(5 of 10)
Relatives say that most in her family believed that she and Roger would eventually wed, but many thought it would take a long time. For their part, the couple say they never had any real doubts. Even so, it's fair to note that much about their relationship was unresolved before Sept. 11. Today Genelle sees any uncertainty between them as a function of not having Christ at the center of their lives. "I was busy partying," she says. "I didn't want too much pressure with my relationship."
But her party-girl act showed signs of waning even before Sept. 11. Twice last year, Genelle and Roger--raised Catholic and Anglican, respectively--attended the Brooklyn Tabernacle. An 8,000-member evangelical congregation in a lavishly refurbished old cinema, the tabernacle touched Genelle with its message that if you only let him, Jesus can change your life and show you the right path. It was a narrower path, one that would require her and Roger to stop carousing, but she was intrigued. Roger was more hesitant.
By the end of last summer, neither had joined the church. "You just feel so spiritual when you leave [the church], but then you get back to normal life," Genelle explains. By then she and Roger were living together at his place in Cypress Hills, a working-class neighborhood in Brooklyn. The church frowns upon cohabiting out of wedlock--"It's fornication," Genelle says--but they weren't yet ready to marry. Instead they planned a party trip. "We had booked tickets to Miami Carnival for October," she says. "We were really, really looking forward to that."
Step down, step down, step down. It's tedious--and so not as terrifying as being upstairs, where Genelle kept fretting that the building would topple. At least climbing down is a task to focus the mind. When the group entered the stairwell a few minutes earlier, everyone was relieved that it was less smoky than expected. Now they are basically calm, not really rushing.
Around the 40s, maybe a bit higher, they run into the first fire fighters. Exhausted from lugging heavy tools and hoses, the men are taking a break. Some resume the climb when Genelle's group goes by; others sit and sip water. Obviously they have not heard the fire-department order to retreat, delivered after the south tower fell. Down in the 30s, Pasquale recalls, a rescue worker says, "It's a clear run. Just keep going." Everyone seems to feel pretty good, like they are going to make it.
Now they are on the 13th floor (Pasquale believes they were actually about nine floors higher, but Genelle remembers 13), and she stops to take her shoes off. She loves shoes. It seems as if she buys a pair a week, so many that she hides them from Roger. She is wearing black leather heels today, and they hurt. It will be easier in bare feet. As Genelle is unstrapping them, she's holding Rosa's hand.