I was certain that I would be dead before noon. I was certain that we would ALL be dead before noon. The building fire marshal had turned off the elevators and told us that it was safer to be inside. We stayed away from the glass windows and it was pitch black outside. The smoke and dust veiled the mid-morning sun even from our 44-story trading floor. All the phones were dead and the Internet was down. But we had seen this building collapse just two blocks away from ours and we knew that we were under attack. I ducked back under my desk and was suddenly amused by this futile notion of seeking refuge there. I knew I was going to die that day, and somehow I was ok with it. The thought of my parents going through my stuff in my apartment was a little uncomfortable. But other than that, I was calm and surprisingly unconcerned with my present predicament. It felt like I was under that desk forever. And I had a lot of time to think. I tried to piece things together from earlier that morning, to make sense of the senseless. I remembered the monstrous metal groaning of a nearby building before it fell. I remembered the rhythmic rumblings that shook my entire body. I remembered the crying and screaming of colleagues. And I remembered the images from my office windows that I now know will forever haunt my dreams. We were finally allowed to evacuate the building around 11 o’clock. The sheer devastation outside was primal, almost apocalyptic. I started walking uptown because there was no subways, buses, or any cabs. Before long, my black dress shoes had turned white from the dust of what had been the South Tower. There was a parade of people walking uptown, all wearing white dusty shoes like school uniforms. It would be another two weeks before we could enter our office building again. I have a lot of memories from those two weeks. I remember that I stared at my white dust-covered shoes and I cried, and I cried, and I cried, until I couldn’t cry anymore. I remember that I sat alone in the dark for days feeling sad and lonely. I remember that I wanted to cling onto something, anything, and to lash out at the same time. And I remember the emotional numbness, the sweet, safe un-feeling that had become my sanctuary. I also remember the heart and the strength my city showed after the attack. I remember comforting and being comforted by strangers at the Union Square. I remember keeping vigil near downtown and waving as firefighters and rescue workers drove by. And I remember insisting that this attack would not change our way of life and insisting that it would NOT change who we were for the worse I don’t know how anyone can be fully healed from an experience like this. So I carry the heartache with me, as a grateful reminder of the resilience of the human spirit. And I carry the heartache with me as a scar, as a bond that I now share with my city. I AM PROUD to be a New Yorker.
Posted on: Wed, 11 Sep 2013 12:58:47 +0000
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