story1663.xml

story1663.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-02

While reading a newspaper in the afternoon (there is a six hour time difference between NY and Italy), I was literally grabbed by the arm and told to come inside the small cafe that I was sitting outside of. I looked up at the screen of the tiny, outdated television that never seemed to be used and saw CNN. I had just moved from Connecticut to Florence after spending a semester there in the winter and spring for the University of Connecticut's 2001 Study Abroad Program. After spending a summer back in the U.S. I had decided that I had left my heart in Italy, along with the man I had fallen in love with. As I looked up at the television I saw what seemed to be a small plane slam into the World Trade Center. My boyfriend said (in Italian), "Oh my god, someone has attacked Chicago," and as I looked up him with tears in my eyes, I simply stated "That's New York." My heart sank and I grabbed my cell phone, immediately before even watching the second airplane hit. One of my friends had just gotten an internship at the WTC, and another was visiting friends in New York that day. The first number I dialed was my house, as I had assumed my father had not yet left for work as a CT State Trooper- and the phone rang once and an operator got on the phone and told me that the number was "out of service." I began to panic. Everyone that I loved, my entire family, my friends, everyone I had ever known or cared about lived on the East Coast. As I made the second call to my mother's office, the phone didn't even ring once- the operator once again repeated that the number was out of service. I stood, frozen, holding my phone with the message repeating over and over, and watched CNN dubbed in Italian. As news of the Pentagon and other airplanes trickled over to Italy, I just stood there. More and more Americans found their way into the cafe- some sitting on the floor, some hugging, some crying as the news seemed to get worse and worse. I was right about to go try and email my family as the first of the two towers came down. That's when I ran to a small internet cafe and checked my email. There were 15 new messages. Everyone was ok. But I wasn't. In a daze, my boyfriend and I wandered over to the restaurant that he worked at and attempted to eat lunch. But the sick feeling in my stomach wouldn't allow me to eat. I looked over at a group of Americans eating lunch. They were middle aged and I realized that they probably didn't even know what was going on back home. There were two couples and one of the women came over and asked me to take a picture of them. As her husband handed me her camera, I thought seriously about whether or not I wanted to tell them about what happened. I took the photo and said, "do you guys know about the WTC and what's going on in the States?" They all had blank looks on their faces, so I began to explain and all of their faces turned white. One of the couples grabbed eachother's hands and in a shaky voice, the husband stated, "my son works in the Pentagon." I just looked at him and whispered "sorry," as I walked back to my table. Never in my life had I felt so alone. I just wanted to see my family and the uncertainty of the what was next was painful for me. That night, La Nazione, the local newspaper had a special newspaper produced, with the headline reading "Guerra al America"- War on America. The next night there was a candlelight vigil in Piazza Rupublica- and as I hummed and sang and gazed at all of the people in Florence dedicating a few moments of time, I was overwhelmed by what was happening. I looked up at the small statue of The David, he seemed to be questioning the flag that slowly waved above his head that had been put at half mast. That night, I decided that my place was in America. I loved Italy- but I felt guilty for not being there for my country in a time of comradery and love of all countrymen. I ached to sing songs and hug others who felt the same way I did. I flew home as soon as I could get a flight out- 2 weeks after the 11th. And the first sight I saw as I flew lower and lower toward Logan Airport in Boston, was a huge billboard with an American flag hanging from it that said, "God Bless America."