it was almost midnight, and i was still thumbing pages in my english literature anthologies. soon after that, i was covering my legs with the thinner bed sheet and turned CNN to the Food Network. (and right after i did that, in the light that radiates from the tv screen i saw a spider lower itself slowly onto my bed; i grabbed the nearby kleenex box and knocked him into infinity.) the three cups of coffee weren't settling easily, meaning i wasn't going to be falling asleep anytime soon.... which brings me to now. i keep replaying the scene in my head, where i was rounding the flight of stairs i have to climb when my night class ends. from inside my shoulder bag, my phone keep beeping - the voicemail alert sort of beeping, not the books-one-and-two-keep-slapping-me-upside sort of beeping. as i was walking down the inclined sidewalk towards my bike, i too note of the smokey sky, the choppy sounds of helicopters and echoing sirens. my phone beeped another time before i noticed that i had seven voicemails. my first thought was: someone in my family has died and all my friends are trying to reach me. my next three thoughts: chase called me. chase never calls me. someone in my family really did die. shaking, listening to the first voicemail, i realized i had numerous text messages, and simultaneously - a friends muffly voice painting the picture. i called my mom, who i knew was obviously going to start blubbering the second she heard my voice. everyone knows i have class at night; they knew i'd be OK. but i skip class, and the bridge is in my backyard compared to the rest of the city. the whole bridge collapsed. cars, metal, bodies - none of which were mine - and suddenly, i switched gears. i called back friends, called more friends, texted everyone i knew that commutes on 35 and sat down next to my bike and prayed. i actually said a real prayer, addressing the Father, the way i used to. my face grew warm in embarrassment, as if the Man could see me. i asked him a few things, suggested that he takes care of things like people know he does, and i told i'd be on standby. two finals on my mind collided with the catastrophe and i knew i had to bike to the journalism building where i could watch the TV. on the way there, i changed my mind and took washington avenue to the washington avenue bridge where i stood with fellow peers, aweing. i choked back tears as i saw emergency suburbans passing under the bridge with what looked like row boats attached to their rears. i answered my phone as more calls came in, and i listened to other bystanders address theirs. that flare of lights and the woeing of more sirens rerouting the river roads hit a nerve, and i realized i needed facts. once arriving in front of the TV wall in the journalism building, i found myself nodding to the custodian who join me in gaining information. we talked. he commented. i mentioned how i understood the physics of bridges at one, short period in my life, so he elaborated. the sky was tainted with storm clouds, so i mounted my bike and 4-geared it home. and now, i look at my window, not out, thinking there are bodies in that river, waiting until daybreak for a hand to pull them from their hell. but tonight, i'm within four walls, under a roof, in a cool bed, thinking that that could have been me.