A Story for My Boys

When I was in college, I did a semester abroad in Italy. I lived with a Nonna. Miranda. She was the best. We got along really well, and despite the fact that she spoke not one word of English, we had some great talk-all-night conversations. She taught me so much more than any text book, any class ever did. I will never forget her for that. I still send her photos of my children and she writes me back, in Italian...

One night we chatted late into the evening in her study. My Italian was getting really good, if I do say so myself. I was curious about the flood that hit Florence, but she immediately changed the topic to the Occupation. She told me about how when she was a 19, she carried her baby brother through the streets of Florence, after curfew, looking for food for him. She tried to keep him quiet so the Nazis would not hear. She told me one of them pointed a gun at her brother's head. Tears ran down her face and mine. Again, I will never forget it. Whenever I hear anything about the war, it is hard to make sense in my mind as it was before my time. This was the only time that it really hit home, that something like this happened in my relative's lifetime. In the not so distant past.

I vowed that god forbid anything like that ever happened to me, I would write it down and tell my kids. And, I am not saying that anything like that has, but there was a moment that changed so much in the way I am and who I became. It was a similar moment for many people out there. I just thought I would write down the story now, 10 years later, so that one day my boys can read it. Or, so that I can read it to tell my boys years from now, if I forget any part of it. But, I doubt that will happen.

10 years ago I graduated from college. It was the most glorious time of life. I was in the Colby bubble, where everything was perfect and lovely and there were no problems. I cried the night I graduated, what was I to do now? I had an awesome set-up waiting for me, a job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But still, I missed my bubble.

September comes, and I have been working for a few months now. I found an apartment in Queens with another person who works at the Museum. I move in, and then one week later is September 11th. I had one week on my own, in a different world. One week to enjoy taking the subway anywhere, visiting all sorts of tourist destinations, one week.

On September 10th I went to bed late. I had joined this new fangled thing called Netflix, where they actually sent DVDs in the mail for you to rent. It was so new, I had to wait 5-8 days between getting DVDs because I needed to mail them to California. I wanted to watch and be done with Hannibal, so that I could get my next movie. Who watches Hannibal by themselves? Needless to say I did not sleep well.

On September 11th, I woke up to a beautiful day, really late. I was going to be rather late for work. But that was ok I thought, I will stay late. I got dressed, in a pair of pants I hated. I think about this a lot. On that morning I wore the pants because they were clean and there, but I hated them and they were uncomfortable. Only one day I thought, I am not going to see anyone but my co-workers. Ever since then I only wear comfy outfits that look nice, you never know what may happen and through it all how uncomfortable your pants will still be.

Out of my house and onto the subway. From Queens it is an elevated line. The subway was basically empty. It was nearing 9am, so most of the work rush had gone in already. I got a nice window seat and stared out the window. At one point the train turns to go into Manhattan, and just before it goes underground you can see the most beautiful view of the skyline. All of us looked out and gasped, a tower was on fire. Someone next to me said, maybe something in an office exploded? The conductor got on and said: "If you are going to the twin towers today, you might want to think about turning around." Again, a moment you will never forget.

How was this to effect my day? Other than chatter at work. So, I continued my journey on the subway into Manhattan. Now, I will tell you something stupid here. I am not always the smartest person in the world, and though I grew up minutes from NY, and visited the Twin Towers many a times in my childhood up until the Thanksgiving before they fell, I knew them as the World Trade Center. If I had known it was the World Trade Center was on fire, I would have surely turned around. That was where they bombed years ago. But I was like all of the other people on the train, blissfully unaware. My Dad later that day yelled at me, "How can you not know the Twin Towers and the World Trade Center was the same thing? We have eaten numerous Thanksgiving dinners there (at Windows on the World), brought you there for your graduation dinner, you had a tour of the financial district a summer ago?" Just blissfully ignorant, I guess.

Ignorance really faded for me when I came above ground in Manhattan. The second I hit the streets, fire trucks were screaming down the randomly empty streets. It must be like 9:20 at this point. It is weird to think I was still trying to figure all of this out, and the firefighters were on their way to their death. People in the streets were screaming. A woman on her cell phone was screaming: "he is gone, he is gone, they are burning, he is gone." Again, sounds dramatic. I swear I am not embellishing here. Sticks in my mind. I finally come around the corner to see the Twin Towers in view and both are burning now. This is no accident. This is no office fire. This is not good.

Too late to turn around, I run to my office. A big, internationally renowned Museum is about to open for the day to thousands of tourists. I run to my office and see the head of the American Wing. He had just come from the roof, he watched a tower fall. It is time to evacuate the Museum. I get on the phone to my Dad in New City and tell him I am fine, but I am at work. He tells me he is watching the news and they shut down all of the transportation in and out of the city right now. They are tracking other planes, one was intended for the Mall in DC. (lighthearted aside. I knew what the Mall was at this point because last year my friends were going to watch the fireworks at the Mall for the Millenium. Awkward realization came at that point when I said, why would there be fireworks at a shopping mall in DC? Couldn't they do it near a nice landmark?).

My Dad recommends that I get someplace safe, get out of the Museum and go to a friend's house. I decide to go to my friend Ally's apartment in the upper west side. I meet my roommate and we walk together. The city is empty of cars, and full of walkers. Some are covered in dust. We are all walking, quietly.

I get to Ally's, Robyn goes to another friends. Ally and I decide to go shopping. We need things like candles, etc. Who knows what will happen to the power. In the store she and I both start to freak out like little girls and a random guy says: "We are New Yorkers, we do not freak out." Again, I remember that clearly.

Back in Ally's apartment we watch it unfold on the TV. Everyone tries to call their loved ones but no one can get a line out. I try, and I get Joel Husband. We write down everyone's family's phone numbers in the room and pass them to Joel, who proceeds to call people across the country to let them know that their daughters are safe.

We spend the afternoon glued to the TV. Both towers have fallen, the pentagon has been hit, another plane has gone down. It is unbelievable. But we were with friends watching this unfold, so there was some comfort. Our lives had changed forever. Here we were, newly graduated from college ready to start everything. And already life was to change. In the early afternoon I decide it was time to get home. Phones are freed up again, and I call my roommate, we get together for the long walk over the bridge to Queens.

That day was not the worst at all, I think everyone was in shock. The thing that really still hurts is the days afterwards. They shut down all the airspace in and around NY, and we lived near Laguardia airport. Fighter jets would take off at all hours of the night, patrolling the city for the first few days after the Towers fell. The loud booming noise would scare me and my roommates to no end. Are we being attacked again?

We lived in a highly Muslim neighborhood. There were gunshots in the streets one night. Are they celebrating?

No one went to work, everyone stayed home and watched TV. I could not handle it anymore so I went to visit my Aunt Pat, and then had dinner with the Berkmans. We calmly discussed the events. Emily's roommate worked in the Towers, but was on a field trip that morning, she was ok but a mess...

When we were told to finally go back to work and get back to normal, we did. I went shopping to help "boost the economy." But word finally came through (before Facebook, before instant news points like twitter) that a girl from college lost both her parents in one of the planes. My friend Emily lost a friend growing up. It seemed that everyone knew someone who died. It hit everyone. And this really hit home when you went in the subways.

For me, that was the hardest part, public transportation. I went to work late, and stayed late every day just to avoid the rush hour when the most people are in the train. That is when they would be likely to attack I thought. But walking around in the subway, especially in Times Square station, you saw thousands of fliers of missing people. There were walls of them. People commuting, trying to get on with their day, with their life, and we were walking past all of these loved ones. The worst part was, the papers all said "Missing." They were more than missing, but no one wanted to label it that. These fliers were up for months.

Grammie, Grumpy, Joel Husband and I went and visited the site some weeks later. The dust was everywhere and in the dust scribbled were things like: "We will rebuild," "USA" and "We will miss you." Eventually the lights came up and every night you saw the towers in light form, where they used to be. Constant reminders.

Things did change. Grumpy stopped looking for a job in NY, and Grammie and Grumpy decided to move to Chicago. I enjoyed my time in NY but never really felt safe. Things continued to haunt me. I picked up my friend from the Emergency Room after Anthrax was sent to her office. This was the same day I took the GREs, and did miserably.

And so one year later, I was on a train going into work when the train stopped and the conductor got on and said: "In remembrance of the first tower being hit one year ago today, we will have a moment of silence." I looked out into my above ground view of the Boston skyline, and remembered. I will not forget.