RubySoho
Winston
A day in my life, pt. 2
May 22nd 2007 20:44
(continued from last post)
We notice some people moving off to the left, where it looks like possibly there are some businesses. Heading in that direction, we see a shopping plaza with a small cafe. As we walk, Mary continues to try to call her friend, Stephanie, on her cell phone. After some fruitless attempts Mary finally gets through to her. Mary talks to her for awhile to give her an idea of where we are, and Stephanie assures us that she’ll come as soon as she can. Settling down at a table in the cafe with some sodas, we wait. The minutes drag on, mostly in silence. I don’t want to talk about the day’s events any longer; I don’t want to think about them anymore. I want to sit and pretend I’m not seeing those TV images of the towers collapsing playing through my head again and again. I want to imagine that hundreds of people did not have to make a choice today about how they would die, whether it was by fire or by falling. I want to be grateful that I’m OK, but I can only think of those who are not. Like a six-year-old, I am stuck on one phrase: it’s not fair.
Two hours go by without word from Stephanie. Thinking that perhaps she is not exactly sure where the cafe is, we decide to wait by the road so that we’re more visible. The sunlight is turning amber as twilight claims the sky. Where is she, where is she, where is she....it’s a litany in my head now. Mary and Steve are talking, I don’t know about what. I’m busy trying to make phone calls to my family, to Julia...hell, I’d settle for getting a telemarketer right now, just to know that communication with the outside world was still possible. Nothing. Suddenly, it occurs to me that I might be sleeping in this plaza tonight.
Mary’s phone rings, and Stephanie is on the line. She’s near us, she says, but isn’t sure on how to get where we are. Conversation ensues with Steve and Mary guiding her while she’s on the line. Soon, a car comes into view and pulls over in front of us. My relief is boundless. Piling into the little coupe, Stephanie is all apologies.
“I’m so, so sorry you guys. I don’t really know this part of town very well and it was a pain to get here.”
“Don’t worry about it, we’re just glad to see you!” Steve says, speaking for us all.
“OK, where does everyone need to go?” Stephanie asks. Steve and Mary don’t live far away, and Stephanie can get them home. I, on the other hand, have a ways to go. I tell her that I live in Elizabeth. Stephanie thinks for a moment.
“Well, there’s a PATH station pretty close to here. If I bring you there, you can take the PATH train to Newark and grab the commuter train the rest of the way. That’s about the best we can do, with the highway closed.” I agree readily. I’d agree to riding a camel home at this point.
During the drive to the PATH station, Stephanie fills us in on what little news there is so far. Apparently, there has been some celebrating in Palestine over the attacks, but overall the countries of the world are united in their condemnation of the attackers. A name is mentioned that I’d already suspected might be involved: Bin Laden. I remembered reading about him a couple years before, and what I’d learned about him had made an impression. He was dangerous and he had resources. It was not much of a surprise now to learn of a connection. But, for the moment, the prevailing information was simply a jumble of confusion. Clarity would come in time. For now, we all dwelt in ignorance.
Before long Stephanie pulls up to the PATH station.
“Just go down this block, and the entrance will be right there. Will you be OK?” Yes, I answer. I’ll be fine. Thanking her, and saying goodbye to Steve and Mary, I exit the car. With a wave they drive off, anxious to get to their own homes, their own families.
Night has fallen. I walk towards the entrance to the station, looking out for signs to make sure I’m going the right way. The scene around me is like something from a movie. Triages are set up everywhere. People wander about dazedly, injured, confused, tired. Lights in the distance cast everything in dramatic silhouette, rendering the entire setting as a complex of shadows. The one thing that stands out is the Red Cross symbol on the tent nearest me. People are lined up to give blood. Part of me wants to stop and get into that line, but as I’m thinking about it my feet carry me away. You’ll feel guilty about this later, a voice in my head assures me. I don’t doubt that it’s correct.
I make my way into the station and look around to figure which way I should go. I’ve never been here before, so I’m unsure of what to do. I spot a sign for trains towards Newark and make for that direction. A quick stop at a token machine yields me the pass I need. Dropping it into the slot, I push anxiously through the turnstile and onto the platform.
A group of three middle-aged men are standing nearby. Well dressed, one has a cigar sticking out of his pocket. They are discussing the attacks with the matter-of-factness of a conversation on stocks or the performance of a sports team. I am dumbfounded. Where is the outrage? Where is the grief? How are these men seemingly so calm, when I feel like screaming? As much as I am confused by this, and as much as I am even somewhat disgusted by such a callous display, I am also envious.
Ten minutes go by before I hear the welcome sound of the tracks shrieking, heralding the approach of a train. It rumbles slowly into position and the doors slide open. There are very few people on the train and equally few waiting to get on. Most likely everyone is having trouble getting to the stations. I step onto the train and swing into the seat right by the door. As the doors slide closed with a ding the train shudders forward and whisks us all away.
After a couple minutes, I notice a sad-faced women sitting across from me. She has glasses and fading blonde hair, and is maybe 35 years old. Catching my glance, she asks me, “Were you near when it happened?” Her voice is heavy and tired. She has an accent, also. Australian, I realize.
“I work about three or four miles from there,” I answer. “You?” She is silent for a moment, and then nods.
“I’m on vacation here. I was staying at a hotel right near the Trade Center and......” She stops for a moment and I can see here reliving the day. “....and I saw the whole thing. So senseless.....”. I am suddenly filled with sympathy for this vacationing stranger who came to America at the worst possible time.
“I’m supposed to go home tomorrow.....I don’t know how, now. And, I’m....oh god.” She fights against the tears that rise to her eyes, tries to clamp down on the quiver that trembles her lips. It’s a battle she can not win. All at once, her face twists under the pressure of grief and fatigue.
“I’m just so scared....”, she sobs.
“You’ll be fine,” I say soothingly, trying to ease some of her fear. I’m lying, of course. After today, what assurances can I possibly offer about tomorrow? But I don’t know what else to do.
She nods gratefully, knowing that my reassurance is meaningless but well intended. Struggling to regain her composure, she tells me about her trip, how she’d come for two weeks to visit New York, and how she’d enjoyed her time here so much. She tells me how worried she thinks her family must be. All I can do is listen.
We reach Newark Penn Station soon. The train grinds to a halt and we step out onto the platform. It is deserted except for us. We walk together is silence towards the steps that lead to the upper level of the station, and to the outside. I am going that way, she is headed for a different train. I stop and look at her, locking onto her eyes.
“You’re going to be OK. Do you know that? You’re going to be fine tomorrow.” I say this with the fervent hope that I’m correct.
“I know,” she says. “Thank you, and be safe.” We embrace then, two strangers from different countries who have known each other for 25 minutes. In that moment we are both truly connected, both wishing the other well with all of our power. We will never see each other again, or know how the other fared. But we will wonder.
I briefly consider waiting for the next train to Elizabeth, but I’m so close to home, and so tired. Instead I walk outside of the station and wander over to the main road to hail a cab. Within a couple minutes I have one. Rattling off my address, I sink into the seat and tell myself that I’ll be home soon. The cab driver says nothing, keeping to his own thoughts. I can’t have any more conversations about today, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up in front of my apartment building. Paying the driver and thanking him, I get out my keys and let myself into sanctuary. There are no lights on. I turn the light on in the bedroom, but leave the rest off. Falling onto my couch, I decide I will sleep there tonight. The bedroom is too bright to sleep with the light on, but too dark with the light off, as I’m seeing malignant phantoms in every dim corner. Out here, the soft light emanating from the bedroom and the outside is perfect for security and for sleep.
I’m home. I still don’t really know what happened. Even so, I have a basic understanding that the world I’ve known has been altered forever in ways that are not yet clear. So much will change in the years to come, some as a result of today, and some simply because of the march of time. There will be wars I didn’t foresee. There will be family tragedy and loss. There will be marriage to Julia, and a new home, new job, and comfort. There will be surprises in store every day. But I don’t know that now. For now, all I know is that I’m home. Thousands of my neighbors will not be. I’m home, and I’m safe. In this strange new world of ours, that’s enough.
We notice some people moving off to the left, where it looks like possibly there are some businesses. Heading in that direction, we see a shopping plaza with a small cafe. As we walk, Mary continues to try to call her friend, Stephanie, on her cell phone. After some fruitless attempts Mary finally gets through to her. Mary talks to her for awhile to give her an idea of where we are, and Stephanie assures us that she’ll come as soon as she can. Settling down at a table in the cafe with some sodas, we wait. The minutes drag on, mostly in silence. I don’t want to talk about the day’s events any longer; I don’t want to think about them anymore. I want to sit and pretend I’m not seeing those TV images of the towers collapsing playing through my head again and again. I want to imagine that hundreds of people did not have to make a choice today about how they would die, whether it was by fire or by falling. I want to be grateful that I’m OK, but I can only think of those who are not. Like a six-year-old, I am stuck on one phrase: it’s not fair.
Two hours go by without word from Stephanie. Thinking that perhaps she is not exactly sure where the cafe is, we decide to wait by the road so that we’re more visible. The sunlight is turning amber as twilight claims the sky. Where is she, where is she, where is she....it’s a litany in my head now. Mary and Steve are talking, I don’t know about what. I’m busy trying to make phone calls to my family, to Julia...hell, I’d settle for getting a telemarketer right now, just to know that communication with the outside world was still possible. Nothing. Suddenly, it occurs to me that I might be sleeping in this plaza tonight.
Mary’s phone rings, and Stephanie is on the line. She’s near us, she says, but isn’t sure on how to get where we are. Conversation ensues with Steve and Mary guiding her while she’s on the line. Soon, a car comes into view and pulls over in front of us. My relief is boundless. Piling into the little coupe, Stephanie is all apologies.
“I’m so, so sorry you guys. I don’t really know this part of town very well and it was a pain to get here.”
“Don’t worry about it, we’re just glad to see you!” Steve says, speaking for us all.
“OK, where does everyone need to go?” Stephanie asks. Steve and Mary don’t live far away, and Stephanie can get them home. I, on the other hand, have a ways to go. I tell her that I live in Elizabeth. Stephanie thinks for a moment.
“Well, there’s a PATH station pretty close to here. If I bring you there, you can take the PATH train to Newark and grab the commuter train the rest of the way. That’s about the best we can do, with the highway closed.” I agree readily. I’d agree to riding a camel home at this point.
During the drive to the PATH station, Stephanie fills us in on what little news there is so far. Apparently, there has been some celebrating in Palestine over the attacks, but overall the countries of the world are united in their condemnation of the attackers. A name is mentioned that I’d already suspected might be involved: Bin Laden. I remembered reading about him a couple years before, and what I’d learned about him had made an impression. He was dangerous and he had resources. It was not much of a surprise now to learn of a connection. But, for the moment, the prevailing information was simply a jumble of confusion. Clarity would come in time. For now, we all dwelt in ignorance.
Before long Stephanie pulls up to the PATH station.
“Just go down this block, and the entrance will be right there. Will you be OK?” Yes, I answer. I’ll be fine. Thanking her, and saying goodbye to Steve and Mary, I exit the car. With a wave they drive off, anxious to get to their own homes, their own families.
Night has fallen. I walk towards the entrance to the station, looking out for signs to make sure I’m going the right way. The scene around me is like something from a movie. Triages are set up everywhere. People wander about dazedly, injured, confused, tired. Lights in the distance cast everything in dramatic silhouette, rendering the entire setting as a complex of shadows. The one thing that stands out is the Red Cross symbol on the tent nearest me. People are lined up to give blood. Part of me wants to stop and get into that line, but as I’m thinking about it my feet carry me away. You’ll feel guilty about this later, a voice in my head assures me. I don’t doubt that it’s correct.
I make my way into the station and look around to figure which way I should go. I’ve never been here before, so I’m unsure of what to do. I spot a sign for trains towards Newark and make for that direction. A quick stop at a token machine yields me the pass I need. Dropping it into the slot, I push anxiously through the turnstile and onto the platform.
A group of three middle-aged men are standing nearby. Well dressed, one has a cigar sticking out of his pocket. They are discussing the attacks with the matter-of-factness of a conversation on stocks or the performance of a sports team. I am dumbfounded. Where is the outrage? Where is the grief? How are these men seemingly so calm, when I feel like screaming? As much as I am confused by this, and as much as I am even somewhat disgusted by such a callous display, I am also envious.
Ten minutes go by before I hear the welcome sound of the tracks shrieking, heralding the approach of a train. It rumbles slowly into position and the doors slide open. There are very few people on the train and equally few waiting to get on. Most likely everyone is having trouble getting to the stations. I step onto the train and swing into the seat right by the door. As the doors slide closed with a ding the train shudders forward and whisks us all away.
After a couple minutes, I notice a sad-faced women sitting across from me. She has glasses and fading blonde hair, and is maybe 35 years old. Catching my glance, she asks me, “Were you near when it happened?” Her voice is heavy and tired. She has an accent, also. Australian, I realize.
“I work about three or four miles from there,” I answer. “You?” She is silent for a moment, and then nods.
“I’m on vacation here. I was staying at a hotel right near the Trade Center and......” She stops for a moment and I can see here reliving the day. “....and I saw the whole thing. So senseless.....”. I am suddenly filled with sympathy for this vacationing stranger who came to America at the worst possible time.
“I’m supposed to go home tomorrow.....I don’t know how, now. And, I’m....oh god.” She fights against the tears that rise to her eyes, tries to clamp down on the quiver that trembles her lips. It’s a battle she can not win. All at once, her face twists under the pressure of grief and fatigue.
“I’m just so scared....”, she sobs.
“You’ll be fine,” I say soothingly, trying to ease some of her fear. I’m lying, of course. After today, what assurances can I possibly offer about tomorrow? But I don’t know what else to do.
She nods gratefully, knowing that my reassurance is meaningless but well intended. Struggling to regain her composure, she tells me about her trip, how she’d come for two weeks to visit New York, and how she’d enjoyed her time here so much. She tells me how worried she thinks her family must be. All I can do is listen.
We reach Newark Penn Station soon. The train grinds to a halt and we step out onto the platform. It is deserted except for us. We walk together is silence towards the steps that lead to the upper level of the station, and to the outside. I am going that way, she is headed for a different train. I stop and look at her, locking onto her eyes.
“You’re going to be OK. Do you know that? You’re going to be fine tomorrow.” I say this with the fervent hope that I’m correct.
“I know,” she says. “Thank you, and be safe.” We embrace then, two strangers from different countries who have known each other for 25 minutes. In that moment we are both truly connected, both wishing the other well with all of our power. We will never see each other again, or know how the other fared. But we will wonder.
I briefly consider waiting for the next train to Elizabeth, but I’m so close to home, and so tired. Instead I walk outside of the station and wander over to the main road to hail a cab. Within a couple minutes I have one. Rattling off my address, I sink into the seat and tell myself that I’ll be home soon. The cab driver says nothing, keeping to his own thoughts. I can’t have any more conversations about today, anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, we pull up in front of my apartment building. Paying the driver and thanking him, I get out my keys and let myself into sanctuary. There are no lights on. I turn the light on in the bedroom, but leave the rest off. Falling onto my couch, I decide I will sleep there tonight. The bedroom is too bright to sleep with the light on, but too dark with the light off, as I’m seeing malignant phantoms in every dim corner. Out here, the soft light emanating from the bedroom and the outside is perfect for security and for sleep.
I’m home. I still don’t really know what happened. Even so, I have a basic understanding that the world I’ve known has been altered forever in ways that are not yet clear. So much will change in the years to come, some as a result of today, and some simply because of the march of time. There will be wars I didn’t foresee. There will be family tragedy and loss. There will be marriage to Julia, and a new home, new job, and comfort. There will be surprises in store every day. But I don’t know that now. For now, all I know is that I’m home. Thousands of my neighbors will not be. I’m home, and I’m safe. In this strange new world of ours, that’s enough.
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Comment by Wendi
Maybe I'm just ripe for crying today, but this brought full tears. I remember...
Your ability to translate the day's events is remarkable. I was right there with you, knots in my stomach, lump in my throat, and all.
Your writing ability is admirable and worthy of respect, but I almost feel weird saying that considering what it was you were writing about.
wow.
W
Comment by Winston
Small Thoughts on Big Questions
It's so gratifying to hear that you liked it, and you felt it. That's what I was trying to accomplish.