The messages that Patrick and Kay sent both mentioned the feeling of having no safe place, of being at war. How true! From what people are saying, it's something people throughout the country felt. A new sensation for us. I've already sent the story of my walk home. For anyone who's interested in another personal account of that day, here's what the first part of that day was like for me: On Tuesday morning I was working on the 20th floor of a major international financial firm (a good target?) a few blocks from the World Trade Center. I had a project to do that involved figuring out how to fit ten boxes of information and arrows across a page as the banker wanted and still be able to read anything. It was one of those "this has to be done another way; what is he really trying to get across here?" projects. I was listening to John Cale sing Hallelujah on my portable cd player, listening to it over and over, his voice and the piano. Typical day. A few people in the room had radios and had been listening through headphones and they told us about the first plane hitting. We didn't have a view of the towers and no TV. John Cale was put away so I could hear everything. The first plane was perhaps an accident. I pictured a little two-seater that went off-course. Very sad I thought; I'm sure some lives are lost. The second one and finding out how big a plane it was changed it instantly into great danger for us all. It was obviously terrorism and if they had hit there they could hit anywhere. Already, blocks away, papers were flying around outside our windows. People called anyone they knew at the WTC. Someone called our coworkers at One Liberty Plaza, at the foot of the towers, and there was no answer so the assumption was they were all evacuated as soon as the first plane hit. Good. No one in our group knew exactly how serious the situation was, or what to do, or where to go. We were in a building four blocks south and two blocks east of the towers, close but not directly under them, a 5 to 7 minute walk. It's such a small area there everyone is close. And we didn't know what was going on. Sights we wouldn't have noticed on a normal day became scary all of a sudden. Someone looked out at the East River that we can see between buildings and said "what's that?" and we all looked out and saw what looked like a huge raft, something we'd never seen on the river before. Was it full of explosives? Was anything aimed at us? All of a sudden the view that I had always been soothed by and loved because the look of the water changed so often during the day, and on sunny days I could watch the sailboats or cruisers and imagine being on one -- perhaps on that day that beautiful river was now being used to deliver deadly force against us, us, people in creative services just trying to get our little projects done. I sent out personal emails, which I never do from there since we're told all communications are monitored because of concern about insider trading. As I was writing the last one, someone near the window looked out and said "oh, no, everyone's running". I looked out and even 20 floors up the panic was obvious. Then the building shook and the lights flickered and the computers almost shut down and I ended my email with a "were outta here", clicked on send and hoped it got through. Within seconds there was so much smoke outside we couldn't see a building a few feet away. We then heard that one of the towers had fallen (was falling? like a tree? coming toward us? we didn't know). I pictured instantly the thousands of people in those towers and knew that there wasn't much chance for their survival. Those buildings are... those buildings were... so huge. I can't describe the sinking feeling in that instant awareness of the horror that was happening right then. I then looked around where I was and remember thinking "I don't want it to end like this." The next thought was "we don't always have a choice about our end". My next thought was "but I have things I still want to do". And then I stopped thinking about all that and plans were made for us all to go to a lower floor, not outside which many of us wanted to do; no one could be forced to stay inside but we were told going out would be more dangerous than being in the building because of all the debris in the air. So practical things took over. Log off the computer. Put my half-eaten breakfast in the trash can. Put the unfinished project on the front desk. Gather with my coworkers, some of them good friends, and walk down the stairs, getting dizzy circling around. And in the conference room on a lower floor watch the TV reports, which I could only stomach for short periods of time, make some calls to friends and family to pass the word that I was ok and would continue to be ok and expected to have a long walk home, and would call again once I was there. And then we waited, were horrified again when the second tower collapsed, and heard stories about the White House being hit, and the Pentagon being hit and another plane crashing in Pennsylvania and it felt like we were all under seige, the whole country was being bombed, we were at war. There was a lot of misinformation at that point. It was hard to sit and wait when all I wanted to do, all everyone wanted to do, was be at home and feel safe again. That "safe" feeling might never return. Most of our talk was about how to get home with all the bridges and tunnels closed, and no buses or subways running. For a while some of us expected to go home with someone who lived on Staten Island because surely the ferry would get us there. We waited, sometimes crying, mostly just numb and waiting. The ventilation system was shut down because it brought outside air in and that was now filled with smoke and dust. It became very warm in there. We waited. Around 1:30 when building security said we could go outside, I left my bag that had some books and my portable cd player and the collection of favorite cds in it since I expected to be walking all the way home, a very long way, and didn't want to carry it. So I left it with a note that I'd be back to pick it up when I could. There's no guarantee it will be there when I go back for it so decided to take my favorite since I could fit one cd into my purse. It came down to a choice between the John Cale and a Richard Thompson bootleg that jonilister Catherine Turley had sent me, which has a wonderful duet with Shawn Colvin on it that I've listened to over and over. The Richard Thompson cd won out, I think because it was more personal. I figured I could always buy that John Cale cd again, and the other six or so cds I left behind if I had to. That bootleg is something very special, though, so that's what I wanted to hang onto. Funny, the things that become important during such times. And I finally got home. Yesterday, the wind was blowing north and the dust I'd been walking through downtown was covering even my neighborhood too. No safety anywhere. Seeing the flowers and candles outside the firehouse was overwhelming. Today, over two days after the horror, I still have a headache, still feel like there's an elephant pushing his foot into my chest, can't sleep very well, and have been coughing, which I hope is getting rid of some of that horrible ash I've breathed in, and sometimes still am suddenly in tears. Other times I don't feel anything. And I've done lots of talking, although at some point there's nothing more that can be said for now. Almost everyone is in mourning and waiting for news about someone. The friend that I was worried about contacted me last night. He had been outside the towers and saw the first plane hit and started going north and was well out of harm's way when the towers fell. Thank God for that. There's thunder outside now, one of those sounds I used to love, that used to mean heavy rain and washing and shiny clean streets and rebirth. Tonight those rolling booms are just making my head hurt even more. Debra Shea
