email653.xml
Title
email653.xml
Source
born-digital
Media Type
email
Date Entered
2002-09-04
September 11 Email: Body
Sent: Wednesday, September 12, 2001 11:46 AM
I'm tucked away in the relative safety of my boyfriend's Queens apartment, still trying to comprehend what happened yesterday while at the same time vainly trying to erase the actual occurence from my memory. I close my eyes, and each time I see the second tower explode in flames from my office window. But it is the sounds that haunt me, the crash and burn of airplanes smashing into buildings that just yesterday seemed solid and true. The sickening groans of buildings crashing into the ground, and the screams of people trying to get the hell out of the way. I can't get rid of the sounds of my head.
I'm so paranoid now, a mere shell of what I was yesterday. I feel as if there is a guillotine blade of future terrorist acts hanging over my head. I paused the first time I washed my hands in tap water. Two minutes later I was in the local deli purchasing two jugs of bottled spring water, an amount hopelessly inadequate if a true disaster (as if yesterday wasn't) should happen to come, but it makes me feel better, as if I DID something.
Chris, my boyfriend, called me on the phone just as soon as the first plane hit. He begged me to leave the building (I am 8-10 blocks away from the WTC), but I sat at my office window, stunned into stupor by the sight before me. I won't tell you what I saw. You've probably read eyewitness accounts from people much closer to the scene.
I went into the training center, which is at another part of the building, and more importantly, doesn't have any windows. I went there to close the center down, but I called my dad to talk to somebody. And that is when the first building collapsed.
Imagine this, the building starts to vibrate. You've just seen two buildings explode in front of your very eyes. It sounds like a million souls are screaming all at once. And then the phone line gets cut off.
I thought I was going to die. My father thought I did, because the last words he heard from me were "Oh My God!" and the line went dead. And then he turned to the television and all he saw was smoke covering all of lower Manhattan.
But I didn't die. The world didn't end, at least for me. But when I exited the center, people were crying. I hugged a co-worker and told her "We're tough New York broads, and nobody can mess with us" even though I didn't believe it myself. And then I went back into the central office and called my dad again. And I could tell he had been crying and sick with grief. I reassured him and then got the hell out of there.
I was walking with my co-workers in a northward direction. Anywhere North. And on the corner of West Broadway and Franklin, the second building collapsed. And people screamed. And my co-workers turned around stunned and stopped in their tracks. Like Lot's wife watching Gomorrah burn down.
"The scenery's interesting, but let's get the hell out of here!" I yelled at them. I suppose it was my idea of a joke. But I took my umbrella and opened it up and held it up in the air like a tour guide until we got to Houston street.
Each step northward was affirmation that I was alive, but I was so afraid. "Something's going to happen at 11 o'clock" It was 10:30. Was it almost two hours ago that I walked into my office and heard the first plane crash? I live in a high rise apartment overlooking the Hudson River. I'm on the 19th floor. I felt like I couldn't go home. How could I when Times Square, the Empire State Building, and the UN blocked any possible "safe" routes?
So I hightailed it to Queens.
A co-worker and I split from the main group and walked over the Williamsburgh Bridge. A mass exodus over the river. And I kept on thinking, is this bridge safe? Have they rigged this one too? But Suzanne and I made it over to land. It was an odd sight. Maids from the Mariott hotel still in their uniforms. People covered in ash. But we made it to the Brooklyn side. It was a two hour walk to get there.
God bless the MTA. This man, with a manner that actually put a smile on my face, herded us into groups and plopped us on a bus. At that moment, all I wanted to do was see Chris, and I was going to do that hell or highwater. Please God, I prayed, please let me see him at least once.
We took the bus all the way up to Queens. Suze and I were silent the whole way. We got into her car and she gave me a ride to Chris's apartment. She pointed out apartments along the way, but I wasn't really interested.
And then I got to Chris's place. And I had to wait for him. And that was hell. I had to wait three hours for him to get home. I tried to eat but my hands were shaking as they tried to slice the pizza up.
But the most beautiful sight I saw that day was when I finally saw Chris running outside the window of the coffee shop where I was waiting for him. He ran into the coffee shop and in the middle of that place, with all those people watching, I collapsed into his arms and sobbed.
I'm tucked away in the relative safety of my boyfriend's Queens apartment, still trying to comprehend what happened yesterday while at the same time vainly trying to erase the actual occurence from my memory. I close my eyes, and each time I see the second tower explode in flames from my office window. But it is the sounds that haunt me, the crash and burn of airplanes smashing into buildings that just yesterday seemed solid and true. The sickening groans of buildings crashing into the ground, and the screams of people trying to get the hell out of the way. I can't get rid of the sounds of my head.
I'm so paranoid now, a mere shell of what I was yesterday. I feel as if there is a guillotine blade of future terrorist acts hanging over my head. I paused the first time I washed my hands in tap water. Two minutes later I was in the local deli purchasing two jugs of bottled spring water, an amount hopelessly inadequate if a true disaster (as if yesterday wasn't) should happen to come, but it makes me feel better, as if I DID something.
Chris, my boyfriend, called me on the phone just as soon as the first plane hit. He begged me to leave the building (I am 8-10 blocks away from the WTC), but I sat at my office window, stunned into stupor by the sight before me. I won't tell you what I saw. You've probably read eyewitness accounts from people much closer to the scene.
I went into the training center, which is at another part of the building, and more importantly, doesn't have any windows. I went there to close the center down, but I called my dad to talk to somebody. And that is when the first building collapsed.
Imagine this, the building starts to vibrate. You've just seen two buildings explode in front of your very eyes. It sounds like a million souls are screaming all at once. And then the phone line gets cut off.
I thought I was going to die. My father thought I did, because the last words he heard from me were "Oh My God!" and the line went dead. And then he turned to the television and all he saw was smoke covering all of lower Manhattan.
But I didn't die. The world didn't end, at least for me. But when I exited the center, people were crying. I hugged a co-worker and told her "We're tough New York broads, and nobody can mess with us" even though I didn't believe it myself. And then I went back into the central office and called my dad again. And I could tell he had been crying and sick with grief. I reassured him and then got the hell out of there.
I was walking with my co-workers in a northward direction. Anywhere North. And on the corner of West Broadway and Franklin, the second building collapsed. And people screamed. And my co-workers turned around stunned and stopped in their tracks. Like Lot's wife watching Gomorrah burn down.
"The scenery's interesting, but let's get the hell out of here!" I yelled at them. I suppose it was my idea of a joke. But I took my umbrella and opened it up and held it up in the air like a tour guide until we got to Houston street.
Each step northward was affirmation that I was alive, but I was so afraid. "Something's going to happen at 11 o'clock" It was 10:30. Was it almost two hours ago that I walked into my office and heard the first plane crash? I live in a high rise apartment overlooking the Hudson River. I'm on the 19th floor. I felt like I couldn't go home. How could I when Times Square, the Empire State Building, and the UN blocked any possible "safe" routes?
So I hightailed it to Queens.
A co-worker and I split from the main group and walked over the Williamsburgh Bridge. A mass exodus over the river. And I kept on thinking, is this bridge safe? Have they rigged this one too? But Suzanne and I made it over to land. It was an odd sight. Maids from the Mariott hotel still in their uniforms. People covered in ash. But we made it to the Brooklyn side. It was a two hour walk to get there.
God bless the MTA. This man, with a manner that actually put a smile on my face, herded us into groups and plopped us on a bus. At that moment, all I wanted to do was see Chris, and I was going to do that hell or highwater. Please God, I prayed, please let me see him at least once.
We took the bus all the way up to Queens. Suze and I were silent the whole way. We got into her car and she gave me a ride to Chris's apartment. She pointed out apartments along the way, but I wasn't really interested.
And then I got to Chris's place. And I had to wait for him. And that was hell. I had to wait three hours for him to get home. I tried to eat but my hands were shaking as they tried to slice the pizza up.
But the most beautiful sight I saw that day was when I finally saw Chris running outside the window of the coffee shop where I was waiting for him. He ran into the coffee shop and in the middle of that place, with all those people watching, I collapsed into his arms and sobbed.
September 11 Email: Date
Sent: Wednesday, September 12, 2001 11:46 AM
September 11 Email: Subject
The Full Story
Collection
Citation
“email653.xml,” September 11 Digital Archive, accessed November 26, 2024, https://911digitalarchive.org/items/show/37624.