911.01
I got up early this morning because I was tired and crappy feeling yesterday, and ended up going to bed very early in the evening, so I was ultra-ready to get up at 6:45am.
I tottered around and had some breakfast, checked my email, read a few sites, and started getting ready to go to class.
The Today show was on in the background, and I was in the bathroom doing something or other when I heard the newscaster announce that a small two-engine plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade Center's towers, and they were skipping the news and weather, and returning to The Today Show's live coverage.
I skampered into the living room and stared dumbly at the television as smoke poured out of the gaping holes in the side of the building, listening to eyewitnesses talk from phones about their experiences, as Katie Couric asked insipid questions.
I think we all still believed that some sort of air traffic control anomaly had happened, and then while the camera was pointed on the smoking tower, the woman on the phone began to scream, and the world saw the plane careen across the screen and smash into the other tower, a gigantic fireball erupting from the opposite side.
And I began to scream.
(Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this isn't an accident, this isn't an accident.)
A woman in the background of the blurry television screen registering that there must be terrorism underway.
On the way to class I fumbled through the radio for news, (keep it together keep it together) pausing on each station momentarily, finding only passing mention on the classical station that there were reports that an unidentified plane had crashed into the side of the World Trade Center (TWO PLANES, IT WAS TWO PLANES, BOTH TOWERS, oh my god, oh my god). Switching over to AM radio, the first station I hear is a sports station, and two radio commentators, using their big baseball announcer voices, discussing how they should be talking about sports, but this is more important:
ANN. 1: Well, Bob, sports are important, but so are WORLD NEWS DISASTERS!
ANN. 2: That's right, Jim, preliminary reports are suggesting this was an active of TERRORISM! Doesn't that just beat all?
ANN. 1: It sure does, Bob. Hey, I think we're going to switch to a live feed of Bryant Gumbel now...
The other Kristin L. -- only she spells her's with an 'i'-- and I were the only ones to know anything, we got to break the news to our classmates and instructors. Dean, the shop manager, found a radio in another room, and came in periodically to update us on new events -- Pentagon's hit, tower falling, tower falling, plane falling from the sky in PA. We learn about hammering and forming.
We take a break and I try to call Dana in DC because she's the only person I know there, and I don't know where she is or if she's safe. The phone keeps saying lines are busy, and I keep trying until I get her phone, which rings and rings and never prompts me for a message. (she's okay, she's fine, she's okay, she's fine)
We learn about drawing wire and annealing and using dies. And then we part ways early.
All the radio stations have become news stations. Pop music is heard nowhere.
I call Tina, and update her -- she hasn't seen anything all day because the salon has no television. I decide to find clear online photo of each incident so that she can at least have a physical image of what is going on. I find some pictures that work, but not everything is there.
I missed a message on my cell phone from Dana telling me she's okay, she's fine, so is everyone else she knows in DC and NYC. And call her back. (thank god, thank god)
I try, but lines are busy and I never get through. For me, the knowing is enough. She's okay. Everything is okay. She represents some peace of mind now.
Tired of seeing buildings fall and the planes crash, I go to work and buy some shoes.
I do hair all day long, forced to discuss the incident with strangers and acquaintances over and over and over until I want to scream.
A client expresses disbelief that our mall is actually open, since every other mall in the area is closed.
I issue the following statement: "I really don't think that the people who died today or the people that lost loved ones particularly give a shit that some rinky-dink-ass malls in the middle of bumblefuck Iowa closed today out of 'respect'. I was traumatized too, and I went to work. Bunch of babies."
Someone tells me more buildings are falling.
I call my dad who is of course watching the news and he clarifies the situation.
Somehow the font of all knowledge about all that is going on, I spend the remainder of the day refuting stupid gossip and clarifying things for people.
As much as it sickens me to see and hear that people are throwing parades in celebration of the damages done, I understand that their fanaticism and belief systems make them think that the U.S. is culpable for every 'terrorist action perpetrated upon them by fascist Israel and that we're finally getting a taste of our own medicine'. I don't understand this view, but I can understand that they believe it. We are the enemy.
All I really want is a large alcoholic beverage and something to eat, but everyone is closed early.
And while I promised myself that I was not going to talk about this anymore, several thoughts drift through my mind:
Somewhere in Smalltown Nowheresville, USA, a Middle Eastern family is having bricks thrown through their windows and crosses burnt on their lawns, people who don't understand or care shouting for the terrorists to go home while perpetrating misguided acts of terrorism themselves.
And when the double-page issue of People comes out with faces and names and sad, touching, endearing stories attached to each of those people, I don't know if I'll be able to keep it together so well.
I do not do well with the suffering of others, innocent or no. I feel heartache and empathy for everyone involved, terrorist or victim, rescue worker or pariah. My sleep is already restless, and my dreams disturbing. I do not want the dead seeking respite and remembrance there.
