The call came in at the hotel. I looked at the fluttering red light, thought it must be a wrong number or the front desk, but I recognized the voice on the line. I'm sorry, I hope I'm not bothering you but (a friend's) mother died. I thought you'd want to know.
She was right.
I rescheduled my return flight from Boston to Houston a day earlier than planned, from the 11th to the 10th of September.
Who knew?
On Tuesday, I walked Cheyenne early in the morning, relishing in the rising sun. After a week away, I was happy to be home, back to my familiar. We had walked the Freedom Trail in Boston that weekend. So the irony is that I was feeling patriotic. In my head the song, City of New Orleans.
Good morning, America, how are you?
As was the morning norm, we watched the Today Show. Suddenly saddened by the switch to live news, but trusting it was a tragic accident.
I was in the shower, my door closed. She called out to me from the hall. Are you watching this, you should watch this. Her voice was higher than normal, an urgent tone I'd not heard from her before.
Oh my God!
The second plane hit. I stepped out.
Dripping wet in my towel, she in her robe, we hugged in fear and shock. We stood before the television in my bedroom waiting for someone to pull the plug, announce the mistake.
It cannot be confirmed at this time but it appears that we are under a terrorist attack.
That's all, really. With those words, and the live images, it began to seep in. We watched as what seemed unreal became factual. We watched in frozen horror and disbelief. The more we understood, the more we cried out. We called our fathers; she called her girlfriend. Both of us terrified but reassured by the voices on the other end of the line.
We're being attacked.
We paced. We made the dogs nervous. Our hands were shaking. We lifted our coffee cups to our mouths and held them there unable to take a sip. The tears came. They would stop as we digested more news, and they'd return again. And again. I don't know how many times I said Oh no out loud.
We weren't at all sure what to do, but we needed to be with our families, our loved ones. I remember saying goodbye to her that morning. The two of us about to set out into a suddenly unfamiliar and dangerous world. The two of us marked, changed within a few moments. Along with everyone else in the country. We hugged before leaving. I held on. It seems a bit alarmist now, but I honestly was not sure I would see her again.
Never have I felt so devastated but so broadly connected at the same time.
It's not at all often, but every now and again - like on the phone this morning - we talk about that day, that morning. It doesn't feel good or even feel better, but on my individual scale, in my individual story among the millions of stories, I am reassured at least that neither one of us was alone when our lives changed, when the world changed.
4 comments:
No, I don't think anything you wrote about that day seems alarmist, even now. America had been attacked on her native soil for the first time. Ever. None of us knew what was going to happen next. None of us were prepared for what DID happen next.
It was a pivotal moment in world history.
I'm so glad you weren't flying that day; what a nightmare that would have been.
I think every American who watched the news that fateful morning experienced it in much the same way you did, but most can't describe it so poignantly. I still get goosebumps thinking about it.
Beautiful photo, too. Thanks.
i was painting in my class. the teacher next door asked if he could bring his students over because he didnt have a t.v. i said sure witout knowing why he was so interested. when they came in i turned the t.v. on and watched in horror, while trying to explain what was going on to the students who could not grasp the idea of us being hit like that. i didnt understand either, but i was able to wrap my mnfd around it. ill tell you true, i was 26 at the time, a grown man, but i called my father as soon as i could.
I have a friend that was on Flight 11 and one that was supposed to be. We were all at a conference in California. My friend, on Flight 11, was substituting as a speaker for his friend who couldn't make it. The other one, who wasn't - changed his flight like you did to the day before. (his original ticket was AA #11) I, too, left on the last flight out of California on September 10th. I've never been so glad to be home in my life.
Post a Comment