story385.xml

story385.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-04-12

911 days

I am afraid to fly, afraid of being in tunneled trains, and afraid of murderous mail. I am afraid and disgusted, afraid of the familiar as well as the strange. I want to call 911 for help, solace an explanation or something but, it is business as usual, work is usual ?tho I get there later and later every day.

I keep trying to figure out in the scheme of things what is important. Just exactly what is important, family, grandchildren, friends, health, poetic songs, and dancing feet and morning prayers. These things are important.

On 911 day, I watched the slice and crumble of buildings and my mind could only handle little things, like the probable guys sweeping the floors in the towers and the coffee ladies and the messengers and the security guards glad for a job?and the panhandlers who picked the wrong place and unknown hero?s carrying strangers down stairs and people making cell phone calls to say goodbye. I thought of instant friendships blasted into eternity forever sharing life force energy and I wondered about last thoughts and last gestures and running feet and eyes too shocked to cry and buried subways cars filled with sandwiched people who suffocated underground.

And I prayed that the dark was quick

I wonder how many people did not want to go to work that day, got up hating their job or got up happy to be starting a new job or an old job in a new position, or were just happy to be getting up in the morning like I am?.

My slow moving eyes watched in disbelief, blasted and sliced buildings and burning people on fire with death and wonder about family?s watching family dying and hoping not, hoping they got out in time. Hoping and hoping and?

And I prayed that the dark came quick?

My head full of cotton, my voice thick and the boss says, ?Do your job, we are a business? and clients calling to complain about services they want to be served and the world is burning and we have to leave the building in America uptown and the boss wants us to finish what we never started doing on 911 day.

And I feel strangely detached from the man who is flirting with me from his throne a milk crate, fronting a dilapidated building. And I wonder about his universe being untouched, untroubled.

I walked across America uptown, undisturbed looking for friends, friends who speak my language ?cause if this is it I want the wrap and tuck of love. I wanted the wrap and tuck of a little love, a big grand love is too much to think about, little is good enough on this 911 day.


My head can only hold little things and not much of that.
No wandering thoughts today, no irritating irritations. There is quiet, polite quietness is what is happening on the train and in the streets, people are being soft, well mannered generous, kind to one another.

I cry unexpectedly now, quietly so, just sliding tears, and no one says anything.
No one says anything. I share; share a newspaper with a stranger on the train who stops writing in his diary to read with me. And we are perfectly strange together.

In the morning, the day after 911 and the first of my days of arriving late for work, we can?t find the Twins out the window of the flying train.

And I don?t care about being late. I just want to hold my grandson?
B. Lois Wadas NYC