Day 1 Monday, September 17, 2001. The only way now to get to where I work is by subway. Normally during the week that's how I'd be getting there from uptown, arriving at work by 8 a.m. Since most businesses start at 9 or 9:30, the trains are crowded at 7:30 but there's still some breathing room, so normally taking the subway is ok. Some days I'd take a cab, an expensive trip but such a pleasant ride down the FDR going along the river to lower Manhattan that it's worth the cost. Not an option today. I'm expected to be there by about 9. I don't want to be on the subway at the height of the rush hour; 2,000 people on one train in a crowded tunnel feels like a good target. Now we're targets instead of just people trying to get to work. After, again, not falling asleep until almost dawn, and not even hearing my alarm clock, I call in the morning and tell the manager I'll be in about noon. Turns out that's fine. Before I'd called I was in a f*ck 'em mood, ready for a fight, knowing even as I felt that way that the managers where I work are not the people I'm getting angry at after a week of barely-being-able-to-move grief. It was the quietest subway ride I've ever experienced. There were lots of people on the train, all subdued. Like the quiet streets on my walk home last Tuesday, such quietness in a subway car is strange too. My anxiety increased with each stop closer to lower Manhattan. I didn't want to go there, not after what I'd seen the Tuesday before. 42nd, 14th, Brooklyn Bridge, Fulton (the main stop for the WTC, some people got out), bypassing the closed Wall Street stop, going slowly past it, yellow police tape stretched column to column, desolate looking, to Bowling Green, the last stop in Manhattan. That's where I got out and went up the escalator. So many people were going the opposite way, running down the stairs into the station, it crossed my mind that something else had happened. National guard soldiers and policemen were at the top of the escalator, looking at us as we got off the escalator. They didn't look panicked so I continued on to the office. Nothing is as clearcut as it used to be. The streets and cars were still covered in ash. A van I passed had its back windows blown out. Sidewalk coffee vendors were back at work, the newsstand on the corner was open, the building I work in was completely undamaged. Before going to my usual floor I went to the lower floor we'd waited on so I could get my bag back, the one with my books and cd player and favorite cds in it. I felt so disoriented, and couldn't find the area we'd been in, and started to panic a little (I'm doing that a lot nowadays when I can't find something right away; I can't tolerate the feeling that anything is lost), finally remembered there'd been a conference room near where we'd waited, so I asked someone at his desk where that was and he pointed me in the right direction. I found my bag exactly where I'd left it, untouched. I was so glad of that, like I was getting a little piece of my life back. So then on to my regular floor and in the hallway the first person I saw was the coordinator I'm friendly with. She asked how I was, I started to tell her, ended up crying, and she just gave me a hug. Everyone was being told to take it easy; there were no pressing projects to be done, we each had to ease back into it at our own pace. Very kind I thought, especially for a high-pressure financial place. There was free food in the cafeteria, which had been open round the clock for days for anyone in the area, especially relief workers, who needed food and a place to rest. I liked hearing the company had done that. It was a day of sharing stories and trying to concentrate on the project I had, which was almost impossible. My brain wasn't working and I had to keep rechecking what I was doing, and redoing. And, as people came in, hearing their stories, asking and being asked how we all were. The words "it's so good to see you" were said often and they will never be the lighthearted words they once were. Day 2 Tuesday, September 18, 2001. Surprisingly, today was more difficult. I was on the train early and again everyone was very quiet. An announcement was made at Brooklyn Bridge that the air on the train would be cut off while we went under lower Manhattan. It was clear why once we got to Fulton Street and the subway doors opened. The smell, the same smell I'd walked through on Tuesday, was strong again. I don't know why. It was there yesterday also, but not nearly as strong as today. It's mostly an electrical fire smell, but we all know everything else we're taking in too with each breath. No one talks about it. I don't know how the rescue workers can tolerate it, not only physically, but emotionally. Again the train went slowly past the closed Wall Street station. It might not ever be opened. I've trudged up those stairs so many times. The company had arranged for a ferry from the upper east side of Manhattan to downtown. I found out about that on Monday and thought that would be better than traveling by subway. Then I thought about how it would be possible to see the changed skyline from the ferry and realized I can't do that yet. Seeing that area as a huge dust cloud last Tuesday ripped my heart out. It's hard enough seeing it now on tv. I don't want to see that emptiness yet. So, on to Bowling Green by subway. Today we couldn't go out our usual exits. All of us had to go out one exit, up escalators I'd never used before, and there was a huge crowd of people at the top, a bottleneck because people then had to go up a staircase to the street and could only get out of the station one by one through barricades, again past many policemen. I was one of the last people on one of the two escalators going up, heading toward this crowd. A man on the escalator next to me started going oh oh oh and I realized then there wasn't any room for him or me to get off. Well, that's pretty scary. What do you do then, when you're stuck on the top step of a moving escalator? As soon as I got there, which was only seconds after he started saying his panicked oh oh oh, I put my hands in the lower back of the guy in front of me, pushed very firmly and said loudly at the same time, "move! we have to get off the escalator." People moved. No one said a word. Again, very strange for New York. Then there was just enough room for me and the person who'd been behind me to get off the escalator, and for the guy on the next escalator too because everyone realized they had to squash forward so we could get off. There's a f*cking challenge at every turn here now. Then we were out on the street and the "dust" cloud was like fog. There were barricades everywhere and we, hundreds of us, ended up walking way down by Battery Park (last time I was there was for a wonderful free July 4th concert by Amy Correira and Emmylou Harris; now it's a National Guard encampment), and walking around buildings until finally there were no more barricades and we could go where we needed to go. There were camera crews all over, and all I could think of was get out of my face. At the building I work in there was a line in the lobby. For the first time ever people had their bags searched and IDs looked at instead of just passing them over the turnstiles. There have always been security men with bomb-sniffing dogs walking around outside the building, 24 hours a day, probably because of the lessons learned from the 1993 terrorist attack on the WTC. There were more of them today, and now bags were being searched. I wondered what they were looking for. Anyway, I finally got in, got to my desk, was glad again to see everyone there, was able to concentrate on what I was doing more than I had been the day before. All day there was a Coast Guard ship in the river. I was uneasy seeing it and glad at the same time that it was there. On the way home I stopped at the drugstore to get batteries for my cd player and also got a new box of Crayola crayons, a 64 pack with built-in sharpener!, and markers and pads of drawing paper. I have boxes of pastels and markers and all sorts of more sophisticated drawing materials and papers, but my 5-year old (?) self was very happy to once again be smelling some crayons. When distressed some people drink, some drug, others go out and beat people up, apparently I draw. (Actually it's more of a scribbling and coloring these days; maybe some thought-out drawings will come later; maybe not.) So I've had three days off and stuck close to home again, only going places I could walk to. Tomorrow, Saturday, is another work day. I can't wait to get back home and draw some more. Maybe listen to some music too. Maybe even be able to make sense of all the messages on the joni list. See ya'll later, Debra Shea
