First published 9/11/2012 the eleventh year anniversary of the world trade center attacks I have tried since 6am this morning to motivate myself to drive the same path I had taken on the fateful morning of 9.11.2001, but there’s the pain of reliving the horrifying events of that day that have, so far, kept me from doing so. Here’s my story: I was on my normal commute from Connecticut heading to my office, which was, at the time, in Soho. The Westside Highway drive was particularly beautiful that morning as it was the first crispy day heralding autumn, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. That summer had been hot, and New York without humidity is always a gift. This was such a day, with cerulean skies and a morning glimmer off the Hudson that even made that waterway look invitingly clean. Averting my view from the near flat river, I caught a glimpse of a jumbo jet that was slowing making its way downtown, as if on the same southerly course I was on. It wasn’t unusual to see such a sight as La Guardia air traffic often made a steep rise from its short runways, and turned on a sharp angle so as to go directly over central park to the north on its journey toward the Statue of Liberty and beyond. But this plane, seemingly heading at the same pace downtown as I was. On this day there wasn’t the usual stop and go traffic on the Westside ‘highway’. On a side note, citizens of the west village had successfully blocked the potentially more convenient (for us commuters,) “Westway” project, a few years earlier. On this day, the light traffic and few red lights allowed me to focus a bit more closely on this plane’s trajectory, abnormally low and slow flying. I actually had time, by the time I reached Leroy to consciously think and murmur to myself, ‘this plane is flying really low’… the light turned green and I became more and more convinced that this plane was too low, I looked forward to the south, now at Clarkson, to see that two twin towers beefing in the morning light but right in the path of what I could now clearly make out as the on coming American Airlines jumbo jet. It was all happening at slowed speed, time to consider the outcome, time to see the plane dip a wing so as to head straight into the western most tower as I passed Houston, time enough to yell out to myself ‘that plane is heading into the world trade center’, now at Spring Street, ‘that plane just hit the world trade center’, ‘that plane just disappeared into the world trade center, as if an axe going into a birthday cake, then a pause, and giant fireball exited the wound like one of those expert effects from a Michael Bay film. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Airlines_Flight_11 Screeching left turn onto Canal, all surreal, all right before my eyes… I called my wife immediately to say there had been a terrorist attack on the World Trade, Center, she erased the message by accident, before I ever listened to my hysterical report. ‘It wasn’t a small air craft’, as had been speculated by local news radio, I explained in the parking lot, crowd gathered around me, by my office on Wooster, as we looked up to see the second plane hit. This one, which shook the ground we were standing on, took with it my cousin, Adam Lewis, who didn’t listen to my Aunt, who had called from Spain to find out if he was okay and then pleaded for him to vacate. He had been told just minutes before the call, that ’the building was safe’ and to ‘stay put’, resulting in his leaving orphaned, his 4 kids, one an infant, who will never know his awesome dad. There is much more I could tell of this terrible day, but I will save that for another occasion. It’s taken me 11 years to write this, so in a few more years the scar tissue might be strong enough to explain the rest. Today is a day I choose to celebrate precious life and those of meaning around me.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 14:53:27 +0000
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