I just read the book "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" (a review will follow) and it's got me thinking about the whole horrific day of September 11th. Especially since the anniversary is coming up again, it's always on my mind this time of year. What were you doing the day the towers fell? Here's my story.
Sitting at the desk in my room, I grab the mascara to apply to my completely blonde eye lashes. Katie Couric is talking in the background on my little television set and I'm hurrying to get ready to go to work. It's a tuesday, and I have some things to get done at the financial institution where I work, before my boss get in. I'm still living at my parent's home while I work and put myself through college, which I think is both financially prudent and robbing me of opportunities every college-age-person should have. Right now I'm thinking about my list of things to do, and that I need to get the radio fixed on my car. It's been making me crazy because all the way in to work, a good half hour on the freeway, I have nothing to distract me from how much I hate the drive. I really need to pick up my shirt at the dry-cleaners, can't forget that.
The news broadcast is suddenly in a frenzy. They aren't sure what's going on exactly, but it seems like a plane has hit one of the twin towers. I drop the mascara and turn to face the little television. I increase the volume, seeing hazy footage, not understanding. I am riveted to the screen, waiting for more information, verification of what is really happening, someone to say its an accident and miraculously there aren't many casualties.
I jump up, run down the hallway to my parent's bedroom.
"Wake up," I say, tapping the end of their bed, finding sleepy feet. "Something's happened. A plane hit the world trade center tower."
From his sleep my dad says, "What?"
I repeat myself.
"No, that can't be right," he says, sitting up.
"Come see for yourself. It's all over the news," I say, not waiting, as I fly back down the hallway to my room. I don't know why I went back to the tiny tv in my room. It's the smallest one in the house. Maybe I went there because of everywhere in the large home, it's where I feel the safest. Maybe if I watch from my room, it won't be as awful.
The news is coming in snippets, pieces of speculation, all too horrible to believe.
Is this real? Has this really happened?
I look at the clock. I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. Will it matter? How can anyone work when this is happening? I throw my hair up, finish minimal makeup, and dress as quickly as I can. I forgo breakfast, instead remain standing, mouth open, taking in the images I can't believe.
Why didn't I call my boss to tell him I couldn't come in? I didn't know the infamy the day was going to claim.
Every line on the freeway dashed by me, making the silence in my car louder. I couldn't believe my radio was broken. I speed, which is not so unusual, but I feel like I have a free pass today. Today, everything is different and nothing really matters.
The elevator doors open and the office is quiet. The few people that came in to work, mostly staff that didn't have the option of not coming in, congregate around the various tv's. Everyone looks at everyone else, but no one knows what to say.
We alternate between channels, trying to find the most accurate portrayal of what is happening, but not wanting to see. We watch in horror as the images come in. We watch the horrific news. We watch as people die.
Later, I only want to see my family. I hug everyone. Tight. There's not much to say. All we can find to pronounce are exclamations of disbelief, of sorrow, of grief.
I can't imagine what so many people are going through, while I sit an watch my television. I feel lucky to be alive. I feel guilty that I am safe. Things I thought were important aren't anymore. I feel differently looking at the american flag. A lump sits in my throat. I cannot swallow it. It's impossible to comprehend how this can happen. I'm so far away from it, but I feel so much a part of it. Which is completely unfair to the people that were there, who's family members aren't coming home. I can't wrap my head around it.
And now, all these years later, I still can't wrap my head around it. I ache for those who lost loved ones. I still can't look at pictures from the events of the day without tearing up. I will never forget. I guess the best way to honor those that died that day is to remember. Remember, and tell younger generations about what happened that day. Tell them where you were, how you felt and the impact it made on you forever.
Tell them so that it won't just be a lesson in their history class. Tell them you remember.
I remember.
I will never forget.
dizzylittlechatgirl
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