Five Years
I hadn’t done my homework for Professor Hess’ German History course, not that that was any groundbreaking change of events. I went to bed tired the night before with intentions on keeping to my regular schedule of irregularity by waking up early the next morning and completing it then.
By 7.30 I was at my desk trying to decipher the foreign texts. It was a Tuesday morning. Sun brightly shining. Class didn’t begin until 9.30 so I still had a chunk of time to get things done.
By 8.00 frustrations with the work were setting in. I called up Curtis, who was in the class with me. He was one of my first and best friends growing up; we’d spend summers jumping on his trampoline, then slipping away to the pool to escape the Texas heat. Chance brought us together again on the University. I was hoping he’d have the history answers I couldn’t find. Actually I think I was just looking for an escape from the work.
I called up him up early that morning and asked him what his thoughts were on the impending German quiz. “Uhhh… I don’t think we’ll be having class today.”
“What do you mean?”, I replied.
“We’re being attacked.”
Images of bombs falling from jet fighters coupled with troops marching in line filled my head. “Turn on the TV”. I hung up the phone. Every channel carried the same image etched in all of our collective memories. Against that cool blue sky, smoke billowed out of World Trade Center 1. News reporters were just as confused as the rest of us. At this time it was still uncertain if this was an accident or a terrorist attack. Many newscasters simply stated “A plane has crashed into one of the Twin Towers”. Five minutes later I watched a plane fly into World Trade Center 2.
I sat in my big red chair alone. In silence. I comprehended absolutely nothing of the scene.
Around 8.30, a plane had flown into the Pentagon building in Washington, D.C. Confusion reigned on the newscasts. Nobody knew how many planes had been hijacked, nor where they would hit next. At one point I think I remember rumours of up to 10 other planes being hijaked, with different stories of other terrorist plots continuing through the morning. I thought of Pete, one of my best friends studying at Georgetown University (in D.C.). I repeatedly tried to call him but never got through. The phone lines in the North East were overloaded and non-functional. Even if I had reached him, I don’t know what words could have been exchanged. I got to my computer and sent him an email telling him to take care of himself, that I didn’t really know what was going on, but to just… be safe and that I was thinking of him. As it turns out, he watched smoke pour out of the Pentagon from the roof of a university apartment. He would be haunted by nightmares for the next year as he made his daily walk to school past anti-aircraft installations.
I had no comprehension of what I was watching. Never during the course of the morning did I consider that what I was watching would shape a generation. I sat in my big red chair, alone. I debated whether I should wake up my roomates upstairs and let them know what was going on. They certainly weren’t ones for mornings. Despite my misgivings, I woke up Brian. He was a bit confused. I returned to my room.
Class was set to begin shortly. I was debating whether I should go or not. The South Tower collapsed. My eyes glazed. I had never been to New York City. I didn’t even know anyone from New York City. The images coming from that TV screen were nothing different from the countless movies I’d watched which nullified the shock factor. I simply did not grasp the reality of the situation, nor would I until I finally visited the City in 2004. Entire city blocks, gone.
The North Tower collapsed. I was there, in my big fat red chair.
I can’t watch footage from that day anymore. A knee-jerk reaction of a head turn keeps images at bay. I get sick. The images are permanently in my head. I don’t need the visualization to go with that. The cover of this weeks Spiegel has a picture of one of the planes about 20 meters away from the World Trade Center Tower. The picture shows people’s last second of life. I can’t stand to see it. I’ve been ducking my head in every part of the city recently, doing anything possible to avoid the image of death staring out at me. The television controller is constantly in my hand.
I made it to the University later that morning. There was a quiet hovering over the South Mall that I didn’t understand.
I, like the rest of America, went to go give blood that afternoon (I hate giving blood…). The blood banks were full though: New York City didn’t need the blood. A true testimony to the carnage that ensued.
All flights were suspended in the United States for the next week. Planes did take to the sky again and once they did, I took notice of every streak of silver in the sky as if it was some anomoly. A few days later, I found myself busily noting the lecture Professor Hess was giving over the guild system in Medieval Germany. It was a warm Texas day and the windows were open. The muffled sounds of an aircraft’s engines were heard in the background. They grew, and as they grew, breathing in the class began to cut off. Hess stopped his lecture. The ‘whoooosh’ of a lowflying airline passed by. Our held breathe was transmuted into a nervous giggle. It was indeed a different world.