I have a 9/11 story. I was listening to NPR and a little late for work as usual. I had finished dressing and was nearly out the door, but Molly Ivins was on the radio with some biting and hilarious commentary about Bush, so I sat down on our dying futon to finish listening. Right after her story, the announcer interrupted with news that a plane had hit WTC. I was immediately interested, because I’m an air travel nerd. So then I switched on our tiny silly telly, and saw the image of the gash in the tower. On the radio and TV they were saying it may have been a cessna or small plane off course from Teterboro or EWR; it was hard to tell from the massive scale of the tower. I thought it was a small plane, too. So, after trying to wake my bf and get him interested, I headed off on the subway. It was crowded and smelly as usual (I took the R from 36th street in Queens, so until 5th avenue I could usually not breathe very well) but no one seemed to talk about what had happened. Maybe they had begun their commutes before the first impact. When I got on the elevator at work, everyone was talking about terrorism. I was perplexed, because I thought a small plane had accidentally strayed, and I thought it was silly fear-mongering to bring terrorism into it. Apparently the second plane had hit while I was in the subway.
So, needless to say, I spent the rest of the day mostly transfixed by the TV in the conference room. RJ tried to work, or at least appear normal, but most of the rest of us were too worried. Oddly, from time to time, we’d all mention that we should get away, since Midtown didn’t seem like the safest place on earth with planes falling from the sky; but we just wandered around the office glazed, trying to call loved ones, checking the TV in the conference room, refreshing news sites on the web. I vividly remember the moment the first tower fell; I thought I saw it wobble slightly for a split second, and everyone in the room must have too, because I remember the GC screaming “oh my god” JUST as the thing began to crumble. We still didn’t leave.
I was at the office until 3:30. I walked home, because I didn’t want to bother with the subway (was it working or wasn’t it?) and I wanted to look down 6th avenue as I left. All I could see downtown was fluffy clouds of smoke. I crossed 6th and was arrested by a postcard rack at a convenience store. I stopped and bought an aerial view postcard of the towers that said “WORLD TRADE CENTER” below them. It’s been on my fridge everywhere I’ve moved since then.
Crossing the Queensboro bridge on foot with thousands of others was surreal; I wish I had a camera! There were so many people, all calm as though out for a stroll. After such a traumatic morning, I felt we should all be hysterical – but I was as outwardly calm as though I was walking for exercise on a beautiful spring day.
At Queens Plaza, I checked to see if the subway was running, and it was – at least from Queens Plaza outbound. Although it was only one stop from there to home, I swiped my pass and took the train, hoping to bring a little normalcy back to that terrible, strange day.
Detritus 