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9/11/02- songs against the darkness
Sep. 11th, 2002 09:51 pm...a year later, nothing has changed; everything has changed.
I'd last seen the towers on Sunday, returning from Renn Faire; I had to strain to find them, and the effort somehow put the thought of a visit in my mind. I enjoy revisiting certain parts of the city, like seeing an old friend, and the towers had more history with me than most. They were the first tourist attraction I visited when I moved here in 1992; they were the first place I worked at as a proofreader; when I was going through personal problems which forced me to obtain different employment, they were still there every day at four o' clock, at the foot of Seventh Avenue. At first, I felt almost ashamed to look at them- they'd become a symbol of my personal collapse, of broken dreams. Then, gradually, as I put myself back together, they became a goad- a metaphor of what my life had been, and could- would- be once more. One of my first jobs upon returning to proofreading was a weekend assignment at the World Financial Center; I couldn't sleep the night before, I was so excited at the thought of being back there, at the symbol of my triumph. Later, I stopped freelancing; the towers were always there, though. A landmark for navigation; a suitable place for impressing out-of-town friends ("Yeah," I'd say casually, "I used to work there"- and they'd have no idea of the depth of feeling beneath those words.); a reminder.
Monday, I overslept- no problem, though; I'd see them tomorrow. I woke up around eleven on Tuesday, groggily planning logistics- N to Cortlandt street; eat when I get there- when I heard the tv in the living room. Lynn? Out on the Island with Jessica, I thought. Aaron? Wasn't he at work? Out to the living room, yawning- and Aaron is staring, staring at the television, a deer in the headlights; he looks up at me, and says, with an oddly detached tone, "I didn't know you were home." The tv switches from an anchorperson to news footage...
I still feel vaguely irritated with myself for not following my first, immediate impulse: give blood now. Instead, I stared at the screen for hours, trying to make some sense of a world that had turned upside down, musing absentmindedly about the oddness of being able to order pizza in a war zone. Pedestrians, streaming across the Queensborough Bridge as though a marathon were being run; a line at the hospital that streamed around the block; whoosh of fighters overhead. Candles. Flags. Months later, when an airliner crashed nearby, I began making the calls without thinking about it: I'm all right. No, it wasn't near me. Terrorists? I hope not... and I realize: This has become routine, like seeking an exit during a fire alarm. This is a part of our lives now.
And now... what? What will the next dawn bring? Change, certainly. Impossible to extrapolate all the ramifications of this act- of the million moments that led to led, and obtained from it. I would hope that this would bring us together as a species, make us contemplate the ramifications of certain choices more deeply, but... we shall see. The future is open, and anything is possible, double-edged sword that that is. For now, though, there are still songs to be sung, toasts to be drunk, loved ones to be embraced... and that matters to me, now, more than it ever did.
The future is open...
I'd last seen the towers on Sunday, returning from Renn Faire; I had to strain to find them, and the effort somehow put the thought of a visit in my mind. I enjoy revisiting certain parts of the city, like seeing an old friend, and the towers had more history with me than most. They were the first tourist attraction I visited when I moved here in 1992; they were the first place I worked at as a proofreader; when I was going through personal problems which forced me to obtain different employment, they were still there every day at four o' clock, at the foot of Seventh Avenue. At first, I felt almost ashamed to look at them- they'd become a symbol of my personal collapse, of broken dreams. Then, gradually, as I put myself back together, they became a goad- a metaphor of what my life had been, and could- would- be once more. One of my first jobs upon returning to proofreading was a weekend assignment at the World Financial Center; I couldn't sleep the night before, I was so excited at the thought of being back there, at the symbol of my triumph. Later, I stopped freelancing; the towers were always there, though. A landmark for navigation; a suitable place for impressing out-of-town friends ("Yeah," I'd say casually, "I used to work there"- and they'd have no idea of the depth of feeling beneath those words.); a reminder.
Monday, I overslept- no problem, though; I'd see them tomorrow. I woke up around eleven on Tuesday, groggily planning logistics- N to Cortlandt street; eat when I get there- when I heard the tv in the living room. Lynn? Out on the Island with Jessica, I thought. Aaron? Wasn't he at work? Out to the living room, yawning- and Aaron is staring, staring at the television, a deer in the headlights; he looks up at me, and says, with an oddly detached tone, "I didn't know you were home." The tv switches from an anchorperson to news footage...
I still feel vaguely irritated with myself for not following my first, immediate impulse: give blood now. Instead, I stared at the screen for hours, trying to make some sense of a world that had turned upside down, musing absentmindedly about the oddness of being able to order pizza in a war zone. Pedestrians, streaming across the Queensborough Bridge as though a marathon were being run; a line at the hospital that streamed around the block; whoosh of fighters overhead. Candles. Flags. Months later, when an airliner crashed nearby, I began making the calls without thinking about it: I'm all right. No, it wasn't near me. Terrorists? I hope not... and I realize: This has become routine, like seeking an exit during a fire alarm. This is a part of our lives now.
And now... what? What will the next dawn bring? Change, certainly. Impossible to extrapolate all the ramifications of this act- of the million moments that led to led, and obtained from it. I would hope that this would bring us together as a species, make us contemplate the ramifications of certain choices more deeply, but... we shall see. The future is open, and anything is possible, double-edged sword that that is. For now, though, there are still songs to be sung, toasts to be drunk, loved ones to be embraced... and that matters to me, now, more than it ever did.
The future is open...
