of residency in dentistry, while Veronica was finishing up her nursing studies. They both lived on Long Island but were staying at the Hotel Pennsylvania for a couple days.

"It was nice meeting you guys," Chelsy said. "I needed a good laugh. In fact, I don't think I've laughed at all since I lost Scott."

Veronica then asked what we were doing for New Year's. We told them about our plans for Times Square. "We had planned to do that too," Chelsea revealed. "But after Scott was killed, I was in no mood to celebrate anything, much less New Year's. My BFF here persuaded me to finally get out and try to have some fun. We plan to be in Times Square as well. Scott would have wanted me to have fun, to go on with my life." She looked skyward. "He's probably pissed at me already for mourning him to the point of being depressed."

Veronica hugged her. "No question about it. And I'd bet he's thanking these good Maryland guys for getting you to laugh for the first time in months. Not to be pushy, but maybe we should ask to join them for New Year's."

Veronica looked at us as if to ask if it was okay. "We hardly object," I said.

"Not at all," Alex chimed in. "In fact, we welcome it."

"Chelsey?"

"Of course. Would love to."

We stood around for a few more minutes. During that time, Veronica revealed her last name, Mosconi. The afternoon was still young and I wanted to move, walk somewhere, do something physical. I'd always wanted to ice skate at Rockefeller Center. "I'd like that," Chelsea said after I brought it up. "I haven't skated in years."

"Okay, but let's warm-up first," Veronica said with a slight shiver. "Get some coffee or hot chocolate."

With over two-hundred Starbucks in Manhattan, it was easy finding one a few blocks away. I walked with Chelsey Glascoe, Alex with Veronica Mosconi. It's a bit mysterious the way people pair-off. Both these women were cute. Based on looks alone, we could have taken either one. But something else was at work, both on our part and theirs that we coupled-up the way we did. A kind of natural flow took over. We walked to Starbucks conversing one-on-one. Then, once we got inside, Chelsey and I sat together across from the other two. Over hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, we talked more about 9/11, where we were when we first heard the news, how we reacted. Chelsey's emotions were all over the place. She laughed at some of my funnier dating stories and cried when she talked about her brother. "I'd like to hug you if you'd let me," I said.

She turned to me and said, "That would be nice. And thanks for asking first." Alex and Veronica chuckled as I wrapped my arms around Chelsey, giving her a tight squeeze. "And next time," Chelsey said afterward, "you don't have to ask."

Then it was off to Rockefeller Center's skating rink. I had always loved the look of this place, with the gold statue of Prometheus watching over the plaza, fountains streaming down behind it and now that 100-foot tall Norway spruce decorated for the holidays. Finally, I was here to skate with my good buddy Alex and two hot women who we barely knew. This was heady stuff!

It wasn't until we slipped on our rental skates that I got my first good look at Chelsey's beautiful figure. Her tight jeans accentuated her long, shapely legs, small waist and cute derriere. If I didn't know better, I'd of had her pegged as a pro skater just on her beautifully proportioned body alone.

But a pro skater she wasn't; none of us were. We were all slipping and sliding and falling and laughing it up as we did so. After one of Chelsey's spills, I pulled her up, then held her—without permission per what she had said. But then I went further, kissing her on the mouth. Quickly pulling away, I began to apologize. Then she said, "You should be sorry, Zach Jacobs. Sorry for not making it longer."

I stared at her, somewhat in shock. "You mean that?"

Without saying a word, she leaned in for more. Skaters swirled around us as we smooched for a good half-minute. "Yes, I mean that," she said when we decoupled.

We gazed into each other's eyes, communicating our affection without words. It's not that I was lost for words, it's that I didn't think it was appropriate to spill my feelings so soon. Love might be too strong a word but not smitten. 'Hey, Chelsey, I'm smitten with you.' Nah, too corny and too soon.

Seconds later, Alex and Veronica skated up to us holding hands. Veronica said, "Hey you two, it's not even New Year's yet."

"I think they like each other," Alex said.

Veronica bumped Alex's shoulder. "Well, we like each other too, don't we?" Before he could react, she planted a kiss on the side of his face. "Guys with beards turn me on," she added.

Alex grinned. "And cute, strawberry-blond women supportive of friends in need turn me on," he said.

Chelsey looked at me as if she were examining a painting in a museum. "You know, Zach, a beard would look good on you also. As long as it wasn't so thick that it hid your strong jaw line and sexy dimple in your chin. Your broad shoulders under that macho black leather is a nice touch also."

"Better stop there, Chelsey, or he'll get conceited," Alex joked.

I shook my head. "Listen to this guy. Veronica, has he bragged about his top-twenty finish in the Baltimore Marathon yet?"

Veronica's blue-gray eyes gave Alex an incredulous once-over. He was built on the husky side, not slim and lanky like many marathoners. "Really? You finished that high?"

"I did. Eighteenth place out of hundreds to be exact. Next stop, New York. Can Boston be far behind?" He raised his arms as a victorious runner would crossing the finish line.

"See what I mean."

"You guys are fun," Chelsey said.

*****

After turning in our skates, we talked about seeing the Museum of Modern Art, but then decided it was too late. As Chelsey pointed out, doing MoMA was a day trip in itself. We all went for Veronica's suggestion, winding down with some brew at nearby O'Brien's Irish Pub. This was my kind of watering hole, with its subdued lighting and dark wood appointments. We shared two tables pushed together against a wall of exposed brick. The women drank Sam Adams, while me and Alex settled for a Guinness. We bantered through the rest of the afternoon, filling in more of the blanks of earlier conversations about our lives. The women thanked us again for reaching out. "We wouldn't be sitting here if you hadn't," Ronnie said.

"And we wouldn't have laughed so hard, if at all," Chelsey added.

I leaned over and kissed her, then brushed my fingers across the smooth skin of her face. "Thanks. We wouldn't have laughed so hard either."

Alex swallowed some brew from his mug. Then: "Absolutely. I'd have to listen to him bitch about some poor cross fit workout and he'd have to put up with me bitching about the high cost of decent running shoes. You girls saved the day."

"Well, the party's not over yet, guys," Ronnie said. "There's tonight, tomorrow and then the festivities in Times Square. Which begs the question. Would you gents like to have dinner with us?"

"Only if we're buying," I said. Alex backed me up with a nod.

"Oh no you don't," Chelsey jumped in. "You guys are out of towners, our guests so to speak. We might be students but we're not poor students."

Veronica nodded. "She speaks the truth. Our parents did okay."

We "gents" looked at each other and shrugged. "Guess that settles it," I said.

We took another subway ride south to SoHo Park, a moderately priced (by New York standards) bistro. Its interior reflected the design of the old SoHo loft district itself, with exposed rafters, industrial windows, hardwood flooring and plenty of plants. To me, the day felt like a whirlwind of activity crammed into just a few hours. What next? I assumed that we'd go our separate ways and then meet up tomorrow for dinner and then Times Square. I told Alex that when the girls took off for the rest room. He thought the same thing. But they returned with another itinerary that didn't jibe with mine. "Look, you guys," Ronnie said, "in the interests of getting to know each other better, Chelsey and I wanted to know if you'd welcome some female company tonight. One on one, I mean. As in coupling."

They stood by our table, arms crossed and grinning, waiting for a response.

This I didn't expect. Another welcome surprise in a day of welcome surprises. "Your proposal is more than welcome," I said.

Alex couldn't hide his joyful anticipation. "One on one tonight? As in overnight?"

"Um, that's the general idea," Chelsea said, still grinning. "As to the specific amenities, well, that remains to be seen."

The logistics weren't difficult to work out. Chelsey would stay with me at the Hilton, Alex with Ronnie at the Hotel Pennsylvania. That's after Alex and Ronnie returned to their own hotels for a change of clothes.

It was a bold move for these New York gals. Presumably, they were ready to become intimate with two out-of-state guys they had just met. "I want you to know that this is a first for both Ronnie and me," Chelsey said when we got in my room. "We're not in the habit of hooking up for overnights with guys we barely know."

I stood as she sat on the edge of one of the two twin-sized beds. "You must really trust us," I said.

"More than that, we really like you guys." She reached out and pulled me beside her. "I'll let Ronnie speak for herself. As for me, well, Scott's death woke me up to the reality of sudden loss, of knowing that each day could be our last. Of course, I knew it before that, but it didn't really hit home until nine-eleven. Before, I'd put off doing things I wanted to do, thinking tomorrow's another day, or maybe I'd be overly cautious. Ronnie and I discussed that during our little rest room pow-wow. So yeah, trust is part of it. But so is grabbing moments or adventures that feel right and true while I still can."

Right and true. It felt that way to me also. Of course, there was the physical attraction, her pretty face framed by her wavy, long light-brown hair, adorable nose, velvety skin and the body of a figure skater or jeans model (take your pick). She had that New York accent, talked a bit fast as many New Yorkers did, sans the harshness that sometimes went with it. In fact, she had a lovely speaking voice, coupled with precise diction, something I always found sexy in women.

I couldn't wait to get naked with her. Actually, I could and did. Fully clothed, we smooched and hugged standing by the window of our room on the thirty-fifth floor, admiring the view, the skyscrapers that housed offices and hotels, some all lit up in the darkening sky. During a lull, she said, "I more than trust you, Zach, I feel safe with you. Scott was built along your lines, muscular and athletic. A strong huggee-bear type. But it's much more than that. Like him, you seem sensitive, someone who listens to and cares about other people. Like Scott, you know how to comfort. I'm so glad we found each other."

Pulling the trigger on my current feelings, I said, "I'm smitten with you, Chelsey Glascoe. I wanted to say that a few hours ago. But I didn't want to come on too strong so soon." My arms were around her as she snuggled against my chest.

She looked up and chuckled. "Playing it cool, huh?"

"Chelsey, right at this moment, holding your sexy, shapely bod against mine and inhaling your lovely caramel candy scent, cool is hardly the way I feel."

She stepped back and fiddled with the buttons on my shirt. "Well, speaking of shapely bods, I wouldn't mind getting close to yours right now. With nothing in between. And, for the record, I'm on birth control." She stepped over to the wall and cut the light, leaving the room in a chiaroscuro of shades. If there was ever an ideal setting for romance in a New York hotel room, this was it, I thought, watching the sensuous way she peeled off her blouse and bra, and then slipped out of her tight jeans. For a few moments, I could do nothing but gawk. Perfect bodies don't exist, but for a guy with my athletic mindset, Chelsey's firm, beautifully proportioned form came close.