story9124.xml

story9124.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2003-03-04

I was on Sanibel Island, in Florida. I had picked a very strange time of
year to visit Southwest Florida. The summer season had just ended and the winter one had not begun. The Ft Meyers area was very strange, almost like a ghost town. Everything was built up for the tourists and, without them there, stores, restaurants, and the hotel I was staying at- everything was empty.
This is very convenient because this time of year is also hurricane season. Tropical Storm soon to be Hurricane Gabrielle was brewing in the Gulf and you could feel the chaotic energy in the air.
I was down there on business. The type of work I was doing required that I be up all night so, I had been in bed for only about two hours when my wife called from Norway to tell me she had sold her home- the last hurdle we had to make in order for her to be able to come here to live. It was news I had been anxiously waiting for. However, before I could fully feel the joy, she said, "They are flying airplanes into the World Trade Center!" Between her Norwegian accent and my state of somnolence, I did not quite grasp what she was saying. At first, I thought it was a joke and then just an accident but she told me there had been four crashes and bade me turn on the news, which I did just in time to see the South Tower collapse.
I spent the rest of that day in my room entranced before CNN, feeling I was watching some horrible movie and waiting for the end. I watched enthralled long into the night (the operations I was part of had been suspended). The next day I awoke to a very strange world. I did not know anyone around me.
My business associate panicked when he heard the airports were closed and took off in his rental car. Everyone I knew and loved was 2000 miles away. I had no one to talk to, no one to help me understand what was happening and how to deal with it, and no one to hold onto. I felt strange and disconnected- like some character in a Twilight Zone episode- as I moved around that ghost town filled with shuffling zombies looking as if they felt the same shock and disbelief that I did. The atmosphere was charged with a strange energy both from the pain and grief and from the storm that bore down upon us.
I had to make sense of it. I had to find a place in my mind to put all of this. So I wrote this piece.


Thoughts from Sanibel Island

I am on a tropical island. As I look across the Gulf, I see the clouds like huge piles of coal rising up into the sky. Ever since I arrived here, I have seen signs, billboards, placards, commercials, and PSA's telling me what to do if a hurricane hits. Is that a hurricane coming? How would I know? That sky looks worse than any thunderstorm I have seen marching across Kansas. The air is hot and heavy. The atmosphere lies across the land like a wet blanket.
Three days ago * I * was on a 767.
Down here, they call this the "Mean Season" not only because it is the time of hurricanes, but also because the oppressive atmosphere makes people go crazy. Assault, domestic violence, and homicide rates skyrocket. How very appropriate that is this year.

It seems that every time I travel to Florida, we end up being in close proximity to President Bush. It is unsettling to know he was here the day I arrived.

How will I know if this is a hurricane? How will I know what to do? As I move around the islands they are like ghost towns with just a few souls drifting about. There are signs that tell me that there are normally a lot more people here. Those I do see are old. Of course, it is the middle of the day. The kids are on school and the people my age are all at work. That's it!
Or maybe they all know that a storm is coming and they have followed those blue signs that are posted every ten feet. Thus, only me in my ignorance and those who are tired of living remain. Will someone tell me
if there is going to be a storm? Should I be afraid?
The airport is closed. I may have no choice but to drive or I may be trapped here by the storm. At least the kids are okay. I thought it would be good to get out.
When my wife awakened me with the news of the horror (and some great news that seems to have gotten lost in the wind)
I clicked on the TV. I sat mesmerized, in shock, and I watched long into the night. The paradise outside could wait. It was storming and I needed to stay safe.
Webbie called to tell me that both sides of the road that runs by the American Embassy in Oslo- the very place that was the center of our future's universe, the place where I stood a month ago and said "Something bad is going to happen"- is piled high with flowers, gifts, and expressions of sorrow.
Another connection. Yet, I feel so disconnected. I am far away from everyone and everything I know. There are no cornfields here, only the endless expanse of the ocean. There are no elms or oaks but only palm trees that look like they too are waiting for a storm to break and are ready to fight for their lives.
Zombies drift about in this pale mirror of the Deep South.
How can it rain SO hard with absolutely no warning? One second bright tropical sun and the next a deluge so hard you cannot see the end of your hood. Do hurricanes come like that? One second you are safe and
sound, the next the world is ending?
Oh my Gods, the Feds are all over down here. They have arrested a bunch of people nearby whom they say trained the murderers who flew the bombs. This is too scary.
When it is time to go home, I am driving. I need to in more ways than one. I cannot take the risk that I will get on a plane flown by the one that got away. In a month, my life becomes perfect and I will not
risk it now. Plus, I need to reconnect. I need to drive across this country and get a feeling for what is going on at ground level. I need to do this so that I can understand, if I can ever understand. I have to know if the storm is coming.
What is it with the President and I and Florida? Why do I feel like I am a part of this, a pawn who is being placed where it has to watch the storm coming yet can do nothing about it? I don't want to be involved.
I cannot outrun the storm.