Anniversary

I woke up late that morning. Most days I'd turn on NY1 and get my news and weather while I got ready for work. On this day, though, I only had time for a quick shower before dashing out with wet hair and an unpainted face. I decided to forego the coffee until I got to work, and walk quickly instead of taking a cab because I'd spent too much money already that week. I saw more people walking around than usual as I made my way from the Lower East Side to Tribeca, but wrongly assumed that people were out to vote in the democratic primary. I made a mental note to do so on my way home from work and continued on.

Somewhere around Soho, I realized something was very wrong. A feeling of dread began to fill me. I didn't ask anyone what was going on, because part of me knew it was something huge. Life-changing huge. And in my barely awake, not even a little bit caffeinated state, I wasn't ready.

I worked my way through the crowd to the corner of 6th Avenue and Spring St. I followed everyone else's eyes to the skyline. One half of the World Trade Center was missing. The other half was on fire. As I stood there, the second tower started to fall. There was crying. There were screams. People ran away from the smoke that wasn't going to reach where they were standing. I was frozen.

After I don't know how long, I walked the rest of the way to my office. I rode the elevator with a coworker. The shock and disbelief on his face mirrored mine. He told me his uncle worked in one of the towers. I suggested that he'd made it out in time, realizing how stupid it sounded. When I walked in, our receptionist had her head hanging out of the window. She turned to me and said, "I've been watching people jump out of the World Trade Center." There was no emotion on her face or in her voice. Just shock.

We sat at work for what felt like hours, because we didn't know where else to go. We threw out theories. We hugged each other. We cried. Eventually, we decided to walk to our respective homes and call our parents and feed the pets and take care of whatever small details we could to make it feel like we had some kind of control over something.

Growing up in Schenectady, I always knew I was home when I saw the General Electric sign lit up from the highway. Here, it was the towers. It still is, only now it's their absence that reminds me.

Every year, I think about posting about this but find I don't have anything to say. I didn't lose anyone. My experience wasn't unique. Any kind of observation I make makes me feel like an asshole. And I feel like an asshole now, but when I woke up this morning, for the first time, it didn't feel like September 11th. It felt like any other day, and I don't ever want September 11th to feel like any other day.