On this, the eve of September 11th, I would like to give thanks for the health and safety of our friends and family.
Five years ago, tomorrow, Cap and I took the subway from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side of Manhattan where we were both working. It was such a beautiful day, we had left our apartment early so that we could get a cup of coffee together before heading our separate ways. I was working a freelance job deinstalling an exhibit at the National Academy of Arts Gallery and Cap was working at his usual job at the Met, just a few blocks south of me on 5th Ave. I sat outside on a bench with one of my fellow deinstallers, we were enjoying the crisp air and the warm sun, and laughing it up when a homeless person (I assumed) hobbled by and mumbled at us "Hey, a plane hit the World Trade Center" and he kept going. I seem to remember exchanging skeptical eyes with my friend and continuing our conversation. But, in the next few minutes I noticed that people on 5th Ave. were stopping at the corner and just staring southward. We went over to see what was going on, and there it was: the great black cloud rising up over the Empire State Building.
I wasn't scared, but I knew that I had to call Cap to tell him. I used the payphone (nope, I didn't have a cell phone yet) and as soon as I got off the phone I heard on the radio (everyone was crowded around the security guard's radio) that the second tower had just been hit. Now I was scared. I tried to call Cap again but all the phone lines were tied up immediately.
But, like many other people that day, we were expected to do our job. As we packed up precious paintings we listened to the radio and it wasn't long before we heard that the Pentagon had been hit. At this point my friend and I sort of quit our job. I don't know where he went, but I ran out to 5th Avenue where I could see the smoke. Eerily, there was no traffic. The few cars that were there had their doors open and radios playing loudly, it was as if everyone was tuned to the same station, almost like a central loud speaker was broadcasting the news onto the street. People were standing still looking South at the black cloud of smoke, listening to the story unfold.
I began to panic a bit - both Cap's parents and my parents worked in DC, not far from the White House, and I was certain that more attacks were going to happen. At that point I said to someone, "I'm not staying here, I'm leaving" and I started walking South toward the Met. The weirdest thing was that there were tourists in front of the Guggenheim and they seemed oblivious to what was happening. The museum wasn't open yet because it was still early, but they were out taking pictures in front of the circular building. I felt like screaming at them "Turn around! Look at the smoke! What are you doing!!!" But I just passed them by, running and walking and running alongside the stone wall that keeps Central Park from spilling onto the Avenue.
When I got to the Met there were security guards turning people away. I begged with teary eyes to get inside to see Cap. Once inside the building I don't remember much. We tried e-mailing and calling our friends and family to say that we were okay. I finally got in touch with my mother after several failed attempts - and she told me that my father had not gone into work, but to have the oil changed on his car somewhere near the Pentagon, but that he was fine and on his way home.
I also remember walking around the offices of the Met, finding a television where people were crowded to see the news. All I had seen, up to that point, was the cloud of smoke, and this is where I saw the replay of the planes flying into the building. They played it over and over and over, sending me waves of nausea every time.
Another thing I remember was the moment it dawned on me that we were inside one of the pre-eminent cultural institutions of the world, and that it might be a target in itself. My emotions alternated between panic, sorrow, and quiet disbelief, and I could see the same range of emotions on the faces of Cap's co-workers. The same emotions I would later see on the faces of New Yorkers for days and months afterwards, on the subways and on the streets.
Around 3:00 (I think) sets of people began banding together to find ways to get home. Cap and I decided to fend for ourselves and left the Met to walk towards the Queensboro Bridge. The streets were devoid of traffic, but many many people were out. The cafes and bistros of the East Side were full of people sitting out in the afternoon sun. Cocktails and beers were being served and what seemed like merry conversation was being had. It was truly strange.
As we walked across the bridge with throngs of other pedestrians we looked back at Manhattan and I saw, for the first time, what was soon to be labeled Ground Zero. The plume of smoke rose from the ground into the sky and bent over Brooklyn and beyond. Just as we neared the end of the bridge we witnessed the arrival of the monstrous vehicles that would be used for debris removal. The sheer size of these machines was startling and their ominous mission was all too obvious.
In Queens we scrambled onto a bus amidst the mayhem of people looking for any mode of transport to get back to their homes and rode in silence to Brooklyn. At every cross street all heads turned West to look again at the tower of smoke. It was as if we all had to keep checking to see if we had woken up yet from this bizarre and horrible dream. At one point the radio that the driver was listening crackled out the announcement that Building 7 had collapsed. No one on the bus reacted much. It was as if we were resigned to the situation getting worse. The woman next to me held a business card in her hand and read it over and over. Finally she showed it to me and told me that she'd had an interview at a company in the World Trade Center and that she was supposed to go in to work there next week. She wanted to know what she was supposed to do. In broken English she asked me what to do, as if I would know what the protocol would be in this situation. Where does one go for a job when the building, and perhaps the entire company, no longer exists?
Back in Brooklyn, in our apartment on the edge of Park Slope, we sat watching the news for a while and then climbed up onto the roof to watch the smoke as it passed over our heads. The air in Brooklyn was oppressive, tasting of ash and stinging our eyes. We walked up the hill towards Prospect Park to get some dinner and I was surprised again to find so many people out and about. The Thai restaurant where we ordered take-out was swamped with people socializing and telling each other the story of their day. It was so weird and so natural at the same time.
Back in our apartment, after eating our noodles and watching the never-ending news stream, night fell and things felt scary again. The sooty air was choking us even in our apartment, and knowing that this enormous graveyard was sitting in the dark just across the river from us was really creepy. We watched the news again, this time to find out when the bridges and tunnels would re-open, allowing people to get out of the metropolitan area. We packed up some of our belongings, called my sister who was living in Albany, and said "We're coming" and around 10:00pm we fled New York City.
The drive out of the City was, again, really strange. No cars. No people. Once we were out into Rockland County I saw a shooting star but I thought it was a missile. I watched the horizon for an explosion that never came. But I was certain that it would. We couldn't make it to Albany that evening because we were too tired, so we stayed in a motel somewhere along the way. The next morning and the next day, and the next week and the next month I was afraid. I was certain that the next hit was going to come. Even though we returned to the city only a few days after the 11th it took until well after Christmas to begin to feel right again.
It is only now, five years after that sad day, that I can look on it and feel thanks. I am no longer afraid (well, only a little bit) I am mostly just thankful that I didn't know anyone who died. I feel deep sorrow for those families who put up "Missing" signs for their loved ones, waiting weeks for the final word that he or she had died, but that there were no remains to mourn. I hope it is not insensitive to say that I am thankful that I did not have to make any of those Missing signs. I am thankful that all my friends were safe, and that one of them even slept through the day and woke up that afternoon bewildered by what he had missed while he slept. I am thankful that my family is safe. It doesn't take a great tragedy like this to make me value my friends and family, but it does remind me that they are precious.
Cap and I lit four candles tonight in remembrance of the people who died on September 11th. I think we will make it a tradition, and I hope that it will always be a day not only to mourn, but also to give thanks.
I am:
