I remember
being terrified
trying to call my Dad but the phones were dead
the metallic smell of the payphone
being in ancient history class
an upperclassman showing up at the door and asking me to follow him to the Nurse
getting up and silently following
seeing a friend who later said my face was white
sitting in the Nurse's office without knowing why
getting driven home by a classmate's mother
the smoke rising over I-280 East, cutting the perfect blue sky
closing the car door and floating into my house
seeing my Dad on his hands and knees in front of our refrigerator
him talking to the refrigerator repairman, and tinkering with the ice maker
saying "Hey, Dad" and hearing my voice crack slightly
him saying "Hey, Har"
his smile and quick one-armed hug and him turning back to the refrigerator
I will never forget
being terrified
calling my Dad over and over again and not getting through
the metallic smell of the payphone
being singled out and removed from class
the trip down the stairs to the nurse's office
the smoke above I-280 East
the relief I felt when I saw my Dad
the two confused French businessmen, strangers, who my Dad brought home with him
my Mom laying on the couch with her eyes closed and CNN blasting
her telling me "There are 10,000 people dead" when I asked about soccer practice
sending and receiving AOL Instant Messages to neighbors I hadn't talked to in years
checking in and being checked on
I won't forget.
The bombers thought they were making a statement. They killed thousands. They bit the heel. Did they bite for the sake of biting? Did they know they would be crushed?
The wars that followed, whether just or unjust, based on truths or lies, brought pain. That much is absolute.The bombers are all dead. Their land is destroyed. Their leader is dead and the new leaders occupy a sacrificial command. It is sacrificial because it is only a matter of time before they are sent from this earth by a silent, humming hunk of carbon and quartz fiber.
Carbon and quartz. Simple elements reducing other simple elements into wispy, red vapor. Was that part of the plan?
Questions are nice when dealing with rational concepts. The acts on this day 11 years ago were not borne of rational concepts. Questions can be asked, but I wouldn't wait for an answer.
September 11, 2001 was a day I'd like to forget. It was a bad time. The true and sad thing is, I had it so easy. My Dad came home to his family. My Aunt came home to her family.
On that day, I had a scare. Big fucking deal.
On that day, some people had to choose their mode of death. They had to choose between burning alive, suffocating, or jumping. Burning alive. Suffocating. Or willing themselves out of a window to a thousand foot fall and a sure death. Is that rational? Are those rational options for human beings at work? Human beings at their job?
On that day, I had a scare. Big fucking deal.
So many people, thousands upon thousands, remember with sharper brutality and thinner blades of pain. They have to see the specials and the broadcasts and the facebook comments and the tweets and the pictures and the stories. They see the memorials. They hear the speeches.
They get reminded every year of what is perhaps the worst day of their lives. Maybe they remind themselves every day. Maybe they are at peace. Maybe they can forgive the attackers. Maybe they can justify and rationalize and compartmentalize. I hope they are at peace.
September 11, 2001 was a day of nightmarish irrationality. New York was not supposed to get attacked. New York was not supposed to be covered in ash. New York was not supposed to have its grandest buildings reduced to twisted, smoky heaps. New York was not Iraq or Kosovo or Beirut or Saigon or Dresden or some distant war zone. New York was and is a crazy city filled with crazy people, but it was and is not a war zone.
It is hard to counter nightmarish irrationality with thoughtful rationalism. All that I can think of, the only thing I can offer, is to say that if you love someone, let them know it every day. This thought is completely unoriginal. It is used, old, and dirty. Perhaps it is used, old, and dirty because it has flickers of truth.
You can say 9/11 rocked our country to the core. You can say it tore apart the fabric of our grand facade. You can say it brought us together. You can say it united us. You can say many florid and poetic things. The reality is, 9/11 destroyed families. It destroyed individuals. It was a dose of harsh pain to a relatively pain free society.
We all suffer. Life is suffering. 9/11 was a day when the suffering was real and surreal, visceral and intangible, and I thank Yahweh or Vishnu or Jesus or Buddha or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster that I was spared from the worst of what that day offered.
And I pray to Yahweh or Vishnu or Jesus or Buddha or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster that those affected, home and abroad, American and foreign, have some weird universal grasp on something that they truly love.
That weird and universal type of love may be the only defense we have against world-class irrationality and the lovelorn events that it brings.
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