Adventures in Solitude - 9/11/2001
Nov 11, 2014 0:31:37 GMT -6
Post by Jennifer Moon on Nov 11, 2014 0:31:37 GMT -6
It started out like any ordinary Tuesday morning. Jen had woken early, a side effect of coming back home to live with her parents for the summer. Normally, she’d have stayed in bed until ten or eleven, but this morning she’d been up before eight as she had been for the entire summer. Her mother hadn't allowed her to sleep in once, and although Jen was a little irritated, she was grateful for a normal sleep schedule. In two weeks, she’d be starting her final year of school, and her most important class of the year happened to be an early one. Washington Kennedy Rockefeller had attempted to convince her (and had succeeded) to transfer to Dartmouth for her final two years of college – she’d been absolutely miserable without him at RISD, anyway. It helped that Dartmouth had a stellar art program.
She skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, kissing her father quickly on the cheek in greeting before busying herself with making breakfast. He had the television on, watching some sort of inane morning chat show while he read the newspaper. “Don’t you need to be at work?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in her father’s direction as she plopped some toast into the toaster. He looked at his watch, swore, and scrambled to grab his things and leave. Jen laughed. There was definitely no doubt as to where she’d gotten her horrible habit of being late.
When the toast was done, she swooped into the seat that her father had vacated, kicking up her feet on the opposite chair (but not before glancing around for her mother – even though she was now in her twenties, Jen still didn't care to be on the receiving end of a lecture about feet on the furniture). She tried to ignore the squawking woman on the television as she mentally recounted all the things she needed to do today. Unfortunately, seeing Wash was not one of them. He’d had to go to New York for something – work related, if Jen had to guess – and she wouldn't get to see him until the weekend.
She had just taken a bite of her toast when the annoying woman on the television was cut off abruptly. Jen turned her attention to the broadcast – it was a breaking news report. She watched in disbelief as the news report went on. What the hell was happening? She felt sick – Wash was in New York. Where was he in the city? Was he near where it had happened? Was he okay? She leapt to her feet and grabbed the phone, dialing first Wash (with no answer), and then his parents, to ask if they had heard from him. They had not.
She didn’t think. She grabbed her wand and immediately apparated over to his parents’ house, ignoring the usual nausea that hit her every time she apparated anywhere. Jen didn't even bother to show up on the doorstep – she apparated right into the kitchen. His mother was there, and Jen immediately grabbed her into a hug. There were no words to say. They stayed like that for a moment before Jen snatched the phone and began dialing Wash again. No answer.
It was like that on and off for the rest of the day. They had turned the television on to keep informed of what was happening. Jen would pace the kitchen floor, calling what seemed like every fifteen minutes, each time receiving no answer. When she wasn't calling, she was swearing up and down that if he wasn't dead, she would kill him herself for not picking up the phone.
She hadn't allowed herself to cry yet. She told herself that she needed to keep it together for his mother’s sake. Her chest had taken on a permanent tightness, and each time a new piece of information was announced over the airwaves, she felt her stomach churn. It was getting dark out now, and there was no news of Wash. His mother had gone off at one point to see if she could contact any other relatives that might have seen him in the city, or heard any news about his whereabouts.
Her feet dragged over to the nearest chair and slumped down into it, the phone dropping to the floor. She couldn't bring herself to pick it up, much less call again. Her elbows rested on her knees and she placed her face in her hands, taking a slow, shaky breath.
She skipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, kissing her father quickly on the cheek in greeting before busying herself with making breakfast. He had the television on, watching some sort of inane morning chat show while he read the newspaper. “Don’t you need to be at work?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in her father’s direction as she plopped some toast into the toaster. He looked at his watch, swore, and scrambled to grab his things and leave. Jen laughed. There was definitely no doubt as to where she’d gotten her horrible habit of being late.
When the toast was done, she swooped into the seat that her father had vacated, kicking up her feet on the opposite chair (but not before glancing around for her mother – even though she was now in her twenties, Jen still didn't care to be on the receiving end of a lecture about feet on the furniture). She tried to ignore the squawking woman on the television as she mentally recounted all the things she needed to do today. Unfortunately, seeing Wash was not one of them. He’d had to go to New York for something – work related, if Jen had to guess – and she wouldn't get to see him until the weekend.
She had just taken a bite of her toast when the annoying woman on the television was cut off abruptly. Jen turned her attention to the broadcast – it was a breaking news report. She watched in disbelief as the news report went on. What the hell was happening? She felt sick – Wash was in New York. Where was he in the city? Was he near where it had happened? Was he okay? She leapt to her feet and grabbed the phone, dialing first Wash (with no answer), and then his parents, to ask if they had heard from him. They had not.
She didn’t think. She grabbed her wand and immediately apparated over to his parents’ house, ignoring the usual nausea that hit her every time she apparated anywhere. Jen didn't even bother to show up on the doorstep – she apparated right into the kitchen. His mother was there, and Jen immediately grabbed her into a hug. There were no words to say. They stayed like that for a moment before Jen snatched the phone and began dialing Wash again. No answer.
It was like that on and off for the rest of the day. They had turned the television on to keep informed of what was happening. Jen would pace the kitchen floor, calling what seemed like every fifteen minutes, each time receiving no answer. When she wasn't calling, she was swearing up and down that if he wasn't dead, she would kill him herself for not picking up the phone.
She hadn't allowed herself to cry yet. She told herself that she needed to keep it together for his mother’s sake. Her chest had taken on a permanent tightness, and each time a new piece of information was announced over the airwaves, she felt her stomach churn. It was getting dark out now, and there was no news of Wash. His mother had gone off at one point to see if she could contact any other relatives that might have seen him in the city, or heard any news about his whereabouts.
Her feet dragged over to the nearest chair and slumped down into it, the phone dropping to the floor. She couldn't bring herself to pick it up, much less call again. Her elbows rested on her knees and she placed her face in her hands, taking a slow, shaky breath.
