Jaime sleeps shirtless, sprawled across his bed.  The comforter is on the floor and a white sheet almost covers his legs.

Image Credit: Nathan Gibbs

The cell phone on the nightstand buzzes emphatically, dancing on the table.

Jaime stirs, lifting his face from the pillow.  His hair is matted on half his head, and spiked up erratically on the other.  He lifts his head and turns to see the digital clock across the room on the dresser.  7:03.

Jaime looks at the phone and flips it open.

JAIME: Hello?

MAN 12: Hello, Jaime O’Malley?

JAIME: Yeah.

MAN 12: My name’s Rick Sutcliff, of the Star.

JAIME: Like the baseball player?

RICK: Yes, but I’m not him.

JAIME: Oh.  I’m not interested in a subscription.  But thank you.

RICK: No, Mr. O’Malley.

JAIME: Jaime.

RICK: Jaime.  I’m a columnist.  I wanted to talk about your website.

Jaime gets up and sits at the edge of the bed, running his hand over his head, back and forth.

JAIME: What website?

RICK: The countdown.

JAIME: How’d you find out about it?

RICK: I’m not really at liberty to disclose my sources.

JAIME: So you understand what’s going on.

RICK: Yes.  I do.  I know about “the first”.

JAIME: That site is intended to ease the consciences of what that day will mean to those who care about me.  If you write about it, it will only cause them more unnecessary pain and suffering.

RICK: I have a responsibility as a journalist. 

JAIME: You have a responsibility as a human being.

RICK: Sorry, this is news.  I just wanted to see if you had anything to say about it.

JAIME: I don’t.  Why’d you call me so early anyway?

RICK: I wanted to make sure that you were available for one.  In my experience, this is the best time to do so without being rude.  Second, I wanted to make sure that this is ready to print for tomorrow’s edition.

JAIME: Please don’t.

RICK: Would you like me to send you a complimentary…

Jaime folds the phone closed.  He lies back down and stares at the ceiling.

***

Jaime lies back with his mouth open and his eyes under the intense light of the dental office.  A long-haired hygienist scrapes away at his teeth.  Her gloved hands are busy with the instruments in his mouth.  She wears decorated scrubs, magnifying glasses, and a mask over her nose and mouth.

HYGIENIST: What do you think about the New York thing?

Jaime is unable to reply, but raises an eyebrow, “What thing?”

She withdraws from his mouth and sits up.

HYGIENIST: You didn’t hear?

Jaime’s mouth is now free to answer.

JAIME: No.

HYGIENIST: We’ve been attacked.

***

Jaime sits on the couch of his apartment, watching the television.  The smoking World Trade Center is seen on the screen.  The second airplane crashes into the tower and explodes into an extraordinary ball of fire.