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two years on
Sep. 10th, 2003 10:59 pm"So," my sister, on the phone from Massachusetts, asked, "do you guys still talk about it much down there?"
I looked out the window of my apartment mate's room, watching his cat curl lazily in the late afternoon sun. Pausing for a moment before replying, I reached down to scritch behind her ears, earning a yawning purr in response. I didn't live here then, but I can remember him pointing through the window of his room to me, to a section of the horizon that was now merely undistinguished tall buildings. That's where I saw them fall.
I remembered the utter disorienting shock, just after it had happened. Troops of soldiers on Broadway. Gray dust everywhere. Debris being swept from the shattered front window of a restaurant a friend and I used to patronize, cascading onto the street. The constant smell of burning.
I remembered the months afterward, as the endless rain of funerals marched up the ramp from the crater. Countless scrawled words and pictures attached to the fence which kept New Yorkers away from this part of our city, staring helplessly through gaps in a too-distant, too-close barrier. Souvenir booths. Forcing myself to turn my back on this yawning pit, and to notice the areas where life was returning to the neighborhood. Making myself stare at flowers emerging through concrete, and telling myself fiercely that it mattered, that it was life, that I was still here, that the complex organism of the city I live in was still alive, and in motion.
I remembered a year on, and Enough Day, and 9/11 was all over the news again, as if the intervening year was just a dream which had never happened, and there they were on TV, falling and falling and falling...
I remember watching Bush and his staff, explaining earnestly how Bin Laden was hiding in Afghanistan, but we'd bomb him out of existence... then the pea was under the next shell, and we were going to depose that tyrant Saddam, and bring freedom to Iraq... and much to the astonishment of all, of course, bringing a provisional goverment to a country whose peoples had, to put it mildly, divided feelings about our involvement in their affairs turned out to be a bit more complicated than our happy warrior had counted on, so be sure to stock up on your duct tape and Saran wrap...
I can't remember what half-hearted phrase I answered her with, or what else we talked about. I don't know what I'd say to her now- perhaps, something about how little point most discussions about 9/11 seem to have, in a world where it suffuses every moment of the day, particularly here, particularly now.
Perhaps I'd discuss the bitter rage I feel, living in a world where words like "American" and "patriot" have been twisted into mockeries of themselves, in a land where "security" has replaced "freedom" as the watchword of the land.
...and I stare at this monitor, trying to think of a pat resolution to bring this to a conclusion, and there simply isn't one. if I can offer any parting words whatsoever, they would be: Don't let that spark of feeling die within your breast. Don't let the unthinking arrogance of those who currently rule us numb you into believing that this is how it will be- has to be- will always be. As bitter as the changes of the last few years have been, things will surely change again. Don't give up your faith in your power to influence that change- even just a little, even for a moment. It could be worth doing.
I looked out the window of my apartment mate's room, watching his cat curl lazily in the late afternoon sun. Pausing for a moment before replying, I reached down to scritch behind her ears, earning a yawning purr in response. I didn't live here then, but I can remember him pointing through the window of his room to me, to a section of the horizon that was now merely undistinguished tall buildings. That's where I saw them fall.
I remembered the utter disorienting shock, just after it had happened. Troops of soldiers on Broadway. Gray dust everywhere. Debris being swept from the shattered front window of a restaurant a friend and I used to patronize, cascading onto the street. The constant smell of burning.
I remembered the months afterward, as the endless rain of funerals marched up the ramp from the crater. Countless scrawled words and pictures attached to the fence which kept New Yorkers away from this part of our city, staring helplessly through gaps in a too-distant, too-close barrier. Souvenir booths. Forcing myself to turn my back on this yawning pit, and to notice the areas where life was returning to the neighborhood. Making myself stare at flowers emerging through concrete, and telling myself fiercely that it mattered, that it was life, that I was still here, that the complex organism of the city I live in was still alive, and in motion.
I remembered a year on, and Enough Day, and 9/11 was all over the news again, as if the intervening year was just a dream which had never happened, and there they were on TV, falling and falling and falling...
I remember watching Bush and his staff, explaining earnestly how Bin Laden was hiding in Afghanistan, but we'd bomb him out of existence... then the pea was under the next shell, and we were going to depose that tyrant Saddam, and bring freedom to Iraq... and much to the astonishment of all, of course, bringing a provisional goverment to a country whose peoples had, to put it mildly, divided feelings about our involvement in their affairs turned out to be a bit more complicated than our happy warrior had counted on, so be sure to stock up on your duct tape and Saran wrap...
I can't remember what half-hearted phrase I answered her with, or what else we talked about. I don't know what I'd say to her now- perhaps, something about how little point most discussions about 9/11 seem to have, in a world where it suffuses every moment of the day, particularly here, particularly now.
Perhaps I'd discuss the bitter rage I feel, living in a world where words like "American" and "patriot" have been twisted into mockeries of themselves, in a land where "security" has replaced "freedom" as the watchword of the land.
...and I stare at this monitor, trying to think of a pat resolution to bring this to a conclusion, and there simply isn't one. if I can offer any parting words whatsoever, they would be: Don't let that spark of feeling die within your breast. Don't let the unthinking arrogance of those who currently rule us numb you into believing that this is how it will be- has to be- will always be. As bitter as the changes of the last few years have been, things will surely change again. Don't give up your faith in your power to influence that change- even just a little, even for a moment. It could be worth doing.
