EVENT
“happy 9-11 day!”
– A friend.
* * * * *
The second article was recommended to me by the same friend quoted above. It ought to be read to the end for the full effect.
The first article took a little digging; I originally saw it on a newspaper posted on the wall of an elevator in the building at which I work. I found the piece so compelling that later I tried to find it on the Times’ website. The piece was actually dated September 7th, so I had to track back through all of the 5th Anniversary articles to that date… an effort that took about forty minutes. It ought to be free to read at the link provided for at least the next couple days.
The New York Times: Old New Yorkers, Newer Ones, and a Line Etched by a Day of Disaster.
The Onion: Five Years Later: NYC Unveils 9/11 Memorial Hole.
* * * * *
It occurs to me that I’ve rarely written or even talked much about my own 9/11 experience. It has a small fraction of the personal investment of Gemma’s experience, and feels almost inconsequential next to the few stories I’ve heard this week from friends and coworkers in New York.
On the other hand, I am currently working on a Medieval Literature project involving the Canterbury Tales and the Decameron. The former deals with pilgrims visiting the grave of St. Thomas Becket, not Becket himself, while the latter involves a flight from the Black Plague by those who presumably escape. I’ve always thought that every story is important, on a bedrock level, and if we must avoid inflating our stories with artificial importance, it is just as important to avoid deprecating them unreasonably.
To put it a little differently, September 11th was the most defining political moment of my lifetime to date. I’m entitled and obliged to both a perspective and the opinions it informs.
* * * * *
I graduated from college in August of 2001, and went home to Michigan for a month of rest before heading back to Chicago and Jessica. September 11th fell roughly midway through this trip. My father woke me up, coming up the stairs and calling to my bedrood that I “might want to take a look at this.” It was mid-morning and both planes had struck. The news followed a line of speculation as to what kind of planes these were.
As I remember it, I’d only been downstairs for five or maybe ten minutes when the first tower came down. That moment was vivid. It is the defining moment for me, visually speaking, because I literally did not believe it. Instead, I was searching for an alternate explanation, maybe an unusual moment of weather or bad reception, since the thought of the thing falling simply did not seem plausible. Then my dad said, “it’s falling.” And the spell was broken. Of course, looking back now, what else could it have been? Nothing resembles a building falling but a building falling.
The first time I visited New York, in July 1997, I did not get within two blocks of the World Trade Center. The second time, however, in December 2000, I stood between the towers and looked up. They had a cold, institutional feel to them, a starkness that I also associated with the communist plazas in Romania. But there was beauty as well. Especially standing in the space between with the winter wind shrieking all around and looking straight up, there was something special in seeing the sky crowded. The Sears Tower has impressed me with its height, but these two buildings mesmerized me with their almost inconceivable bulk. The higher they rose, they more they seemed to swell. To cast long shadows and squeeze the sky out of the way. It was like standing next to a mountain.
The television commentary continued and confirmed that the buildings had been struck by commercial airplanes. Now I began to feel genuine panic. Jessica’s brother had joined the army that summer and graduated that day from basic training in Oklahoma. Jessica flew out that morning to celebrate with her family. But I didn’t remember the flight number or time. A couple phone calls determined that two flights had been scheduled for Oklahoma City from Chicago that morning; one had been grounded in Kansas City, and the other was canceled. I knew, at least, that Jassica was safe. As it turns out, her flight was the second, canceled flight. She took the bus back to her apartment.
Later that day I drove my father to work so that I could use the car. After, I drove to downtown Flint. The streets were still; people were present, at work and class, but the lunch hour had passed. It seemed like any other day. I stopped at St. Michael’s church on 5th Avenue to say a prayer. A nun reluctantly let me in, evidently having not heard the news. I ought to have explained the situation, but this didn’t occur to me until much later. In Detroit, the Renaissance Center was held by the National Guard in Riot Gear. In Chicago, the Sears Tower was emptied.
That night I convinced my parents to let me drive to Chicago for a couple days to be with my sister and Jessica. I think I left at eleven PM, getting into Chicago around 2:30 AM. On the way past Kalamazoo, I noticed how thick the tree branches were with black leaves. They grew very close together.
Gemma recommended that I commemorate the anniversary by visiting all five buroughs. I liked that idea, a lot, but between work and class, I didn’t have enough time to do the trip justice.
I did stop by Ground Zero for few minutes on the way home, but it did nothing for me; the place seemed like a dwindling county fair interspersed with a few people in true grief. At any rate, most of the significance of that date for me lay elsewhere. Ground Zero never feels like anyplace I’ve ever been before.
Even though I had been there.
When I arrived crossed the Skyway bridge over the Calumet river, I was happy to see the Sears tower poking up through the haze, miles and miles away.
* * * * *
The New York Times article talks about invisible lines; it’s an interesting article simply because such lines are pervasive, regardless of whether they’re typically invisible. So often, I think the presence of use in any dialogue is simply in trying to listen and understand.
This week is a good time to listen.
About this.
All of it.
END OF POST.