where were you when...?

On September 11, 2001... I was living in Washington, DC and working for a government office. It was early in the morning and my coffee hadn't kicked in yet, and I was getting thoroughly annoyed by my coworkers shrieking in the next office. I went to see what was going on and the guard's tiny black and white TV was tuned into live coverage of the smoking twin towers in NY. Then it split-screened into the smoking Pentagon building, which was alarmingly closer by to us. Rumors abound that the Capitol building was the next target, which happened to be conveniently located next to our own building. This rumor actually turned out to be true- but for better or worse, the plane intended for us crashed into a field in Pennsylvania instead. Half the crowd hauled ass outta there. The other half, myself included, loitered about in shock and indecision.

My cousin worked at Morgan Stanley, on the 60th floor of the World Trade Center's south tower. It was unreal to watch the flaming buildings on television, knowing that he was there, somewhere. Then it collapsed, and I almost fell with it. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to do something, anything, anything was better than that nauseous, helpless feeling of dread, disgust, panic. I couldn't reach my cousin's phone and I thought I was going to go mad with worry. So I hauled ass outta there too. The streets were pandemonium. Everyone blubbering about senselessly, running aimlessly, on their mobiles and jamming the lines.

He was ok (thank the Lord). He was in the 2nd tower to get hit. When the first one got hit, his building was evacuated, without any explanation. They sauntered down the fire exits grumbling at the disruption of another unnecessary fire drill. When they reached the 45th floor there was a guy with a bullhorn telling everyone that the situation has been resolved and they could return to their offices. So my cuz took the elevator back up. "How stupid were we???" he would later be quoted in the New York Times. He reached his office and looked out the window to see people in the north tower jumping out of the windows. That's when the second plane hit. A file cabinet fell on him. Then he hauled ass. It took him an hour to make the 60 flights down, made painfully slower because he was helping a crippled woman. On the 7th floor she stopped, claiming she couldn't go on. My cousin was aghast. "What do you mean you can't? Do you understand that we are going to die?" She refused and refused. He had to leave her. He was 10 blocks away when the tower came down. The trains weren't running or were otherwise jammed, and the streets were flooded with ash and panicking masses. There was no way he was going to make it home, so instead he met his dad at a bar and they got drunk.

Seven years later, and I am still thankful that my cousin is still here with us, but mourn those who weren't as fortunate. I still wonder what happened to that crippled woman.