20
What do I remember? Quite a bit, actually. I wasn't there, everything I experienced was mediated through the TV, the internet, newspapers, and most especially my friends, friends who were there.
My friends, they all came home safe. Thank God. But they all lost people, all knew people who did not come home.
My friend, the funny one, doesn't talk about it anymore. He was on a ferry that docked just as the second tower was hit. He didn't get off the boat, he just rode it back to Hoboken, watching the fire. He gave a ride home to a stranger, a guy who had carpooled with his roommate and needed a ride to an apartment in Jersey City. My friend stayed with him at his apartment, waiting for a call from the roommate, quietly drinking beer and watching CNN. The guy's roommate never called. He'd left his phone in his office on the 31st floor of the North Tower, assuming he'd be back. He essentially walked from the WTC to the Washington St Bridge and didn't get home till 9:30 PM.
My friend, the chef, he worked in Building 7. They left with stuff still in the ovens, he left his knives, his street clothes. They were all still there, he imagines, when they tore it down. He's never talked about it, but he probably saw the very worst. All he ever did say was that when he saw people had started jumping, he turned around and started walking North. He'd seen enough.
My friend, the kind one, was supposed to go to a meeting at Windows on the World. If he hadn't decided to stay on a phone call, he'd be dead. A talkative client saved his life. Shortly after that he began working on his exit from the NYC financial life, he retired early. It was never explicit, but its obvious he didn't want to be there anymore, in part because he lost so many acquaintances, coworkers, friends.
My friend, the master of the Universe, she was at the WFC. She couldn't get the smell out of her nose for a long time. So long, it was uncomfortable and probably psychological. She watched the Towers fall. Was covered in gypsum dust and ash, and probably human remains, too. She always got mad when people would say "they couldn't believe it." "WTF do you mean?" She'd say. "They are fucking gone. Gone. Believe it."
There are others, kids at school, mundane stories of grief and confusion, panic and bravery. They are all in their 40's now, some with middle school or older children. Each of them is a story of hope.
It was such a perfect, beautiful September day. I remember that most of all. Such a blue sky. Crystal clear. Calm, serene weather.
The end of an era.
My friends, they all came home safe. Thank God. But they all lost people, all knew people who did not come home.
My friend, the funny one, doesn't talk about it anymore. He was on a ferry that docked just as the second tower was hit. He didn't get off the boat, he just rode it back to Hoboken, watching the fire. He gave a ride home to a stranger, a guy who had carpooled with his roommate and needed a ride to an apartment in Jersey City. My friend stayed with him at his apartment, waiting for a call from the roommate, quietly drinking beer and watching CNN. The guy's roommate never called. He'd left his phone in his office on the 31st floor of the North Tower, assuming he'd be back. He essentially walked from the WTC to the Washington St Bridge and didn't get home till 9:30 PM.
My friend, the chef, he worked in Building 7. They left with stuff still in the ovens, he left his knives, his street clothes. They were all still there, he imagines, when they tore it down. He's never talked about it, but he probably saw the very worst. All he ever did say was that when he saw people had started jumping, he turned around and started walking North. He'd seen enough.
My friend, the kind one, was supposed to go to a meeting at Windows on the World. If he hadn't decided to stay on a phone call, he'd be dead. A talkative client saved his life. Shortly after that he began working on his exit from the NYC financial life, he retired early. It was never explicit, but its obvious he didn't want to be there anymore, in part because he lost so many acquaintances, coworkers, friends.
My friend, the master of the Universe, she was at the WFC. She couldn't get the smell out of her nose for a long time. So long, it was uncomfortable and probably psychological. She watched the Towers fall. Was covered in gypsum dust and ash, and probably human remains, too. She always got mad when people would say "they couldn't believe it." "WTF do you mean?" She'd say. "They are fucking gone. Gone. Believe it."
There are others, kids at school, mundane stories of grief and confusion, panic and bravery. They are all in their 40's now, some with middle school or older children. Each of them is a story of hope.
It was such a perfect, beautiful September day. I remember that most of all. Such a blue sky. Crystal clear. Calm, serene weather.
The end of an era.