My 9-11

I can’t believe I just found my journal from 2001, and the only mention of 9/11 was that it was 2 weeks ago. My focus was on my boyfriend at the time. I tried my email account, and it only goes back to 2004. I’m hoping I have my account typed somewhere, but that was several computers ago. So for now, I’m going to attempt to write everything from memory.
On Tuesday, September 11, 2001 a little before 8 I was waiting at the bus stop in my Pimmit Hills neighborhood in Falls Church, VA. I rode the bus to the Metro Station. I remember thinking explicitly, “It is a beautiful day.” And for months after nine eleven, I didn’t dare mutter or even think that phrase. My ride in was uneventful, as was my mile walk from Farragut West to my job on 18th and T ST in DC. It was my second month as an Intern at a nonprofit organization. I liked my job enough, was happy to be free from college, living with friends, and generally having a great time.
Shortly after arriving at work, a coworker, I think her name was Diane, was watching the 10 inch tube television in the conference room, she got up and started acting strange, then she called us in. It was hard to make out exactly what was happening on the fuzzy black and white screen. We checked the internet thinking it was some sort of strange joke. We were getting crazy reports from the different websites we visited; USA Today, Washington Post, and CNN. Bombs here and there, threats it was impossible to make out what was really going on. I think coworkers started getting calls from their loved ones and we started to get a clearer idea of what was happening. Our minds and hearts raced. We were a mile from the White House and nearly every source was saying the White House was in eminent danger. Should we get in the basement? Should we run? Where to? Most of us took Metro to work, and there were amble rumors of Metro being bombed. We were tramped.
Before too long, our executive director said, “I’m out of here guys, you all are on your own!” with his typical condescending chuckle. He was one of two employees that drove to work, and he was out of there. He made it quite clear he could not care less what happened to the 10 or so rest of us. One coworker, Marion, had school aged children in the DC Public Schools, I said, “Don’t you want to go get your daughter?” She said, “Well this work will just be here tomorrow!” I was so confused; did she not know what was going on?
Cell phones were still relatively new, or at least, everyone having one was new. It didn’t matter, no calls were getting through. I was trying desperately to get ahold of my parents, give them my final message; sure I was going to die one way or another that day. I cannot remember if I got ahold of my mom. I remember finally reaching my Dad. I said, “What should I do, I don’t want to get on Metro, should I start walking…” Tears welling of, I’ve never been so scared or desperate. He said, “I’ll come get you.” I said, “No Dad, its absolute gridlock.” [that report I believed] At some point around 11 or 12 I decided, ‘Here goes nothing. I can’t stay here, and no one can or will come save me. Waiting around for whatever was not healthy.’ At this point Metro was running, and the rumors of bombs had been cleared.
I started my mile walk back to Farragut West. There was a closer stop that involved a train switch, on any given day I was not patient enough for this, and I certainly wasn’t going to extend my time underground today! On the walk, Lauriol Plaza, a restaurant across the street from my office, was lively and packed as ever. DCer decided to say “Fuck it let’s have a margarita!” I’m not sure why I didn’t turn around and grab my favorite colleagues, maybe because I didn’t have any favorites yet, no one was my age, I just wanted to face my destiny and get back to those I love.
Aside from Lauriol Plaza, most places were shut down. Signs saying, “God Bless America” handwritten above the closed sign. On my walk, I remember there being very few cars, it was suddenly a ghost town. I think most of the gridlock was on Constitution Ave. I was truly alone with my thoughts and I was sobbing, summing up my life in mental pictures, feeling proud of who, feeling like it was the end and I was ok with it.
When I entered the Metro Station, I thought, “Here we go!” I talked to my dad before I left, so whatever happens, I least gave one goodbye. My phone didn’t work underground so I was really on my own. I remember the train was crowded and I think it was silent like usual. I think the ride was a little longer than usual but not excruciatingly so. I had not had lunch, was dehydrated and already emotionally spent. It was around one.
I went to my bus stop and my bus was supposed to arrive within 15 minutes. A different bus was already there, and packed. The bus driver said, “You better get on because our routes are taking over an hour.” I hopped on and squeezed. I’d ridden this bus before and the closest stop was about a mile from my house.
The bus ride did take significantly longer than usual even though it was only 2 miles on Route 7. I was so relieved to be in familiar territory, where I had plenty of known places I could walk to. I made it home, hot and exhausted, and one of my roommates, Christine was already there, glued to the TV coverage. It was amazing to see the tragedies in color on a bigger screen. I saw Tom Browkaw get choked up and I knew this was real. I felt lucky to be alive. I thought of my friends in NYC. I got ahold of one that day, Neeta, and have never been so thrilled to hear her voice. Amazingly all of my friends and family in NYC and Northern NJ were fine.
Later that afternoon my boyfriend Josh came over, I felt so comforted by his presence. We kicked the soccer ball around in the field across the street. Jets flew overhead and startled us; we wondered if we were missing something we should know about. It was like this for days. The air of DC was otherwise silenced with all flights grounded. It was strange to not hear any airplanes, an eerie silence.
I don’t remember if I went to work the next day or not. I carried an unnerving feeling for months, remembering what it felt like to be certain I was going to die, and I thought of it often when I descended the escalator into Metro. I felt like I survived something, although in actuality I was never in danger.
Now, 10 years later, I can still bring back the feeling of ominous doom that I felt on that walk and I hope to never experience it again. I try to keep up with those dearest to me and make sure they know I love them because you never know when the lines will be down, traffic will be gridlock, and you’ll be stuck without and way to reach out.