10 Years

1O years ago tonight I was leaving Madison Square Garden with my bff Leah. She had called me a few weeks prior and told me Michael Jackson along with his 4 less famous brothers were performing in New York City and that we should meet in the Big Apple and go. Why not, I’d thought? I was lonely in DC, had never been to New York and it was heck of lot further for her to travel than me. We could stay at a High school friends sorority house and we could see the freaking King of Pop perform! This was a once in a lifetime. See you there I’d said! We met up at Grand Central and spent the day in the city. The concert that night was everything we’d hoped for and more. I mean, we saw freaking Michael Jackson sing Billy Jean. It was phenomenal. We made it back to Columbia’s Greek Row and nestled into the futons in the basement. And like the rest of the city, slept peacefully, so blissfully unaware of the nightmare that would descend with such hate and fear and tragedy in just 8 short hours. It would be the last good night’s sleep for so many people for a long time.

We slept only a few hours, Leah had an early plane to catch, me a train. I left the city limits shortly after 7:30, again, naïve that I was leaving one nightmare, only to head directly into another. Leah flew out of Newark just moments before Flight 93 would leave the same airport and eventually reach its end in a Pennsylvania field. I had parked my red beetle in Philly, where I’d spent the few days prior at an aunt and uncles. Michelle picked me up at the train station, I hopped into my car around 9:30 and headed to Washington DC. I had my “CD’s” going and knew nothing of what was rocking America’s world until I pulled over for gas somewhere in Maryland. I walked in to pay and the attendant in broken English asked me, “Do you know what’s happening? A plane hit the World Trade Center! They think it could be terrorists.” I for some reason, did not fully digest what he had said. Perhaps it was his broken English, perhaps it was me lost in my self-involved thoughts on the open road. But I remember getting back into my car thinking, “Hmmm, it wasn’t that long ago that I was chased out of Jerusalem by terrorists. They seem to follow me. I wonder what’s going on.” It wasn’t until a few moments later when my phone quickly began to blow up with phone calls that I began to grasp the magnitude of what was happening. That this plane crashing into a tower was so big, so much bigger than me ironically being followed by terrorists. The first phone call was from my mom. She was in a panic (shocking, I know). “Where are you?” She wanted to know. “Are you still in New York?” “Are you in DC? Are you ok?” I fielded and dropped phone calls from Michelle, Dad, and Denten. Cell service was hit and miss. Everyone on the East Coast was trying to get a hold of a loved one, or loved ones were trying to get a hold of them and lines were clogged. Denten was able to paint the clearest picture for me regarding what was happening. He was the one that told me that they’d just hit the Pentagon. He was steady and calm. Concerned, but calm. I wasn’t to far outside the District limits when I was talking to him. I looked to the freeway on the other side. It was like a mass exodus. Cars fleeing the city and as I got closer, people on foot, bikes, literally fleeing the city and I on the other side, seemingly all alone, heading in.  I told Denten this and remember asking him what I should do. “Should I turn around?” Where would I go? Back to Philadelphia? “Get home” he told me calmly. “You’ll be ok once you get home.” I kept driving, it was eerie. The city was quiet and empty and I remember feeling really unsettled. I was ok. And my side of the city was quiet and in tact, but just across the Potomac a plane had penetrated the Pentagon. Surely, the building was on fire, and the fear than must have been coursing from the building and all around… I parked and went inside. I dropped by bag inside my door and walked upstairs. I knocked on the door of the neighbor who I’d met just once a few days prior and asked if I could watch the tv with her. My cable hadn’t been hooked up yet. I walked in and sat on the couch with 5 or 6 other people I’d never met. We all sat there in silence, watching the tv, tears brimming over our eyes and down our cheeks. None of us knew quite what to say. People were jumping from buildings. Jumping. From 30 floors up. And Tower 1 fell, it collapsed right on top of itself. It was heavy in that front room, the sadness and worry was palpable. I hadn’t heard from Leah yet. Or Alicia my room mate who worked at the Capitol building and I worried more.

The next few days remain a bit of a blur. School was canceled for week, only to return on Monday and have it canceled again mid-day due to a bomb threat. Everyone was on edge. Leah finally called, she had been grounded in Dallas where she would spend the next week until planes starting flying again. We tearfully expressed how grateful we were that each other was ok. And how lucky, lucky, lucky we had been to get out when we did. So many people did not make it out that morning. We were keenly aware of our good fortune and blessing. Alicia finally made it home late that night, having to walk much of way as all of public transportation had been shut down. Shauna, my other room mate was ok too. We all went to see the Pentagon about a week later. It was every bit as horrifying as you can imagine. A massive, gaping hole in a massive, strong building. A building designed to house people determined to protect our country. What a statement. We sat among the flowers and flags and again felt sad, and heavy and grateful. What hate I had thought. They hated us more than they loved themselves, or their families. Later, we would come to learn these men believed they were performing this very act out of love and commitment to their God, to their religious ideals. I can understand a commitment to God, but I have yet to grapple with the amount of anger and hate. A few months later the three of us would go to NYC for the weekend and visit Ground Zero. Mostly, I remember it was still smoldering. And talk about a massive, gaping hole. At  both sights I was just astounded at the destruction. Huge buildings just destroyed! Twisted steel and piles of brick and glass. And the smoldering, that was perhaps the most disturbing. It made it seem alive somehow, like the buildings and the holes were trying to say, “I’m still fighting here, I haven’t given up.” Once planes started flying again, we all looked up, looked around at each other and then looked back up. I remember thinking, “I wonder how long it will be before I quit looking up every time I hear an airplane.” Strangers started talking to each other at the Metro stops, students at the lunch tables, running next to each other on the treadmills. It was like that all across America. Suddenly, we all had something in common. We were all shocked and saddened. Resolute and determined. We had all experienced this tragedy together and I think we all wanted to make it better by being a little better ourselves. So we talked to each other at the bus stops and in the grocery store lines, we were kinder and more tolerant. We quit honking and cutting each other off. We waited patiently in lines and welcomed longer waits at security check points. We supported our President and Washington was united in one singular purpose. Somehow, something beautiful had materialized from something so ugly.

I wish it had lasted longer. That we could all go back to feeling sad, yet hopeful versus angry and impatient. Where we were united and committed to working through a really tough, tough time all together. We again find ourselves in a really tough, tough time, albeit very different circumstances, but tough and hard just the same and yet unity and commitment seem nowhere to be found. I mostly see anger, impatience and frustration.

September 11, 2001 was THE defining political moment of my generation. Much like the assignation of Martin Luther King Jr., or the bombing of Pearl Harbor was to those before me. The image of 3 firefighters raising a flag at Ground Zero has become as iconic and recognizable to me as the image of 6 soldiers raising a flag a top Mount Iwo Jima is to my grandparents. It’s hard to believe a decade has past since that harrowing day, I can remember so much of it, so vividly, I think we all can. I give it several moments of my thoughts every year and tomorrow may get a few more. I love my country. I love the hope and opportunity it resonates. I hope this ten year anniversary can help us, or remind us of that commonality we once all shared there for a while. As we heard so often those several months following…May God continue to bless the USA.