The last survivor of 9/11 died today.
She had walked out of the South Tower after the first plane hit the North Tower. She made her way to her tiny apartment and stayed for three days without opening the door — without eating or even moving much — until her father came to take her back to Indiana. She didn’t pack; she just watched the news. The names of every person she knew in the city–all five–scrolled by.
She left her clothes and furniture, her knick-knacks and mementos in the apartment. Her father grabbed her newly framed diploma from the wall on the way out.
“Leave it,” she told him. She also said: “Don’t tell anyone I was there. Ever.”
She stayed in her old room at her parents’ house and stopped watching news all together. She never learned that of the 16,000 survivors who were evacuated that day only 18 came from where she had been — above the impact point on the South Tower. After six months, she started leaving the house on short trips. After a year, she decided to get a job.
When the lady who interviewed her for the assistant teacher position at the day care asked her where she worked before, she lied without hesitation.
“Right after college, my father became very ill,” she said. “I’ve been taking care of him. I don’t really have any work experience other than baby-sitting and odd jobs while I was in school. I hope that’s not a problem.”
High honors in accounting. No job experience. And now day care? The lady took a chance and never regretted it.
The children loved Ms. Annie, as they called her, but it was different than the love they had for the other teachers. They ran to the others when they skinned a knee or twisted an ankle. The others would shower the wounded with love and affection, kissing the owies and boo-boos. They knew not to run to Ms. Annie for such things. But when they lost their favorite teddy or had nightmares at naptime or didn’t understand why their parents always yelled at each other, they knew they could go to Ms. Annie. They would stand close to her, with their arms around her leg, as she stood tall beside them. She would put her hand on their heads and muss their hair and say, “It’ll be all right.” She didn’t look down at them when she said it, but it made them feel better anyway.
With every year, September 11 became more like a regular day. After her parents died, she was the only one who knew she had been there. Her name had escaped the government reports and the New York Times. She never applied for compensation from the fund and never attended any of the memorials.
She retired from the daycare a year after her husband died. She was 68. There was a party and she appreciated the effort, but could have done without the hoopla.
She began spending her time volunteering at the hospital in the neo-natal unit. She would stand beside an incubator and let the tiny hand grip her finger. She would softly sing songs and between them whisper, “It’ll be all right.” Of course, it was not always all right. More often than not, it was far from all right.
When she finally became too frail to continue her volunteer work, the unit held a small party for her. She was the longest-serving volunteer in the program’s history. At the party, the head nurse said, “Most volunteers only stay about six months. When they quit, they tell us they can’t handle the uncertainty and the heartbreak. Annie has been here for seven years and we know thousands of children owe her gratitude, even if they will never know her name.”
The nurses chanted, “speech, speech,” but Annie just raised her hand, shook her head, smiled and said, “No, no. No speech.”
She moved into a retirement home shortly after that and it wasn’t long before she began running the activities committee. She planned trips to botanical gardens and casinos. She worked with the director to improve the food at the cafeteria and became the unofficial ombudsman for the residents.
Eventually her body began to give out. Her daughters, fairly frail themselves, decided she needed to be moved into hospice. Annie knew it was a one-way trip. She spent more and more time sleeping and sometimes had difficulty telling her waking time from her dreaming time.
In her dreams, she is walking to the Twin Towers. It is after the first plane, but before the second. There are a number of people in the South Tower who are looking out their windows at the North Tower and the smoke wafting up and the papers drifting down, not sure whether they should leave. She ascends to the ninetieth floor of the South Tower and watches her other self talking to a co-worker.
The co-worker asks, “Do you think we should go down and see what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure,” her other self says.
“Well, I have to get this report done before Bob gets here or I’m in big trouble. Why don’t you go down and let me know.”
“Okay, I’ll call you on my cell.”
She watches her young self walk to the elevator and leave with a small wave to her friend as the doors close.
This is when Annie normally wakes up. But this time she stays there, standing behind her co-worker, waiting. When the second plane hits, her friend is knocked unconscious.
Annie sits on the floor and cradles her friend’s head in her lap. She ignores the smoke and debris and the screaming and crying. She sits and sings songs softly to her friend. And between them she says, “It’ll be all right. It’ll be all right.”
Jason Stout lives in Atlanta, Georgia with his wife and five children. His works have appeared in Every Day Fiction; Flashquake (Editor\’s Pick); Shine!; and Pequin. He can be contacted through his website: jasonstout.jimdo.com.
This story was sponsored by Flash Fiction Chronicles. Flash Fiction Chronicles is the best site online to discuss flash fiction with top authors in the field.
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38 Responses to “THE LAST TIME • by Jason Stout”
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March 5th, 2009 at 1:10 am
Excellent, very moving story. This definitly deserves a five.
March 5th, 2009 at 1:17 am
Ditto from me. And thanks, we need to remember from time to time.
March 5th, 2009 at 1:34 am
An entire lifetime without coming to terms with the disaster. Its sad, but realistic…
March 5th, 2009 at 1:37 am
Beautifully written, although in the words available I couldn’t help but feel you’d tried to encompass too much. Too much felt summarised. But I loved the last few paragraphs, from ‘In her dreams…’
March 5th, 2009 at 1:46 am
This one troubled me, but these stories often do. I didn’t like it but I think it’s more to do with my frustration that I just don’t GET stories like this. The writing works and the story TICKS along at a measured pace from point A to the point B you were trying to drive home. It’s a well constructed story.
But I kept re-reading it because something bothered me.
The girl survives the disaster but apparently always harboured a desire that she could have comforted her work friend in their last moments.
Here’s an alternative. She moved back to Indiana and joined the Fire Department so she could HELP improve people’s situations instead of just comforting them.
I get that she was traumatised and reduced to dealing with the trauma the only way she felt she could. I suppose if she hadn’t turned her back on the support structure that was in place after 9/11 she could have received help with it but you probably don’t hear too many stories about the people who survived a disaster, thanked their lucky stars and got on with their lives.
I think what really annoys me is that I’m supposed to get a warm glow about a woman whose highest aspiration was to mutter bland nothings to someone who was dying. It’ll be all right? CLEARLY it won’t be all right. It couldn’t be further from being all right.
And then I get even more annoyed when people think that’s a good message to be sending out. You’re BAD people.
March 5th, 2009 at 2:54 am
Lovely, made me cry. Still undecided as to whether she’s reliving the disaster at the end or whether the first bit was a dream and she’s really in the tower.
Whichever it works.
March 5th, 2009 at 3:18 am
I loved this story, Jason. And, yes, you got to me – in the gut. I hear the points the other guys are making and I understand, but I’d say this is about the guilt survivors always seem to feel, the: “Why them and not me?” Well imagined and well written. A 5 and no doubts.
March 5th, 2009 at 3:34 am
Although the ending was a bit like the end of ‘Titanic’, this is a well-constructed story.
As for the topic, I think the survivor guilt trip subject is perhaps overused.
Anyhow, a four from me.
March 5th, 2009 at 3:42 am
Gerard- It is called survivor’s guilt, and I hope no one ever has to experience it, but it happens and it is strong. Personally, I understood the protagonists actions. Who says you are suppose to get a warm glow? Perhaps you are suppose to react the precise way you reacted. It is a moving story, but it is not a warm and fuzzy, feel good, kind of a story. Frankly, it is likely to haunt me the rest of the day.
Jason- Very well done. 5 stars.
March 5th, 2009 at 5:21 am
I read this as a private and intimate eulogy – the kind that can never really be written – that slips into a dream. It still amazes me how you can pack so much into such tight fiction, Jason. It’s very effective.
I find Tels’ comment very interesting! It hadn’t struck me that way, but I think I’ll be considering it for days.
March 5th, 2009 at 5:52 am
Very well done. So realistic that discussion is as if it’s not fiction.
March 5th, 2009 at 5:54 am
Jason. This was magnificent. Not easy to read, and very frustrating… but just magnificent.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:00 am
A story of an ordinary woman who is obsessed by her one out-of-the-ordinary experience, a horrifying one, which repeats and repeats in her mind. Written in a good, plain, reporting style.
I would have wanted to say: Gerard, I really like your cracker-barrel story as we all sit around the cracker barrel, gabbing. But in this case I don’t. The story, THE LAST TIME, is not nearly so bad as your alternative; in fact, it’s much better.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:24 am
Well crafted story! It moved at a good pace. I disagree with Gerard. The survivor turned fire fighter/EMT/police officer plot is trite and over used. I like that she was not addressing their physical pains but rather their emotional ones.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:37 am
Very touching and uplifting, I feel so proud for her and her actions as the silent hero.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:39 am
A sensitive treatment of a difficult subject. I’m not entirely sure that those of us who lost family are ready to deal with it in this fashion, but perhaps it’s better if we are presented with it.
I was disappointed that the “survivor” didn’t really “survive”–she is in such denial and instead of taking steps to confront her feelings & help others, she merely tries to include them all in her denial. But it’s realistic and it works well as a story.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:53 am
Fantastic work. Very touching, and a real gut punch.
Gerard, I don’t think you’re supposed to get a warm glow about anything in this story. It’s not about someone who survives and overcomes.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:54 am
Jason you know how to get into the deep parts of humanity. Excellent
March 5th, 2009 at 7:03 am
This story makes me think of Freud’s repetition compulsion, where an event cannot be mastered because it’s in the past, therefore the person tries to master it symbolically through present actions. IMO Mr. Stout has done an excellent job portraying that concept in a story that is both entertaining and sad.
March 5th, 2009 at 7:27 am
Terrific story, Jason. Haunting and full of impact. Loved it.
March 5th, 2009 at 7:30 am
Smoothly written, well-structured, and poignant. The only thing I felt a bit unsettled about was the time span, whether I was in the present or the past. But then I realized the “now” is really many years in the future. Not a criticism. Just my reaction. Definitely a 5.
March 5th, 2009 at 7:34 am
A well done piece. No ‘glorious battle to overcome’, simply survival. I would not chose to deal–or not deal–with such an incident the way she did, but it is completely understandable. It strikes that chord of survivor guilt for those of us who’ve lived through having friends mindlessly murdered.
March 5th, 2009 at 7:50 am
I’m not usually a fan of inspirational stories, but this one is exteremly powerful. If this in’t worth a five, I don;t know what is.
March 5th, 2009 at 8:27 am
How to live an ordinary life after surviving an extraordianry event – this has that slightly ‘flat’ feel throughout, which is the strength of the story. Subject and writing in perfect synch, Jason. I liked the way Annie felt – nothing.
March 5th, 2009 at 8:57 am
Astonishing grasp of a character who is never able to confront the images of hell on Earth but still manages to remain human. Don’t let anyone tell you this should have had a different beginning, middle, or end. It is perfect.
March 5th, 2009 at 8:59 am
I don’t normally comment on these; I just rate. However, this one is worthy of comment. It did feel condensed, and would probably be even stronger in a longer short story version. But it worked, and the end gave me chills. Five stars.
March 5th, 2009 at 9:14 am
The strongest moment for me was the description of her with the children; how they wouldn’t come to her for solace for the little things, but for the major crisis, they knew she was the one to turn to. There are people in life like that, though they are rare and precious as golden eggs.
I’m not really a huge fan of the all-encompassing life story flashes. They read like an obituary with garnish. It feels like the writers of these have to reach for handfulls of heartstrings rather than plucking them individually to get the reader to connect. But this one was nicely done and the scene with the kids had a lot to do with its distinction from similar stories.
Good job.
March 5th, 2009 at 9:17 am
Very touching and quite saddening. I gave you a five.
March 5th, 2009 at 11:22 am
This was a very well done story. It had gut wrenching emotion, but on a personal level, as well. It wasn’t necessarily heroic or uplifting, in that Annie never really got over it herself. And yet, she always did the most that she could do, which is something.
March 5th, 2009 at 11:37 am
Thanks all for the comments, everyone – they are greatly appreciated. It’s interesting to hear all the different perspectives on this story.
Gerard – I was looking forward to your comments, because I don’t think any of my stories have elicited a positive response from you yet. It’s sort of like the American Idol singers wanting to get praised by Simon Cowell. Alas, maybe next time . . .
March 5th, 2009 at 12:31 pm
A moving and poignant piece. The simple, straightforward telling of this story made it all the more emotional and raw – the restraint of the prose kept it from being maudlin or melodramatic. Well done, Jason.
Oh, and the Simon Cowell comment was too funny.
March 5th, 2009 at 1:45 pm
Survival isn’t always living…
A very good story well told, Jason.
And Gerard as Simon, well, I dunno. Gerard’s fun in a caustic sort of way, but rarely mean-spirited, like Simon can be towards some of the poor wretches who never should have given thought to take themselves from a frog pond and croak a capella
–dj
March 5th, 2009 at 2:19 pm
Hi Jason,
I liked your story. “The Last Time” definitely rubs a raw nerve in its treatment of survivor’s guilt about the last survivor of 9/11. It’s well-told and very ambitious for such a short story. Many people have their own versions of survivor’s guilt about the attacks of 9/11, regardless of where they were. 9/11 impacted us all in many ways, which strengthens the impact of your story.
Miss Annie, like the Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby”, walks through life as one in a dream with a face that she “keeps in a jar by the door” like her stock phrase, “It’ll be alright.” Her personality and soul seem permanently balanced upon a tight-rope above a catastrophic inferno of death-seeking dreams.
In terms of character development, I wonder how any man ever got past the emotional permafrost to marry Annie after 9/11? I also wondered if the day-care children would empathetically comfort Miss Annie, as they sensed her brokeness? But I believed in Annie — that she was a lost and lonely, but real character.
I am not quite sure that the title is a strong as the story. It’s not clear to what the “last time” refers. The last time she felt alive? The last time she saw her coworker in the South Tower, or the last time she had her dream/nightmare? (Her reaction also reminded me of post-traumatic stress disorder victims.) However, the character is sufficiently wraith-like against such a dark and violent backdrop to produce a moving cameo-story.
I enjoyed reading your story, Jason, and look forward to reading your next one!
- Jennifer
March 5th, 2009 at 4:31 pm
I like the story but the storyline is ..well questionable
March 5th, 2009 at 5:57 pm
Superb story, Jason. Just superb.
March 5th, 2009 at 6:03 pm
Jason,
Your story really grabbed my attention. It was a great reminder. I felt like I really knew MsAnnie. 5
March 5th, 2009 at 8:51 pm
Very moving, in deed. Well done Jason.
Thanks for sharing,
Bill
March 6th, 2009 at 2:08 am
It must be rough on someone I know who had an engagement the other week and got his son, the son’s girlfriend and her brother to house sit in country Victoria last month. The son was on the telephone saying goodbye to his father just as the fires came…