I was reading, as usual, when my roommate got a phone call. She came out of her room and said "Turn on the TV." I did. We didn't have cable; only one channel could still reach us. We stayed there, open-mouthed, watching, for the rest of the day, the day after and the day after that as the World Trade Center towers fell again and again and again. We watched until, slowly, we began to realize that it wouldn't help anyone. A week later I got sick and threw up for the first time in at least 10 years. I remember thinking to myself, 'I've got to let it come out.'
In the aftermath, the City was quiet, solemn, stunned. People actually looked at one another, and in their eyes was reflected the multiplied pain of swift and irrevocable change. Words were out of place, but there was a silent connection between strangers that hadn't been possible before. Amidst the terrible loss, a small green shoot of hope pushed out a tentative sprout.
ChuckieT and I were just starting out then, beginning to fall in love. (Talk about your love among the ruins...) He took me out soon after, to the Met where we looked at the Egyptian exhibit, walking among the enormous stone monuments. The immensity of all that could be lost suddenly caught in my throat. I think I reached for his hand. I know he held mine. Afterward, as we walked down the avenue, we passed a glass-fronted restaurant. Inside some National Guardsmen were having a meal. They were suddenly ubiquitous, coming from all over the country to stand on street corners and in train stations in camoflauge uniforms, holding enormous guns, amplifying the anxiety in the air.
The restaurant happened to be one of ChuckieT's favorite places, and he told me he just needed to go in for a moment and talk to the hostess, I should wait outside on the sidewalk. He wouldn't be long. I said okay, wondering if he was planning some kind of surprise. When he came out, I asked him what was up, but he didn't want to tell me. Except that, being me, I wouldn't stop asking. I was teasing him, trying for a little normalcy. Finally, he said with a shrug that he had paid for the Guardsmen's meals. Just like that. As if it was a completely normal and unnoteworthy thing to be that generous, that outward-looking, that kind. I was stunned. He saw nothing unusual in his gesture. He was just grateful for their sacrifice, he said, like everyone else. But I knew he was unlike anyone else, and I was (and still am) profoundly grateful for him.
Yes, I thought about leaving New York City after September 11, 2001. But my heart was already finding its home here. And the beauty I witnessed here, the coming together, the acknowledgement that we were all human beings, all connected in that way that survivors are, it gave me hope. Obviously, there was nothing in any way beautiful or uplifting or hopeful about the attacks themselves. Or the horror and loss that they caused. But the spirit of the people here. Their refusal to simply give up. Their willingness to reach out and help their neighbors and even strangers. That was something to see.
