September 11th

In remembrance of 9/11. Following is my journal entry from that day...

- 9/11/01 -

I will perhaps finish my above entry (I've gotten into a bad habit of not completing my writings), but I must now interrupt myself to convey the awful events of this solemn day. I have lived history today - not the mundane, vanilla sort that we all slip into every second of every minute of every hour of every day, but the heart-stopping thunderous history that punctuates the flow of time with infrequent severity. Today I woke up as I usually do - listening to Bob and Sheri on the radio. It was around 9:00 am, and I was in that calm state that follows drowsy wakefulness but precedes meaningful activity. As I listened, Sheri mentioned something about the World Trade Center. It was belching smoke, she said - the surreal result of an apparent plane crash. I was jolted slightly more awake as she continued. No one was sure, but a plane had apparently slammed full force into the building, setting off a fire. "I need to see this," I thought - rolling over to throw my legs over the bed and stumble towards the remote. I turned off the radio and replaced Bob and Sheri's voices with those of Fox News reporters. There, sure enough, was the image of the two towers - one of them with a gash 1/3 of the way down from its crown. Smoke was emanating from the wound - thick black smoke that billowed out like some ghostly glimmer of hell. I listened as the announcers speculated - some saying that it was a plane crash, others saying that no one knew for sure what had happened. As they were speaking, one voice suddenly became animated and shrilled above the others. "There's another one!" the astounded announcer said. "Another what?" I asked myself. "What is he talking about?" No sooner had I asked that question than I saw a fireball that hadn't been there a moment before. I was instantly struck by the presence of red fire flame in this new ghostly image - so much more like hell than the first. The former had boasted merely the cold pall of black smoke. This latter conflagration was hot - alive - and visibly burning. "Oh," I thought. "He means another fireball." My naive supposition was immediately belied when I incredulously heard the announcer say that another plane had slammed into the heretofore undamaged second tower. I still didn't believe it. Surely another aircraft could not have streaked unopposed into the World Trade Center - the pride of the New York skyline. But then my disbelief turned into, well, more disbelief, as they replayed what my eyes had previously missed: another plane, huge and lumbering in appearance, veering straight into the second tower. The pall of smoke now emanating from the second gash left no further doubt of what had just happened. How can I describe my emotions at that moment? I was at first unable to allow myself to accept the obvious: that this had been a deliberate act. "Wow," the fleeting thought streaked across my mind. "Another plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. What are the chances that such an inconceivable accident could happen twice within the space of 1/2 hour?" This first thought, perhaps because of its mere ridiculousness, was immediately evicted from my mind. "This is real." More rational, yet infinitely more painful thoughts took up permanent residence in my head. "This was a deliberate act." The announcers confirmed my thoughts - their words pounding the truth into my head like so many unseen jackhammers. This was a terrorist attack. We Americans, in our smug sense of security, had been attacked in our beds. We had been caught sleeping, slumbering blissfully, accompanied by false dreams of invulnerability. Those dreams were shattered in a moment.

I watched in horror as the footage continued. A million questions formed in my mind, were unanswered, and ran away - pursued hotly by additional unanswered questions: Where did the planes com from? Why did they fly into the buildings? Were the planes small commuter jobs? Were they larger passenger behemoths? How much damage had been done? Would the buildings collapse? One by one, the queries were answered - though these answers were not fully complete, and are still roiling and heaving as more information becomes available. The first inkling of an answer was provided by the announcers: A plane had apparently been recently hijacked, and there was speculation that a relationship possibly existed. Of all the explanations that could have been provided, this was perhaps the worst. A hijacking meant that the involved planes were commercial - laden with passengers. A hijacking meant that forces unknown had breached airport security and managed to wreak terror on their unsuspecting victims. A hijacking meant that any and all perceptions of airport security had been shattered. I continued to watch as voiceless horror gave way to words. "I don't believe this," I said to thin air. "This is bad. This is really bad." I continued to watch as the minutes passed. Suddenly, I was consumed with an overwhelming desire to talk to someone. Anyone. I rushed into Dad's study and asked, "have you heard?"
"What?" he asked.
"Two planes just crashed into the World Trade Center," I said, almost breathless. "They think it was a terrorist attack." Dad, incredulous, followed me into my room. He sat in silence, as I had done moments before, and watched the two smoldering towers struggling to remain standing even as their innards were hotly being eaten away. My desire to tell someone was not appeased. Perhaps I just needed to give voice to my emotions. Bottling them up would surely cause some type of explosion, and they had to be released. I grabbed my cordless phone and called [Joe], my friend and office-mate. Had he heard? "No", he said. "What happened? I was just about to read the story on the Internet but I haven't gotten to it yet." I told him the awful news as he reacted in shock. "Two planes?" he asked, his own incredulity reflecting mine.
"Two planes," I confirmed. We bounced our conversation back and forth, punctuating it again and again with intense disbelief. Finally, [Joe's] desire for information became overwhelming. He quickly left his desk and the conversation, rushing to one of the many television sets that had been hastily erected within the [building]. I hung up the phone - somewhat relieved of the awful burden that had until now been frothing within my being. I rejoined Dad at the television, continuing to watch as events progressed. Within minutes, that progression became heartstoppingly quick - horror after horror rolling and tumbling over themselves like waves crashing along the beach. Within minutes, the news came that another plane had crashed into the Pentagon. "Dear God," I thought. "It's not just New York anymore."

The awful burden again surged within me as I heard (unfounded) rumors that another plane had crashed on I-95, and that there had been damage to the Washington Mall. "I've got to call Washington," I thought. Acting on that fleeting intensity, I called [Julie] - hoping to hear her words on the other side of the line. Within seconds, her familiar voice brought me some comfort. "I'm okay," she said. "We're not near the Pentagon, and I think the Mall's okay." I was relieved, and talked with [Julie] as we both watched our respective television sets. My particular set was muted, and therefore showing closed captions in lieu of sound. As I watched, I saw the word "collapsing" flash across the screen. For a brief moment, I thought that the words were referring to one of the two World Trade Center towers. "No," I thought. "It couldn't have collapsed. The damage wasn't severe enough." Seconds after those thoughts breached the boundaries of my mind, I looked up and one of the towers was gone. "It's gone!" I said to [Julie] in disbelief. "One of the towers is gone!"
"It's gone?" she asked. "You're kidding!"
"No. It's gone!" I said, now sure.
"I've got to call my mom," [Julie] replied suddenly. I said goodbye and continued my vigil. Dad had now gone - his work duties finally overwhelming his desire to soak up more information. Within minutes, the broadcasters replayed the collapse of the Trade Center tower. For the first time, real fear and profound sadness gripped me like a vice - almost squeezing out tears. I fought them back resolutely, resorting to my habit of pacing the floor whenever I am upset. As time continued on, I called [Joe] yet again, updating him on the attack of the Pentagon. Again, the conversation was short. Both of us craved more information, and we couldn't get it while on the phone. I continued to watch my only line to the calamity progressing so close to my very door. Within moments, another report came in: A plane had crashed in Pittsburgh. No word yet on whether it was related to the preceding events. I thought immediately of [Mary] and her awful death on that flight that went down in Pittsburgh in the 90's. I felt an eerie sense of deja vu, as the impact of the event swept over me. What must these people have been thinking in their final moments? Were they hijacked as well? As time went on, the reality continued to sink in - taking root and giving life to fruit that I had never tasted before: simultaneous fear, anger, vulnerability, and still...disbelief. How could one mortal coil contain such disparate emotions? How could they remain without causing the shell to fly apart - its remnants fluttering silently to the ground? Somehow, they were contained and life limped along.

As I watched, the facts slowly began to emerge: Four flights had been hijacked within a very short span of one another. All were transcontinental in nature, and their respective planes therefore laden with fuel. All were destined for California, 2 originating in Boston, another in Newark. 3 of the planes had hit their targets with deadly accuracy - one slamming into Tower 1 of the World Trade Center, another into Tower 2. The third had winged into the Pentagon, while the fourth (whose target is believed to have been Camp David) crashed in Pittsburgh for an unknown reason.

The worst had happened on American soil, but it wasn't over yet. As I continued to watch, the second tower collapsed - like an accordion - top to bottom. My heart fell to my feet. I felt defeated and powerless. I felt emotions I had never experienced before, and I'm sure that hitherto unknown emotions will surge within me as the days progress.

They caught us today - sleeping in our beds, dreaming blissful dreams. Some have tried to sound the clarion call, but it has gone unheeded. Until today. Today, a nation with very little innocence left to lose has somehow bled more...[Today] we have awakened, and life will never be the same again.