Non-bitchy 9/11
Okay, now that I've had a day to cool my jets, it's time for my 9/11 story since it really strikes close to home.
Every year since the divorce (1998 I think) my dad and I would venture up from B'more to NYC for a week or so. We'd go to the zoo, see Off Broadway shows and eat in east Soho. One year he finally convinced me to go to the trade center since the year prior we conquered the Empire State Building.
We did our normal routine. Checked in and instantly hoofed the seven blocks up 5th Ave. on towards central park. Went to the natural history museum and then to the UN (for the millionth time because I'm an IR weirdo) and then the second to last day, we toured the financial district.
The subway station was a spectacle. Everything was white and copper. There was a three floors tall labyrinth of shops that lead to the World Trade Plaza with the famous golden orb in the heart. I nearly had vertigo standing there looking up at them, nearly curving from the pure optical perspective.
We waited in a massive lobby, something that Madmen must've taken a page from. Eggshell wallpaper, modern chandeliers that hung in square formation. We watched the workers come and go through the elevators and the bustle of New York's elite.
My dad bought our tickets, and the attendant stamped the base with a "roof closed" because of a thunder storm closing in. Thankfully, we were able to be out there for a little bit.
It was overwhelming to be 111 stories up in the air. I was alive and terrified at the same time. The entire earth bellow me for the brief moment before we were all ushered inside. I could hardly form words as lightening batted at the windows of the observation deck as a typical New York rain storm settled in. We then filed on home, never taking a single picture, and only a t-shirt to commemorate the occasion.
I was sick to my stomach as I watched the buildings cave in. My father works for American Airlines and flew out of those airports flying those class of planes. I also was sick for another reason. Impressed in carbon on the bottom of my ticket stub to the WTC was the date: August 20th, 2001.
Because of this day, I have kept every single stub from everything and everywhere I go. Every movie, every flight, every concert. I do it so when the time comes that these things pass and forgotten, I will have some part of it to hold on to; to remind me that there was a time when things could be enjoyed and simple. The memories are all we have, and sometimes the better parts should be held on to more.
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