Perspectives, An Intriguing Tale of an American Born Terrorist Read Free

the emergency exit.
    The explosion incinerated the first two floors of the building and shot fire through the other 15 floors like a roman candle. The building shifted on its foundation like a boxer rocked by an unexpected upper cut and collapsed like a Jenga stack losing a critical building block. The first explosion was followed by a series of smaller explosions, and cries of agony came from the thousands of people, crushed and burned and trapped in the fiery tomb. Jonathan engulfed Carly with his 6 foot 2 inch frame as the building fell down on top of them and then everything was quiet.

 
Chapter 2
    Jonathan awoke amidst the whiteness and the floral smells and gadgetry of his private hospital room. His wife Mary was upon him as soon as he opened his eyes. She looked different, as if she had aged several years and the weight of life had stretched her skin from her face. Mary was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. Her hair was amber and so were her eyes and she was perfectly proportioned. In fact, she was perfect in every way: beautiful, smart, sexy, and a wonderful mother. But now those beautiful eyes were full of grief, like an overworked and emotionally abused single parent. Her hair, which was always perfectly kept, had streaks of gray and was ruffled. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, showing lines that he hadn’t seen before. Still gorgeous, her sadness wore on her strong Eastern European features like scales. Her puffy eyes said it all, that she had carried an immeasurable burden, alone, without his help. He tried to reach a hand to comfort her, but saw that both of his arms were constrained, one in a cast that extended from his shoulder to his wrist and the other to keep from upsetting the IV’s that were spitting nourishment and medication into his veins. He tried to talk but his tongue was thick and his mouth was dry. Mary held a glass of water with a straw over to his mouth and he tried to turn towards it but was restricted by a collar that was wrapped around his neck. She maneuvered the straw into position and he took a long soothing drink. She stood up to alert the nurses that he was awake, but stopped frozen when he spoke.
    “What happened?” he asked.
    At the sound of his voice Mary started to cry as if she had never expected to hear it again, and then realized what he had said. She looked at him bewildered, “You don’t know? We can talk in a minute, I have to tell them that you’re awake.” Mary disappeared and was back in a few seconds with 3 nurses. A page echoed over the hospital intercom for Dr. Hamilton, and Jonathan knew it was because of him. The nurses scurried around him, adjusting his bed, taking his temperature and writing down statistics from the overhead monitor. Within a few minutes Dr. Hamilton came through the door. He was a tall African American man in his early fifties, slightly balding and about 30 lbs. overweight. He grabbed the clipboard from the bottom of the bed, read it quickly, made a few notes and then sat on the bed next to Jonathan peering into his eyes with a light pen and asking questions of the attendant staff as he worked.
    “How long has he been awake?”
    Mary answered, “Less than 10 minutes.”
    “Has he spoken?”
    Mary said, “Yes.”
    “Slurred speech, coherent?”
    “He seems okay, except he doesn’t remember the accident.”
    Dr. Hamilton continued with his physical, looking through all the orifices in Jonathan’s head. He then listened to his chest and breathing with his stethoscope. Finally he looked directly at Jonathan and asked him, “How do you feel Mr. Anderson?”
    Jonathan grinned as if he had been asked a ridiculous question. “Very tired?” he answered sarcastically.
    “Headache, trouble breathing?”
    “A little, no a lot, I mean my head is pounding. It feels like someone hit me in the back of the head with a baseball bat.”
    The doctor motioned to the nurse and instructed an adjustment in his medication. She disappeared for