Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

phone.
    I still had a few seconds.
    Who should I call?
    What should I say?
    I thought about all of the things that everyone ever says to each other, and how everyone is going to die, whether it's in a millisecond, or days, or months, or 76.5 years, if you were just born. Everything that's born has to die, which means our lives are like skyscrapers. The smoke rises at different speeds, but they're all on fire, and we're all trapped.
    You can see the most beautiful things from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. I read somewhere that people on the street are supposed to look like ants, but that's not true. They look like little people. And the cars look like little cars. And even the buildings look little. It's like New York is a miniature replica of New York, which is nice, because you can see what it's really like, instead of how it feels when you're in the middle of it. It's extremely lonely up there, and you feel far away from everything. Also it's scary, because there are so many ways to die. But it feels safe, too, because you're surrounded by so many people. I kept one hand touching the wall as I walked carefully around to each of the views. I saw all of the locks I'd tried to open, and the 161,999,831 that I hadn't yet.
    I got down on my knees and crawled to one of the binocular machines. I held it tightly as I pulled myself up, and I took a quarter from the change dispenser on my belt. When the metal lids opened, I could see things that were far away incredibly close, like the Woolworth Building, and Union Square, and the gigantic hole where the World Trade Center was. I looked into the window of an office building that I guessed was about ten blocks away. It took me a few seconds to figure out the focus, but then I could see a man sitting at his desk, writing something. What was he writing? He didn't look at all like Dad, but he reminded me of Dad. I pressed my face closer, and my nose got smooshed against the cold metal. He was left-handed like Dad. Did he
    have a gap between his front teeth like Dad? I wanted to know what he was thinking. Who did he miss? What was he sorry for? My lips touched the metal, like a kiss.
    I found Mr. Black, who was looking at Central Park. I told him I was ready to go down. “But what about Ruth?” “We can come back another day.” “But we're already here.” “I don't feel like it.” “It'll just take a few—” “I want to go home.” He could probably tell that I was about to cry. “OK,” he said, “let's go home.”
    We got at the end of the line for the elevator.
    I looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.
    There was a fat woman with a fat kid, and a Japanese guy with two cameras, and a girl with crutches whose cast was signed by lots of people. I had a weird feeling that if I examined it I would find Dad's writing. Maybe he would have written “Get better soon.” Or just his name. An old woman was standing a few feet away, staring back at me, which made me self-conscious. She was holding a clipboard, although I couldn't see what was on it, and she was dressed old-fashioned. I promised myself I wouldn't be the first to look away, but I was. I pulled on Mr. Black's sleeve and told him to look at her. “You know what,” he whispered. “What?” “I bet you she's the one.” For some reason, I knew he was right. Although no part of me wondered if maybe we were looking for different things.
    “Should we go up to her?” “Probably.” “How?” “I don't know.” “Go say hello.” “You can't just go say hello.” “Tell her the time.” “But she didn't ask the time.” “Ask her the time.” “You do it.” “You do it.” We were so busy arguing about how to go up to her that we didn't even realize that she had come up to us. “I see that you're thinking about leaving,” she said, “but could I interest you in a very special tour of this very special building?” “What's your name?” I asked. She said, “Ruth.” Mr. Black said, “We'd love a tour.”
    She smiled, took a huge breath in, and then started walking while she talked. “Construction on the Empire State Building began in March of 1930, on the site of the old Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, at 350 Fifth Avenue at Thirty-fourth Street. It was completed one year and forty-five days later—seven million man-hours of work, including Sundays and holidays. Everything about the building was designed to expedite