Covered in Ashes: A Recollection of September 11, 2001

I've spent so much time trying to forget the city, the people, the ins-and-outs that at once held me captive and offered me freedom for nearly 4 years. But as I gather my thoughts regarding 9/11 and remembering those that were lost, I find myself longing once more for the place I once called home.

The eery silence that filled the streets and crowded the subways after the attack was unlike anything I'd ever experienced and hope to never feel again. I remember living up on West 68th street near Lincoln Center and hearing every ambulance as it passed through the tunnel and towards downtown. If you've never been to New York City, imagine if you will a Def Leopard concert almost all the time with just as many people on the sidewalks around you. Then imagine that Sprint commercial that once aired where you could hear the pin drop. For months after September 11th the latter was the new reality for New Yorkers. We could hear a pin drop and we weren't prepared for the silence. Inferiority and paranoia hid not-so-loosely around every corner. We were at one with our fate and yet on top alert at all times, clinging to anything that felt "safe".

Safe. Such a taboo word to have used in New York City after the tragedy of September 11, 2001. Not to discount others who were not living in the Big Apple at that time, but we were the only state still on high alert even years after the attack. Feelings of disenchantment abounded. The reminder that your city was different, that you were different, and that no one could be trusted lurked everywhere. I recall walking out of the subway and coming face to face with law enforcement carrying bazookas. I was on my way home from a long day at work. It was not uncommon to have those sort of run-ins and the sad thing is that after it happened to you once or twice it became something you expected. Everytime a plane flew overhead you stopped and looked. I'd like to say that this lasted only a month or two, but the reality was that it took me two years to be able to believe that it was "just" a plane and not look up to the sky. The post office in the Empire State Building lobby would not let you in until you went through metal detectors and had a valid I.D. card. To this day when I walk into a post office I expect them to ask me to empty my pockets. Of course if I were to do this in Washington I'd be looked at fairly cross-eyed.

I was riding the subway on my way to my first day of classes at The School for Film and Television at 8:30am on September 11, 2001. As the bullet raced through the underground tunnel and through the darkness, we stopped. Inching our way up to the platform, the doors opened and we were told that we could wait if we wanted to, but that the train would not be going continuing to the WTC stop because of an accident there. Somehow the man in front of me in the crowded car was able to get cell phone service. As we exited the subway, I heard him say that "they" didn't think it was an accident because another jet had just flown into the South Tower. It was just after 9:03am on Tuesday, Septemember 11th and I was worried about getting to my class on time. I left the subway station.

I was somewhere around 28th street when I surfaced to the street. Having just moved to the city the day before, I did not know my direction or where my school was in relation to where I had been let off. I looked up and in front of me facing south I saw two very tall buildings with a gaping hole of fire near the top of one and chunks missing out of the other. I went to grab my camera but realized then that I had left it behind that morning in my rushing to get out of the apartment on time. I still remember the thought I had when looking up at the building whose top was on fire: It's going to take them a long time to fix that! That was the thought that ran through my head as innocent people were running for their lives just 30 blocks south of where I stood.

When I arrived for my class on 23rd street and 6th Avenue, I was instantly greeted with panicked staff directing students to different sitting areas. It still did not click for me. It wasn't until I heard the phrase "terror attack" on the radio in the tiny room that I realized what was happening. Even though it was The School for Film and Television, there were no televisions. They were being used in other locations and had not yet been set up in the rooms. Therefore, the news was received the old-fashioned way: the radio. I'm not sure what was worse..watching the buildings fall on the television or imagining it all in your mind while listening to the madness on the radio. The students were told that they could not leave until more information was released for safety precautions. When it was confirmed that we were indeed under attack, and when students began an uproar wanting to see their families, we were told that we could leave. At that time, my life partner was in Indiana and the rest of my close family in Connecticut. The subways and buses weren't running and I didn't know where to go or who to call so I used pure instinct to find my way back to the apartment. About 50 blocks later, I was there and I was frantic.

It was said on the news that Manhattan had been locked down, meaning that no one could come in and no one could go out. The bridges were guarded and the subway, bus and train lines were non-functional. I remember feeling isolated, stuck in a concrete city where there was no escape. There was a short window of opportunity to leave before the lock down, but at that time I had already committed to going to school and had paid my tuition for the quarter, etc. I had decided to stick it out. After a few days had passed and the city was under panic and anxiety, I started to regret that initial rash decision. I wanted out and now I couldn't get out. It would be a month before my partner would be in the city with me. I was on my own.

There were two large cell phone antennas on top of the Twin Towers that were no longer there. Basically what that equaled out to was no cell phone service for about a month. If you were able to receive a signal it was choppy at best. I was not living in my own space at that time and was told that I could not use the land line even though I had calling cards. It began then; a routine to walk outside to the pay phone near the newsstand and make my calls home to my loved ones to let them know that I was doing okay. It was the brush of human contact I craved the most that went unfulfilled. Even so, there was a sense of humanity on the streets where people would look you in the eyes and ask how you were, or make a comment about the attack, etc. It was a common thread in a quilt of city dwellers that otherwise would have never related. It was a unity I had never experienced in New York City before or since.

There is no way to explain in words or otherwise how the air smelled, felt, tasted, etc. Walking down the streets and trying not to gag while trying to breathe and keep a clear level of sanity was a fantastic adventure. Since having seen and been in close contact with human ashes since that day, I can tell you now only that the air must have been filled with them. I would walk outside and say a little prayer as I stepped onto the sidewalk for the people and animals that had been sacrificed for a cause no one seemed to understand.

As I reflect on the day that changed our country's life, that changed my life, I think about where I have been and where I am headed and know only one thing for sure: I am grateful for my life. I may not always like the circumstances that have entered into it and changed my path of development, but I am thankful for being able to have it.