When I look back at that day, I'm kind of ashamed. I was so deeply entrenched in the bubble that is my own little world, that it took a while for this news to truly penetrate.
I was twenty years old, and a junior in college, attending school in Vermont. It was the first day of classes, or at least it was supposed to be. After eating breakfast in the dining hall, I went to the campus bookstore to purchase the textbooks I would need that semester. The lady working the counter at the bookstore was listening to a radio with less than stellar reception. We heard something about planes going into the World Trade Towers. No one in the store was freaking out, and I don't think any of us had processed what it really meant. I just wanted to get through purchasing my books. I had slept poorly the night before, as usual, and I was tired. I didn't have any classes scheduled until that afternoon, and I was looking forward to returning to my room for a nap.
I bought my books, went back to my room and went back to sleep. A little while later, to my annoyance, the phone rang, interrupting my slumber. It was a friend of mine, calling about the attacks. I was groggy, and my sleep fogged brain just barely processed what she was telling me. I responded to what she said in semi-automatic pilot, got off the phone, and lay down again to go back to sleep. I think it was 20-30 minutes later that what I had been told penetrated, and the enormity of what had happened hit me.
The day was strange. I recall walking around campus, and noticing how eerily quiet everything was. The grounds were practically deserted. I recall two students sitting side by side outside one of the houses on campus, smoking their cigarettes in silence as they stared straight ahead without speaking.
My class that afternoon was cancelled. A meeting was called with the student body. We congregated on the commons lawn, under a large tent that had been erected for orientation, and had not yet been taken down, and we talked about the attacks. I no longer recall the specific content of that meeting.
In the days that followed, there were more meetings, candlelight vigils, and even an interfaith religious ceremony. I attended a college that his been described as the least religious school in the United States, yet that interfaith religious ceremony attracted a pretty decent sized turn out. As I walked away after the conclusion of that ceremony, I recall that there were two girls walking slowly away in front of me. They had their arms around each other, and neither one of them was speaking.
Perhaps it's because my memory has been damaged by poor nutrition (my eating habits are a joke) and too many nights of inadequate sleep, but my memory of that day, and the days that followed are a blur. One of the few specifics I recall was a rare moment of levity on the day of the attacks. It was lunch time, and I was in the salad room of the dining hall. There was a toaster there that was used for toasting bread and bagels. Apparently, an old toaster that often malfunctioned had been done away with, and a new one had been put in its place. A girl standing near me started excitedly cheering that the old toaster had finally been replaced, then, as realization seemed to hit, she paused awkwardly. After a few seconds of silence, she said, with renewed cheer, "The world's going to pot, but *we* got a new toaster." I have no idea why that particular moment has stuck with me for the past decade, as I recognize it to be quite insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
I grew up in New York, but at the time of the attacks, I was away at college, staying on a idyllic college campus, where the seemingly endless greenery, and view of distant mountains all around were unchanged following the attacks. The peaceful views all around me looked exactly the same, yet everything was different. It was downright surreal.
My parents were in New York at the time, and their experience was quite different. They were in Central Queens, a distance from Downtown Manhattan where they attacks took place, yet they described noticing an odd smell that morning , and at first they couldn't figure out what it was. They turned on the TV to watch the morning shows they watch every weekday morning, but they weren't getting reception. Apparently, some of these network stations were located in the World Trade Center. They told me how they were swearing about this in aggravation about this inconvenience, hoping that whatever technological hiccup was causing it would be resolved quickly.
Eventually, they either found a TV station that was working, or they turned on the radio. I don't remember which. I wasn't there, and only heard about all of this after the fact. That's when they found out exactly why they were having trouble with the TV, and they stopped complaining about the inconvenience.
My parents read three newspapers every day, the Daily News, New York Newsday, and the New York Times. That day, the papers went unread. Released before the attacks took place, the content of those papers had ceased to be relevant. They did read the newspapers that were released on September 12th, which were dominated by news of the attacks, and they saved those historic editions of the newspaper.
A few days ago, my Dad told me that he wishes he could get a hold a copies of the newspapers that were released on the morning of September 11th. He tells me that in retrospect, he's curious to read what was considered news then, to be reminded of what people's priorities were in those last hours before the attack.
My Dad began making regular pilgrimages to Ground Zero every 2-3 months, stopping only when he started having problems with one of his legs which made it too difficult to navigate the steps in the subway stations. We've both shared stories of passing through the inactive Cortland Street Station, located right under the site of the attacks. We've talked of the unsettling feeling passing through the station, almost like the place is haunted. He firmly doesn't believe in ghosts, and I'm undecided, though highly skeptical. However, on separate occasions, we've both felt the presence of something dark and unsettling when passing through that station on a train.
Over and over again, my Dad has told me the story of driving home on September 10th after dropping me off at school. He talks about seeing those two towers dominating the Downtown skyline, standing tall, giving off the distinct impression of permanence. Ah, how deceiving appearances can be....
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"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad./ The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."
11 Sep 2011, 2:40 am
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