We all remember where we were, and it is imprinted on our memories forever. Where were you when you found out about the horrors of Tuesday, September 11, 2001? I had just arrived at work in the legal department at Circuit City’s credit card bank FNANB when my phone rang. It was my then fiance (now Daddy Mac) saying, “A plane hit the World Trade Center!” The shock of it, the disbelief – really? Just now? What?!
And as we were on the phone speechless with shock, the unthinkable happened — a second hijacked plane struck the south tower. Soon after that came mind-bending news of the Pentagon being struck by a third overtaken flight. The Pentagon?! No way! Yes way! And then came the courageous story of the passengers of Flight 93 taking the plane down in rural Pennsylvania before reaching the terrorists’ intended destination of the US Capitol. At that point I couldn’t help but look out the window and wonder if FNANB was next. (Not too rational, I know!) It seemed like the Apocalypse was unfolding before our eyes on our TVs and radios.
Ironically enough, it was a gorgeous early fall day without a cloud in the sky, no natural clouds anyway. The billowing dark clouds of smoke suffocating Lower Manhattan, the Pentagon, and Shanksville, PA, were all man-made. Nature had nothing to do with it, just man’s free will gone purely evil.
Needless to say, work was the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. I don’t really remember much about anything that morning, everyone was quiet, somber, huddled around a TV, computer, or the internet. I already had plans to meet a friend for lunch at a Vietnamese place. We still went because we didn’t know what else to do with ourselves. It was so surreal, eating tasty dumplings while watching footage of the towers being struck, burning, and collapsing over and over again.
I don’t remember any specific images other than the towers burning. However, there is one memory that is as sharp as if it happened last week. It was Friday morning after the horror of horrors on Tuesday, and I had “Good Morning, America” on as I got ready for work. They were on location at Ground Zero, live interviewing people who happened to be in the area.
All of a sudden a teenage girl about 16-years-old burst onto the screen. She was in a full-scale panic, talking in fast bursts, and incredibly wired. Her eyes were darting everywhere, and she couldn’t focus on anything for more than a second. She looked so strung out — the poor girl probably hadn’t slept since waking up Tuesday morning before her world unraveled.
Holding up a flyer, she kept asking, almost hissing, “Has anybody seen my father? Has anybody seen my father? I know he’s here somewhere. Have you seen my father? He works right here. I’ve got to find my father! Have you seen him? Have you seen my father?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone looks so desperate. I still cry thinking about that poor girl. She was so exposed in her hysteria and panic that I felt awful for having witnessed what should have been a private scene. It was too personal, she was too fragile in her hysteria grief to be plastered on a national morning talk show.
I still pray her father was miraculously alive and well and just about to walk around the corner and give her the biggest hug of her life. Deep down, though, I know that wasn’t the case. To that poor girl, now a woman 10 years later, I pray you have found peace. May we all find peace among the ruins, but we must never forget.
LibbY