Genelle Guzman
On the sixty-fourth floor, Genelle Guzman and her
fourteen colleagues also heard the second crash. The ceiling
shook, and smoke seeped ominously under the closed doors.
"That's it!" one of the men shouted. "We're walking down!"
Rosa and Genelle grabbed each other's hands, and followed
the group to Stairway B. It was less smoky than they had
anticipated. Genelle phoned Roger, her fiancee. He was
waiting on a corner just a few blocks away, hoping that
Genelle had managed to get out. "I'll meet you there!" he
told her. "Hurry!" It was just 10 am, over an hour since
the first plane had struck.
At first the trek went well. Rosa and Genelle clung to each
other, and counted the flights "Twenty, nineteen,
eighteen.." Genelle says. "I was wearing a new pair of
high-heeled shoes and my feet hurt. When we reached the next
landing, I stopped to take my shoes off." Just then there
was a roar-like a locomotive coming straight for them. The
floor shifted, and part of a wall fell toward Rosa and
Genelle, pulling the woman apart. Dust filled the air,
steel beams crashed, as people hurtled down flights of
stairs. Then the lights went out. An eerie calm descended.
Genelle had been trapped by falling rocks. Now her head was
pinned between two concrete pillars, her arms above her
head, her legs under debris. "Help!" she cried out. "Is
anyone there? Rosa?" But no one answered. Genelle had
been the only survivor of the collapse in this area.
Slowly, Genelle took stock. "My right leg was buried up to
the thigh in rubble," she says, "and my toes were numb."
Perhaps worse was the worry over what had happened outside.
Had New York City been hit by a bomb? Were her loved ones
alive? But from what she remembered from her mother's
faith, she wasn't alone in this terrible place. God knew
where she was-and He was here too. She began to pray.
Time passed, and as the dust settled, the light slowly
faded. Genelle prepared to spend the night in utter
darkness. "God," she pleaded, "Stay by my side."
Genelle couldn't know that the scene somewhere above her was
one of chaos. Smoke billowed from the pile of rubble that
was once the World Trade Center; gigantic beams lay
everywhere and sirens screamed. Shocked, bleeding people
wandered aimlessly, while others ran for their lives.
Thousands of people remained missing. Genelle was one of
them.
Eventually, inside, the little ray of light returned, and
Genelle knew it was morning. Drifting in and out of
consciousness, she also knew that her life was ebbing away.
"All feeling in my right leg was gone now," she says, "and I
didn't think I could go too much longer without water." But
still, she sensed the Presence of Someone who cared about
her far more than she herself did. "God," she prayed,
"please send me a sign that I'm going to get out of here.
Or that if I don't, You'll be there to meet me."
Suddenly---was it true?-Genelle heard a muffled sound.
"Hello!" she cried out, her voice hoarse and raspy from the
dust. "Is anyone there?" There was movement, as if other
people had entered the area. "I'm here!" she cried. "Can
you hear me?" No one answered
Genelle's hand was still stuck above her head, but maybe if
she could attract some attention. Frustrated, she tried to
wave, and suddenly, she felt someone take hold of her hand,
holding it in a warm and reassuring grip. "You're going to
get out of here," a male voice told her. "Don't be afraid."
"Oh, thank God!" Genelle could hardly believe it. "Where
did you come from? What's your name?"
"I'm Paul," the gentle voice answered. "I'm just ahead of
the rescue team. They're coming to get you. I'll stay here
with you."
Holding on as hard as she could, Genelle tried to
open her eyes so she could see Paul's face. "But for some
reason, my eyes just wouldn't open," she recalls. However,
Paul was right-soon she could hear men's voices. "I'm
shining a light down," someone called. "Can you see it?"
"No!" she called back, still unable to see anything. She
used one hand to knock the staircase above her with a piece
of concrete. The rescuers were definitely getting closer,
but whenever they moved wreckage, fear surged through
her-would there be another collapse? Paul seemed to know
how she felt, and would give her other hand a squeeze.
"It's going to take awhile," he told her more than once,
soothing her mindless terror, "but I will stay with you.
You're going to be fine."
An eternity passed, and finally, she heard two firemen above
her, digging debris away from her leg, calling for others to
send down a stretcher. "We've got her!" one shouted. As
they reached her, in the confusion and joy of the moment,
Genelle let go of Paul's hand, and let the others lift her
on to the stretcher. It was twelve-thirty p.m. She had
spent 26 hours buried underground, and she would be the last
survivor pulled from the wreckage. Crowds cheered as she
was carried to an ambulance. "I noticed that it was a sunny
day, and I could open my eyes now," Genelle says. "I
wondered why I had not been able to open them and look at
Paul." She had not seen him yet, and didn't want to forget
his name. She would never be able to repay Paul for the care
and comfort he brought to her during this terrible time.
But she would try. .
(Some time later) some of the firemen who rescued her came
to visit her at home. She thanked them all, then asked
which one was Paul. "Paul?" the men looked at one another.
"Paul," Genelle said. "The one who found me first, the one
who held my hand. He was just ahead of the rescue team."
The men shuffled and shook their heads. They knew every
member of that squad, all the firemen who had been searching
for survivors. There was no one named Paul in any of those
groups, and definitely no one ahead of them..
Who do you think Paul was?
Joan Anderson Copyrighted by Joan Wester Anderson, used with permission.
Originally appeared on the Where Angels Walk website,
http://joanwanderson.com