“Diary of a Tragedy” is a column written by New York City residents with Maine ties who have been sharing their experiences of the World Trade Center tragedy. Christopher Allen, son of Earl and Phyllis Allen of Orono, worked on the 87th floor of Two World Trade Center. Allen is a programmer-analyst at Corporation Service Co. He and his wife, Anna, live in Brooklyn, N.Y., and are expecting a baby.

My morning started like any other, getting up around 7, getting dressed, and sitting on the couch watching TV while trying to wake up fully. I had my breakfast and was watching the traffic and weather report. It was the first clear, cool day in a long, long time, and I was thinking it would be a nice day to see across New York Harbor into New Jersey from my 87th-floor office. I was preoccupied reading about the candidates for mayor, comptroller and public advocate and the election that day.

At 7:55, I walked down to the street in front of my apartment in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. Standing there, I mulled whether to go to vote or head for the bus. The voice of my great-grandfather spoke to me and said it was my duty as an American to vote. So I knew I had to vote, either in the morning or evening. I decided it was a beautiful morning for a short walk.

I voted for some of the candidates I knew and refrained from voting for people whom I didn’t know. I left the polling place around 8:10 and got to my express bus at 8:15. While running to the bus, I was thinking I was lucky to catch this one because I could be at work by exactly 8:45.

As the bus picked up passengers from the last few stops before getting on the highway, I thought we were running five minutes late and there seemed to be a lot of traffic. I was now hoping to be at work by 8:55.

Just before 8:45, I looked at the financial district skyline and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then the express bus, still moving at one of the slowest paces I can recall for a long time, entered the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. The tunnel is just less than two miles long and it usually takes four minutes to travel through. I remember people complaining that it had taken much longer than usual just to get to that point.

Emerging from the tunnel, we faced due north. Many tall buildings blocked the view of the WTC, so no one knew anything had happened.

Out of the tunnel, the road takes a 90-degree, left turn and ends at West Street, which runs north to south. The west side of One World Trade Center, the North Tower, sits on West Street and was still out of my view. As the bus turned south, away from the building, I noticed from my window a bit of gray smoke. I wasn’t concerned because there could be any number of reasons for a puff of smoke.

Traveling south toward the tip of Manhattan, we took another left and headed east. Curious about the smoke, I was able to see through a slit between the tall buildings. Tons of paper glittered in the sky. We were near the “Canyon of the Heroes” route where the Yankees have a ticker-tape parade every fall. I wondered why there might be such a parade. The U.S. Open? Little League?

Moments later, I could see the top of tower one. To my amazement, great clouds of smoke were billowing out of the building. I thought, perhaps, it was an awful office fire that had gone out of control. I was seeing the tower from the south and did not know there was a gaping hole on the other side. Then I saw the fire and said out loud, “Oh my God, One World Trade Center is on fire.” The bus moved and a building blocked our view. Soon everyone was able to see the fire. We turned onto Greenwich Street.

The bus made a scheduled stop near Rector Street and I decided to get off. I went into a subway station looking for a pay phone – all the phones on the street were 10-people deep. Still searching for a phone, I went back to the street. I wanted to call my wife, Anna, and tell her I was OK and that the fire was in another building.

I made it to Cedar and Trinity streets where I found an empty pay phone. That was when I started to smell the fire and notice that it was hailing pellets of cement. I was able to place a collect call to my mother. I knew the cellular phone system must be overloaded and thought it would be best to have her relay the message. By then, I had heard it was either a plane or a bomb.

As I started to dial, I heard a jet. Then there was an extremely loud explosion and I knew we had been bombed. The pay phone served as a shelter from falling debris. I heard people yelling that a plane had hit the other tower and they had seen people falling out of the building.

I didn’t look up out of fear of tripping or getting glass in my eyes. I ran down Cedar Street where I eventually found a bank and ducked inside. I hid there to regain my thoughts and think about what to do next. We were under attack, so I did not want to be near Wall Street, the world’s largest gold reserve (two blocks away), or on any river crossing (bridges or tunnel). I remembered what my English teacher Mr. McLean taught me from mythology: “Don’t look back!”

I thought the best shelter would be under the elevated highway. From there, I could go toward the Brooklyn Bridge or, if need be, swim across. I still wasn’t sure if it was a terrorist attack or if we were at war.

As I ran toward the highway, my first thought was of water or food. I was absolutely bewildered that the breakfast vendors still were making food and selling water, so I bought a liter.

Around 9:20, I got underneath the highway and felt a little safer. I eventually made it to the Brooklyn Bridge and begged cars to take me across. I offered to pay $20 or more. After a few cars, this nice lady picked me up (for free) and took me into Brooklyn.

In Brooklyn, I found a taxi and made it to Anna’s school. The taxi driver was Arab and he was as angry as I was. I was listening to WINS, the local radio station, when I head the announcer say, “Oh f–, the South Tower just collapsed.” That was when I almost lost it. The taxi driver was as astonished as I was. We finally made it and I gave the driver double the amount of money. He had taken the time to get me to my wife and postponed his trip to Queens to reach his own family.

When I got to Anna’s school I ran around and asked where the second-year students were meeting. When I finally found her, we just cried. I was so happy to be alive and able to hold her again.