Remembering...

I was on my way to work this morning and got the ever elusive "walk" signal at a crucial point in my journey.  As I started to cross, a big rig was aggressively attempting to take a right turn.  Oh no you don't, deckhead.  If I waited for him to turn I'd never be able to cross in time!  And I was late enough as it was!

It all sounds so silly now, but in the heat of the moment this situation inspired me to utter a good deal of hearty expletives, which the driver of said big rig vigorously returned.

I'm pretty sure I called him a fucking asshole, amongst other unpleasantries.  I disregarded the horrified Berklee students who glanced my way as I crossed the street.  (Oh yes, I crossed).  So I'd sworn at a stranger and it was only 8:00 am.  Living in New York taught me that.

I was talking on my cell phone with Sissy at the time and she said, "Oh Sister, be nice.  It's September 11th."

It was.  My belly did a sick little flip flop. 

Has it really been eight years?  It seems like only yesterday.  Nanny was the first to call me, and I thought she may have been talking ragtime until I turned on the TV and saw for myself.  A plane had actually flown into the World Trade Center.  It had to have been an accident? 

It was Fashion Week and I was temping for Ralph Lauren Womenswear on 7th Avenue.  Even after the second plane hit, I remember trekking over to the N Line, still thinking I'd head into work.  But as I climbed the steps to the subway, I was told it had been shut down. 

Hubby and I had lived in New York for just over a year then, though we'd been gently resisting it.  It was filthy and gritty, and the people were just so...rude.  But everything changed that September.  We just sort of gave in.  We became New Yorkers.  We even declared a truce and rooted for the Yankees during the World Series that year.  (Of course, I think we must've jinxed them because they lost anyways.)

When I think back to that September, the same old feelings come flooding back.  The sadness, the disbelief, the helplessness, the fear, the outrage.  The city felt exposed, bruised; I wondered how things would ever be the same, how any of us could ever go back to business as usual.  But somehow, eventually, we did. 

I spent the better part of my twenties in New York and I'm a stronger person for it.  It gave me a backbone, forced me to grow up.  New York taught me to ask for help when I need it, and to not be afraid to speak up for the things I really want.  And, most importantly, it taught me that it's okay to scream obscenities in public every once in a while.  

It's September 11th, and I will never forget.  How could I?  How could anyone?

Comments

[Sissy]

Unfortunately, people do forget.