Decade.

I wrote the following two weeks after 9/11, when I was 22 years old, and working as a production assistant on a TV show.  I had to get what I saw and went through — what we all went through — down on paper, to try and make sense of what happened.

I thought it was going to be a nice day.

I had woken up relatively on time, only ten minutes after my alarms went off.  Pulled myself out of bed, saying come on Katie, you're doing it again- you don't want to be late again.  I got dressed and got out of the door by 8am sharp.  That in itself was rare.  I walked up the street, much like I would every other day, but it was lovely outside, and the day before Vienna, a girl who works near me and also lives in Hoboken, had told me that she takes the ferry-  and I thought, today would be the day to try it.  It was a warm, lovely, cloudless day.  The ferry was moving quickly, but I still got to breathe in the good mood I was putting myself in.  I looked the skyline.  New York's skyline is impressive.  The first time I saw it I was 16 and riding up the New Jersey Turnpike on a bus with my high school French club to go see Les Miserables.  Today I craned my neck to the south, past the World Trade Center towers, to see if the Statue of Liberty would come into view.   It did, just before we docked.   People always say she's smaller than they pictured, but I think she's pretty large, for a statue.

The Ferry docked in New York City at 38th Street and the West Side Highway.  From there, the Ferry system provides a free bus to take you into Manhattan, because to go anywhere office-like from the West Side Highway is a bit of a hike.  However, having never taken the ferry before I didn't know which bus to get on.  So by the time I figured it out, the buses were gone, and the next set of buses had to wait for the next ferry to arrive.  I work on 23rd Street and the West Side Highway, a complex called the Chelsea Piers.  It was a nice day, I had my sunglasses, I was wearing sneakers, I could hoof it.  Sometimes the best thing in the world is a calming walk, right before a long day at work.  It was 8:30.  I was due in at 9.  Time enough to connect with myself.

I did not see the first plane hit.  I was looking the other way, a bit inside myself enjoying the morning.  But I must have heard something, because my eyes immediately flew to the towers.  The towers are easily visible from right outside the Chelsea Piers and the pedestrian path on the West Side Highway.  What I saw was a slash of fire plume out of north side of the north tower, about three quarters of the way up.  From that view it looked like someone had taken a knife and made a jagged slash in some canvas.  Except that the canvas was a building of glass and steel.

"Holy Shit!"  was what I said.  I was actually very surprised that I said it out loud-  in New York, New Yorkers are supposed to be nonchalant about everything, and talking to yourself on the street was almost sinful- only vagrants got to do it with impunity.  But I did one thing that all New Yorkers do:  I went for my cell phone.

I called the office.

"Hello Production."

"Anita?"

"Yes, its me."

"Hey." ( I knew she knew my voice)

"Hey." (I bet she thought I was calling to say I'd be late)

"Um, did you guys know the World Trade Center is on fire?"

"Really?"

"I am not kidding.  I'll be in in five minutes, but get outside, you can see it from

here!"

"Ok."

"Ok. Bye."

I walked the rest of the way with my eyes on the Towers at all times.  They disappeared behind my building once, but came back into view if you stood to the side of it.  I went inside, it was about 8:50am.  Believe it or not, I was early.  As I went up the elevator to the third floor, I thought, did someone leave an appliance on, and it caused some WTC offices to catch fire?  An electrical thing that had been brewing all night?  It wasn't 9 o'clock yet, how many people were there?

In the office I walked in, and people were running around.  They had a radio blaring.  The first thing I heard was Anita saying it was a plane crash, not just a fire.

Plane crash — how could I have missed that?  Was it a big plane, a little one?  Passengers?  People went outside to see, almost everyone.  I shooed them out of the office.  Soon it was just me and Kayvan, the other production assistant.

"Don't you want to go outside?"  I said.

"I do", he said, with an unspoken 'but' trailing after.

"So go! I've seen it, I'll man the phones. Go."

With a little more shooing, he went.  The office was empty but for me.  The radio was still on, 1010 Wins.  A lady had called in from the roof of her apartment on North Moore Street saying she had seen the plane hit.

"It was a direct hit, I don't know how to describe it, but that's the only phrase I can think of.  People who have seen a head on car wreck know the sound what I'm talking about…"

The phone rang.  It was one of my bosses, who was currently scouting locations on Roosevelt Island.

"What's going on there?"

"Most everyone is outside looking at the World Trade Center.  A plane hit it."

"I know.  I know, I don't know what's going on here." my boss said in my ear.  "But I'll call back."

"OK."

I went into the kitchen and was able to get my morning soda.  A plane.  It was incomprehensible.

I wanted to tell someone else.  My family down in Maryland probably didn't know about this –  I mean, this would make the evening news, probably, but not right now.  I looked through my address book.  Damn.  The only work number I had on me was my brother-in-law's, Andy, in Bethesda.  I dialed it.

Rings twice.

"Hey Andy."

"Hey Katie Doll, what's going on?"

"Do you get any New York radio stations?"

"No.  Why?"

"A Plane just crashed into the World Trade Center."

"You're kidding."

"No I'm not."

"Was it a big plane?  A passenger plane?"

"I don't know.   It couldn't have been that big though."

"OK.  We can get CNN."

"OK.  Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up.

Anita came back.  She wanted to get in touch with the scout.  I somehow didn't remember that I had just talked to the scout, I was desperate to get outside and see what I could see.  To be with everyone else and not miss the excitement.

"I think it was a suicide bomber.  A Kamakazi thing."  Anita said, as I was heading out the door.

"Really?"

"Yeah, look at it, it was totally intentional."

I went outside.  There were dozens of people standing around, I found the people from my office.  Tamsin and Gerrit in accounting, Margaret and Kayvan from the office, Steve from the Props Department, Lisa and Jen from Art.  Joe and Rosanne from accounting also wandered up.  The writers were around.

"Hey do you think this could be a suicide crash?"

"Gerrit was just saying that," said Tamsin.

I don't remember what was said after that.  I know we chatted, speculated on what floors were burning, how many people could have been there, what this means for flight control and the airports.  Who was stupid enough to do this, or who wanted to crash into the trade center?  I mean, was the pilot high?

We were all standing there chatting, looking at the trade center smoking.  And I saw this other plane.  This other plane flying low and near and fast.  And I knew, a split second before, that it was going to hit.

Everyone, those dozens of people standing and looking could do nothing.  Nothing but watch.  It hit the south tower.  Gasps.  We could do nothing but gasp.  To us it looked like the plane entered from the right, and spurts of flame came out of the left.  I looked over to Margaret, who I was standing next to, and she had seen it too.  It wasn't a mirage.

She had her hands over her mouth and her eyes were wide.  I probably looked the same.  There was one thought going through my mind.  This was real.  This was intentional.  This was real. This is not an accident, the pilot didn't have a bad acid trip the night before, the guidance system wasn't screwy.

Someone decided to crash planes into buildings today.

I could only think of one thing to say.

"Yep.  My mom is going to call me tonight."

Kayvan said "Yeah.  That's exactly what I was thinking."

Margaret's eyes were still wide.  I asked her if she was all right.

"I'm sorry."  She said.  "That really actually shook me up.  I'm really shaken up."

I saw a coworker walk up to the crowd with his bag over his shoulder and a coffee in his hand.  Steve from Props was saying something about a conspiracy, that this is really a distraction, and they'll hit midtown next.  Because all of the emergency vehicles would be downtown, so hit 'em in midtown.  Sounded like the plot to a movie.

Slowly, people in button down blue shirts and slacks were walking north.  Walking North.  They passed our office building, they had been walking from downtown.  They were so calm.  Some on cell phones, but all were walking calmly away.  Surreal.

I mentioned to Margaret that we left Anita upstairs.  We should probably go relieve her.  In truth, I didn't want to see what would be happening next.  I wanted the radio, I need to hear what was going on.

Margaret and I went upstairs.  I think Kayvan might have followed us.  The first thing I did was called Andy.  Everyone was on the phone.

"Listen I need you to get in touch with my parents.  I don't have their work numbers.  I need you to call them and tell them I'm ok."

"Ok.  Where do they work."

I told him my sister, his wife, would know my dad's number, and I gave him the name of the school where my mother taught.

The radio was blaring.  Anita was trying to reach the scout-  I told her they had called earlier- I had forgotten.  Jen, one of the producer's assistants, came in.  She had just gotten here.  She needed someone to help her with getting a picture out of the empty stage.  We were all so confused, everyone was yelling on the phone, so I went and helped her get the picture.  I think I needed to work, to do something, or else I'd lose it.   We walked down to the stage, most everyone was still standing and watching.  The West Side highway was crowded with cars that had pulled aside, trying desperately to get out of the way of the emergency vehicles headed downtown.  We went into the dark stage, empty of any set, it hadn't been built yet.  We got the picture, and I'm sure I was yammering on about how it could have been a distraction, something else was going to happen and this isn't the end of it.

She smiled and nodded and soothed and agreed and we carried this very large picture out of the stage and upstairs.

Upstairs, the Pentagon had been attacked.  The Pentagon. There were reports of the Supreme Court having a car bomb outside of it.  And suddenly it seemed like the whole world was under attack.  I tried to call Andy, and couldn't get through.  Everyone was talking at the office. people came in and out of the office, trying to reach loved ones, trying to get information.  The phone rang-  it was Gerrit's girlfriend.  Gerrit was still downstairs so I went to get him.  A lot of these things seem out of sequence now, but I know they all happened.

The radio was still playing 1010 Wins.  Anita was standing by her desk.  People were talking.  Margaret was near me.  We were debating what to do, I think, whether or not we should stay or go home.  The person on the radio suddenly captured all of our attention:

"The Building just collapsed!  The Building just collapsed!"

BAM.  We all ran for the stairs.  Three of the guys were in front of me.  Gerrit, Kayvan and I can't think who else.  We weren't running for our lives, we were running because of the same gross need that has people slowing down to see a traffic accident.  We needed to make sure, we had to see, to count that there was only one tower, not two.

Running down the stairs, we were skipping steps and I… I tripped.  It's a very stupid girl thing to do, 'there was danger and then I fell'.  But fall I did-  I twisted my ankle.  Even more pathetic and girly.  But it hurt.  And I lost it.  Everything that was happening, my ankle, everyone I could possibly know possibly being in danger and I lost it.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK."  My language wasn't particularly original.  Jen came up to me, and she and Margaret helped me down the stairs.  Limping and crying.  Once we got outside, I sniffled up all the other sobs.

It was gone.  There was ash and smoke and dust and only one tower.  I knew then that the next one would fall- it was only a matter of time.

The Chelsea Piers people were setting up table, and handing out water to the people in suits who were walking up from downtown.  Now there is somebody doing something, I thought.  I blindly offered our office supplies and anything else that was needed to help.  It didn't feel like I was doing anything.  It felt piddly.

We went back upstairs.  Anita said we all should go.  We all should get home.  Margaret and Jen were the New Jerseyites with me, and I wasn't leaving without them.  Margaret wanted to stay a little while, see if she could help Anita at all.  I couldn't call anyone — our phones were dead –  we were trying to get through to people on cell phones and that only worked half the time.

We emptied the coffee that was made that morning.  There was a basket of vegetables on the counter –  Bob from Art had left them for anyone — they were from his garden.  It felt so kind and innocent, and so from before. I claimed the whole basket.

My mind was confused and I don't remember many details of conversation, I just remember my reaction to hearing the second tower fell.  I turned to Margaret and said "Please, can we go know?  Can we go back to New Jersey?  I want to leave."  Margaret was trying to get through to her husband on her cell- it had a higher success rate than anyone else's phone.

She got through and told him we were leaving, I was so thankful.  We grabbed Jen and left.  Each of us had our cell phones in our hands, but I wanted a radio.  We decided the ferry was the only way to get home, the tunnels had been closed and the Path wasn't running.  And since I had taken it for the first time just that morning, I knew where to go. Jen, Margaret, the basket of veggies and I joined the mass of people walking north.

There was a man leaning against the railing looking to the south.  He stopped one person, someone he knew, and asked if she had seen Annie.  That man was going to wait there and wait there until Annie came.

Another mass of people were gather around a car, who's doors were open and was blaring the radio.

"What can we do?" I asked.

"What?" Margaret said.

"What can we do?  I feel like we should be doing something.  Help somehow."

"I dunno.  Give blood?"

"Yeah."

"Get out of the way," said Jen. "The best thing we can do is get out of the way."

We passed a CNN van, with its antennas up and suddenly, my phone rang.

We must have been able to get a signal off of the antennas.

"Hello?"  I answered as we crossed the street.

"Katie?"

"Kelly?"

My good friend from high school.  She lived in New Orleans now.

"Where are you?" she asked, as a firetruck when whizzing by, sirens blaring.

"I'm trying to get the hell out of Manhattan." I said.  That might have been over dramatic.

"It sounds like a war zone down there."

I looked around.  People in general were calm — or in shock, but it manifested as calm — all walking north.  The sun was shining, the sky was cloudless.  Well, at least the way we were facing.

"People are pretty calm, just trying to leave.  What's going on down there?"

"I got into work and everyone is gathered around the TV.  I can't believe what happened.  Are you ok?  How close are you?"

"I was pretty far away actually, a couple dozen blocks north. I'm just trying to get back to New Jersey. Listen Kelly, I'm probably going to lose you soon, but I'm ok, I'll talk to you later?"

"Yeah, ok, I just wanted to make sure you're all right. I love you."

How strange.  She just said she loved me.  But somehow, it made sense.

"Bye.  I love you too."

I hung up.  And explained the call to Jen and Margaret.

We found the line for the ferry.  It was very very very very very long.  Very.  Jen and Margaret kept laughing at my basket of veggies.  At least there was some comic relief.  When we were standing still my ankle kept hurting.  A plane buzzed overhead and everyone grew silent and looked up.  It was a US fighter plane.  Making sure we were ok.  Forty minute, an hour later, we finally managed to get on a ferry.  Going back to New Jersey, everyone looked to see what was remaining.  Downtown.  All we could see was smoke.  I looked at my watch.  It was about noon.  I looked for the Statue of Liberty.  I barely caught a glimpse of her before she was out of sight.

I won't bore you with the details of my sprained ankle.  Or how it took us an hour to get from Weehawken, where we docked, to Hoboken, about 2 miles away.  I got home and my roommate Sarah was packing, driving to her mom's in Massachusetts.  She asked if I wanted to come, but I didn't.  I couldn't.  I called my mom, my brother in law, my sister was home by that time, my friends Vicki, Kelly, any one I could think of.  Because no one got away clean from this.  There isn't a soul in the nation who didn't feel this.  All of my friends got out of harm's way, but god knows I know someone who knows someone.  Everyone here has a friend of a friend who falls into that horrible category of missing.  And as the days wore on, missing became presumed dead.  The next couple of weeks words were tossed over my head.  Osama Bin Laden.  Taliban.  Afghanistan.  Al Qaeda.  Terrorism.  War.  I buried myself in books.  I read from Dawn till dawn again.  Crappy romance books mostly.  I couldn't make myself do anything else.  I just wanted to get away, to get my mind away from this all, because if I thought, if I paid attention, I would think about the six thousand people 'missing'. I would think about my brother and sister — both in the Army — going off to war.  And after that I don't think I could stand to think anymore.  So I read my books, and spoke to my family, but mostly I thought about my beautiful city, and just how much everything was going to change.

***

Postscript — 2011

My New York is the post 9/11 New York.  I lived in that beautiful city for another 8 years after that day, until new opportunities took me across the country.   I spent my twenties there – sold my first book there (and second and third).  I have a thousand nights spent too late at work, and another thousand spent meeting my friends for drinks.  New people came in to my life, new jobs, new apartments. Both of my siblings went to war.  Both came home.  There were first dates and first kisses on corners late at night.  There were disappointments and hard times and changes in technology.  My discman turned into an iPod, which turned in to an iTouch, which turned into an iPhone.

But a lot more than technology changed that day, for me, and for the rest of the world.  Wars and memorials, people lost, grief, hate, solidarity.  Fractures of how we might have been otherwise, spinning out across time.  But that's not what I've decided to take from that day.  Instead, I've decided to take this:

I was living on the upper east side of Manhattan when the Northeastern blackout of 2003 occurred – the entire Northeast was without power, including all of New York City.  Some just over night, but most for a good few days in the middle of a heat wave in summer.  I remember being amazed by how everyone had a sense of getting along, helping out and a feeling of "hey, we'll get through this."  Two years after the shock of 9/11, that camaraderie still existed.  No one wanted to riot – instead, on my 90-block walk home, we saw civilians helping police direct traffic, and people handing out bottles of water and barbequing the contents of their freezers and having parties in candlelight on their neighborhood blocks.

Hey, we'll get through this.  We got though the last ten years together, and we'll get through the decades to come.  Because you're you, I'm me, and together, we are united, kind, and strong.