The Conductor

by Nik

A cold September hand reached through the window and scratched his toes. He slid his feet across his bed and let his callused heels grind against each other making a sound like the crumpling of the New York Times. His eyes opened but it was still dark in the room. The clock read 6:03 AM with its dawn red numerals.

Standing at the window sill, he raised one arm up. Holding up a clenched fist horizontally, he let hit fingers unroll. Slowly he raised his open palm, the sun outside rising with it. His other hand shimmered its fingers down the boulevard while the sun’s rays dragged along with it illuminating the road.

He walked until his feet snugged into his bedside slippers. He continued circling the room as he slipped off his shirt, and then stepped out of his pajama pants. He walked to his dresser and picked up the next pair of clean underwear and continued walking and he slid them on, followed by the rest of his attire which consisted of a pressed black suit necessary for his vocation. His 2/2 march continued with his socks and shoes as they helped him out the front door.

The conductor rested at the red stoplight and pushed the cars along in front of him. One of his hands moving left to right, the other moving right to left, helping the cars through the intersection. Then he pointed at the peeling old lady on her morning walk and guided her across the side walk.

The stoplight clicked green and the march began again.

He felt the early September sun heat his face as he continued his march through the edge of Brooklyn. He found the entry stairway to the Brooklyn Bridge and machined his way up the steps.

Halfway now, across the bridge, he stood and gazed at the New York skyline. The two tall twin towers stood like white dominoes. Ready to knock one another given a slight prod.
He stopped for a minute, looked down at his watch.

8:45 AM.

His eyes darted to the left, a Boeing jet plane rocketed through the blue sky. He pointed to it with one finger and guided it through the city and into one of the twin world trade centers. He continued to stand there and guide the smoke out into the sky.

9:03 AM.

Another international flight approached. He points two fingers at the plane, and guides it into the other tower. The building released a brilliant explosion.

10:05 AM.

The conductor clenches his fist as the south tower falls in on itself like a stack of imploding dominoes.

10:28 AM.

He closes his other fist, guiding the other tower down, and letting its smoke and dust melt over the Manhattan skyline.

The conductor opens his eyes to a standing ovation.