I kind of hate that this is my first blog post, but we were just talking about it today, so it's been on my mind. I don't want anyone to think that I'm still carrying around scars from having just been in NYC when the towers fell, but I do get nervous about low flying planes, and I pray every time I'm on one.
So I mentioned to my co-worker today that I was in NYC on 9-11, and he was surprised. I work with a bunch of kids mostly 5-10 years younger than me, so I guess it makes sense that he wasn't up here then. He might have even been in high school then. He listened to my story like I was the guy at the beginning of Amazing Stories in front of the fire.
On that day, I was in my apartment in upper Hoboken, and I watched the first plane hit the first building. I had only been working at my job for a couple of months, and I thought 'Well, 23rd street is nowhere near the world trade. I better go in.' by the time I got to the PATH train, I was able to take pictures of the smoking towers before I got on the train to 33rd. I got some more info from stunned people on the street and I called my family to tell them that I was okay... I remember that my dad called us in Virginia years earlier when the other attack on the WTC had happened, just to check in and say that he was alive.
I think this was where I heard there were still hijacked planes in the sky. But I went into the city. I needed the job, and the bosses were hard core don't fuck with me I'm from New York-ers.
As I came up at 6th ave and 23rd street, I turned and saw a tower fall. All around me there were people covered in dust, carrying briefcases and broken shoes. I stopped a guy and said he saw the first tower fall and got caught in the dust cloud, turned around and started walking, and wasn't going to stop until he got home.
I went and took $200 out of the duane reade atm, and bought a pack of cigarettes. I kept thinking if all hell broke loose I'd want at least need some cash and a pack of smokes.
Once in the office, people were waiting for the go ahead from the boss out in LA as to whether we could close the office. We still don't know what is happening with other hijacked planes. I go down the hall and watch tv with our office neighbors, and we hear about the pentagon. I go back to my office and tell them that I'm leaving, and I don't care.
Somehow I reach my friend who lived on 6th and houston at the time. I remember that the signal was hard to get, but I got her somehow. her roommate was gone for the weekend, and she was alone, so i offered to walk down to her and we could find a way back to hoboken together... somewhere in here, I also left a voice mail for my boyfriend at the time, who also lived in Jersey, but further out. His outgoing message said "I've left the office to be with my loved ones." I wondered how I would find him.
So I leave the office, and at this point the PATH was totally shut down, and most of the subways too. It's funny, re-telling this I honestly don't have any idea how I got this information. on the news? on the street? did I just assume it? I remember knowing things, like when the last plane finally went down in PA, but I don't remember hearing it on the news or hearing someone say it. huh.
I walk down 6th avenue, past the long lines of people at payphones, and there's no traffic--all the cars have disappeared. the sidewalks are littered with crowds huddling around vans that have just randomly pulled over and cranked their radios, all news. Everyone's ears pricked for something new, or reassuring. I had never walked over 20 blocks in new york before, and I remember how pretty the day was, and how I enjoyed the walk even though I was chain smoking and terrified that the surveillance aircrafts zooming above us were actually hijacked planes about to crash into my head.
Somewhere along the way i buy a bottle of water.
I reach my girlfriend's house, and we watch news for a little while, just the one channel because the other two ny networks had their broadcast antennae on the towers. We watched and waited for someone to tell us how to escape. Emergency ferries from the west piers, they say. We leave. She brings a small suitcase. I leave another voice mail for my boyfriend, telling him we're heading for the ferries, and i hope we can meet up wherever they dock in jersey.
On the way, everyone is walking around like a zombie, everyone looks helpless. We stop in an open church, people in every pew, and join them to pray. Everyone's just kneeling, silent. We carry on.
I think we walked up to piers in the 30's, and we were directed to an emergency ferry, a dinner cruise that had offered up its services in this crazy moment. I don't remember how long we waited, but I still couldn't get cell service and i hoped my boyfriend got the message i left because i don't know how i'm gonna get home once we get to the other side of the Hudson.
I remember sitting on the quiet, quiet ferry. things were so quiet that day. sunny, perfect weather, plumes of smoke flowing out of a hole at the bottom of manhattan, as we sailed on a yacht across the hudson river. I shook my head a lot that day.
Our saviour... my boyfriend was at the pier when we got to the other side! He found us. we went back to hoboken. I'm assuming there was parking, because he came up with us. I remember watching tv for hours and hours and taking breaks to talk to family and eat and sleep.
my friend and boyfriend stayed with us for a couple of days. I think I stayed home from work for about four or five days.
The day after, though. The 9-12 that people are so proud of, that people shake their fists and cry 'Liberty!' and make up slogans that they think are about tax rebellion, but are actually euphamisms for sucking on balls, the 9-12 that has become this bizarre rallying point for conservatives with personality disorders.
That 9-12, my friend and I ventured into the city to give blood.
We made it in, but no one was taking any blood. The hospitals had all they needed, but thanked us. There was no triage. Everybody was dead. Thank you, though. Please donate in a couple of months, New York always needs blood.
Not knowing what to do, we went to central park. It was full of people that day, even though the air was so full of dust it was causing a haze. the sheep meadow was a sea of blankets and people lying listless. People jogged through the dust, getting in the laps around the reservoir. Everyone kind of looked at each other like we all had bad news we didn't want to break to anyone.
At some point, we went home. by then, the 'missing persons' posters had started to go up all over the PATH trains and stations.
For a couple of weeks, if you rode the PATH, you rode with the faces of dead people who their relatives hoped were just missing.
It sucked.
