9-11
That Tuesday – Part 1 of 3
I had just come out of the gym shower at Broward Sheriff’s Office when a coworker told me a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Having visited WTC a handful of times, I felt bad for the pilot and whoever else was aboard, and wondered if there was much damage to the building. I was picturing a Cessna or other small plane, and a pilot off-course. I continued drying my hair checked the clock to make sure I would be on time for work.
Upstairs in my office about ½ hour later, the buzz of activity in the Sheriff’s reception area told a different story. Grim-faced men in suits and in others, armed, dressed business-casual came and went while the tv showed the truth: it wasn’t a small plane, and the hole it left was gaping. Sadness settled itself in my chest.
Our office received a bomb threat. And then the other plane hit.
My mind was coming around to the truth that this wasn’t an accident, but I still couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
We all knew what happened that day. When we watched the first then the second tower fall, I couldn’t believe my eyes. When Flight 93 crashed in PA, I asked the Sheriff if we needed to vacate the building. Thoughts of driving home to PA crossed my mind, but we still didn’t know what was happening. The Sheriff said to sit tight. A coworker and I went outside to pray in her car.
That night, as Lower Manhattan burned, I felt like my heart was breaking. I couldn’t stop crying. Though raised around Philly, New York was my other favorite city. So many memories had been made there…my Philly art school going on field trips to the MOMA and Soho; my friend Joe and I trudging around to various art galleries downtown with our portfolios to seek our fortune but only ending up eating tons of sushi; hanging out in Times Square until the early morning hours, meeting new friends and talking to MTV employees; watching the sun set with my church group in Windows on the World at the top of the Trade Center, then taking the elevator back down and feeling our ears pop like they had on the way up. That last memory that made the video of the people diving out of the Trade Center windows that day more horrifying.
I wanted to help. I wanted to go up there. But I would have to wait.
(Part 2 tomorrow)
Picture: Two employees of Broward Sheriff Fire Rescue, ca. 2002
