story9110.xml

story9110.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2003-02-28

I was in New York City...my aunt and uncle lived in Battery Park City and I was babysitting my cousin, who's mom was on her first day back from maternity leave. She worked in the World Trade Center...so did her husband. I was up bright and early with my cousin and my video camera, taking cute shots of her, when around 8 o'clock I decided (as an out-of-towner) that I wanted a New York Bagel. So I bundled up my cousin, dressed her in adorable clothes, and we set off for the bagel. I had gotten a bagel, eaten it, and was holding my cousin in one arm and my camera in the other. By that time it was around 8:40. I was making a film for my cousin about her family and home so when she got older I could show it to her, it would be an embarrasing thing that her parents could show when she brought boyfriends home. We were about a block from the Twin Towers and I heard the oddest sound, but I couldn't place it. I swept the camera up to get a shot of the Towers, and filmed as the first plane hit. I stood there, absolutely stunned with the rest of Lower Manhattan. Once the second plane hit, I knew it was bad, I knew it was bad and we had to get out of there. Smoke just billowed out of the Towers and all I could think of was that I had to get my cousin to a safe place. So, as a visitor, I didn't know where to go. I saw people running down the street, and i dropped my camera, so it was hanging around my neck, and I tried to shield my cousin with my arms. A man, who I never saw again, grabbed my shoulders and pointed down the road, screaming at me to go. Then he turned and when towards the flaming Towers. My cousin was crying at that point. I couldn't. I was too shocked. It was the first time I'd ever been in New York. So we finally got far away from the Towers, although we could still see them burning. I could see people jumpoing from the towers. At that point it hit me, my aunt and uncle were in those buildings. I kept going with my cousin, but not running anymore...just a dazed walk. We were up at Canal Street, and we watched the Towers fall. People around me were screaming, crying, some just stood there in disbelief. We were huddled around a car, someone had turned on the radio and we were listening to the news. I had never know that a city with a reputation of being so loud, could be so quiet. That night, my father, an ironworker from Boston, arrived. I was stuck up in some Presbytarian Church a little ways north of Canal Street. A woman let me use her cell phone to call him and tell him where I was. But it didn't work and it finally hit us. The cell phone tower was on top of the World Trade Center. And there was no more World Trade Center. Finally, I got through to my Dad on a phone, and told him where I was. Him and a bunch of his Ironworker buddies showed up around six o'clock. He gave me a huge hug, gave me a bottle of water, and then with the rest of the guys, went down to what was left of the towers, still smoking. I pretty much just sat in the church. My aunt and uncle's house was destroyed, and so was our family. My dad had brought down two pieces of paper and had given them to me before he went down to the WTC site. They had pictures and statistics of my aunt and uncle, pleading for anyone who'd seen them to contact us. It was so real, and I finally cried. I was with a bunch of other family members at the wall...and put up my papers in a blank space. I stared at my aunt and uncle's faces, both smiling and happy, and knew that nothing would ever be the same. I prayed so hard in my heart that they were still alive, but then I looked into my cousin's eyes and knew that a part of her had died with them...only three months old, and an orphan. I held her close and cried. A random woman, who I'd never met put her arms around me and we cried together. Her husband wrapped both of us in his arms and we just lost it. It was an awful, awful day.