De Ce Monde Secret de l’ Amelie Americaine

I was slightly late for work on that day. This was my habit. It was a bad one, but my boss at the time, was a new mother. She rarely chastised me for what she couldn’t do either. The Path train into the city came every couple of minutes during rush hour. I knew I could get out of bed and be at my desk within the hour.

I came out of my connecting New York City Subway train and looked up into that crystal blue sky. A digital clock on the side of one of the skyscrapers read 9:05 a.m. My office was in midtown and few short blocks from Central Park, facing west. There was no view of the chaos taking place downtown. The streets were not extremely busy, no one was looking up at the sky and nothing said “you were just in incredible danger.” I was blissfully ignorant to the events taking place downtown.

On that day there were two path trains that connected to my stop: one to 33rd street, the other to the bowels of the World Trade Center. The World Trade Center train, came twice as much as the 33rd street train and if I was late, I would jump on it, and connect to my subway there. On September 11th, 2001, I decided to be just a little bit more late and wait for the 33rd street train.

I took the elevator up to the fourteenth floor expecting to play catch up with all the other assistant buyers who had already finished their weekly sales reports. Instead I walked in and everyone was hundled around one computer in the cubicle next to mine watching video stream from CNN. Obviously we never started work that day.

At first I called my grandmother in California, as an afterthought. I didn’t want her to think that my office was close to the towers. I had woken her up with my call. “Nana, don’t worry, I’m okay, they’re locking up the building, and I’m not downtown.” I called her again after the towers fell but the call was cut off, communcation and phone lines were beginning to falter.

Security locked up the building for our safety, no one was getting in or out. We were also listening to 1010 WINNS, the local am information station on the radio. Another plane had hit the Pentagon, and there were false reports about a bomb at the Supreme Court building.

At one p.m. all New Jersey residents were evacuated to a bus that was going to drive into Westchester to another bridge that crossed between New York and New Jersey. We all walked single file out the front door. This was the first time that I had to experience the confusion and chaos firsthand. The air was a little less clear and a distinct smell could be detected that would last for days. A sea of humanity was traveling on foot heading uptown trying to leave the city. Traffic was slowed to a crawl. All lanes had been diverted uptown as well. Hours before we had we had fought to make our daily migration into the city. Now we were just trying to find a way to get back home.

Those who lived in the city were also trying to decide where to go. One buyer decided to walk to St. Vincent’s hospital and donate blood. Another had reconnected with her husband and they were going to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge back home.

I sat in the bus next to my boss, clinging to her for comfort. She called her husband and made arrangements for us to be picked up on the other side of the bridge. The bus pulled out from it’s parking space and slowly meandered on to Third Avenue. As it turned left, I looked south toward downtown and saw the great cloud of grey smoke blackening out the sun and traveling toward Brooklyn.

I walked into the door of my Jersey City apartment, nine hours later, shaken but whole, and grateful that a random series of event had protected me. I was too shocked to breakdown or cry, instead, a knawing ache lodged itself into my chest and throat. What was going to happen now?

The attack on the World Trade Center has brought out the absolute best and worse in people. We all suited up and returned to work that Thursday. We listened to 1010 WINS and kept our bags packed incase we had to leave again quickly. Despite over 90, yes 90 bomb threats, and multiple closures at all three airports, we stayed our desk and continued on with our work. The opportunity that some would take advantage of this uncertainty, did not change our resolve to go about our lives. It seemed like the only thing we could do.

I was at a social meeting a few days later, my spirit had started to dampen as polarization began to take hold. I couldn’t respond when a woman said that she stood on her roof and watched the planes hit the towers. She wasn’t horrified like the rest of us. Instead she said that she understood why the terrorist had done it.

I looked around at the half empty room, wondering which one of my acquaintances wouldn’t be returning. Were they alive? Or did they just leave town? I couldn’t understand how this woman who had also sat with them as a friend could be so callous and full of hate. There would be a time for debate and discussion about US Foreign Policy, but this wasn’t it. I wish I would of had the strength to speak up and tell her to shut up, or at least to leave the room. Instead I sat quietly, waiting for someone else to have that courage. It didn’t happen. All of us were too shell shocked and numb.

This has been my world since that day. Although I’ve moved to Brooklyn, changed careers and had many more interesting experiences, there will always be a part of me who thinks back to that moment at 9:05 a.m. and wishes that sense of wonder and innocence about my life in New York would return.

Listen to this podcast

Post a comment

Name: (required)

Email Address: (will not be published) (required)

URL:

Comments: