It's a story I've told at least a hundred times.
I never wrote about it. It's one of those "I'm from NY and lived in NYC too long and we have to be too damn cool for shit and talking about it makes us seem less tough" things.
It's also that I was literally numb to it for many years, didn't lose anyone close to me, and felt therefore that my own version of the events of the day wasn't important and deserved to take a second seat to those who "really" encountered tragedy.
But as the theme in my life of burying things I don't deem worthy enough to share has just about run out of gas, it's time to share the story.
It was a gorgeous Tuesday Indian summer morning as I headed out to my English class. As I turned right from Clinton onto Delancey to catch the F train, I saw what my 20-year-old, sheltered Long Island girl brain could only interpret as a wrecking ball hitting a building in the skyline. I wondered what building they were taking out downtown, shrugged, and trotted down the subway stairs.
I made it it to my English class in a windowless room in a building in union square that NYU was basically leasing for the semester - they had run out of space for classes.
Someone mentioned that they heard something really bad happened at the trade center, and that maybe we should turn on the tv in the classroom, but the professor, who presumably thought it was another college kid trying to get out of having class, carried on with the lesson plan.
This was 2001, and the most advanced cell phone technology we rocked was the startac...maybe even the razr. Point being, there was no one checking their breaking news alerts, Twitter and Facebook didn't exist, and even if they did, all the phone lines were out anyway.
By the time class let out, and we got downstairs and outside, we saw a mass exodus of the slowest walking New Yorkers I'd ever seen silently streaming uptown. No one was crying or screaming. No one was even speaking. They were just staring straight ahead, somber, walking.
They were dressed in business suits, covered in soot, with chunks of debris on their shoulders. It looked like they had a run in with basement drop-ceiling tiles. And the stench of burning was everywhere.
My next class was in Washington square, 10 blocks south, and I knew there was no way in hell I was going against the march uptown - this was truly one of those "follow the crowd" moments. And I actually remember hearing the nerdiest words come out of my mouth as I asked my professor, "do you think I'll get in trouble for not going to my next class?" Incidentally, she told me she didn't know. I had already made up my mind.
I knew it was a huge deal when my cell phone didn't work and I had to wait on line to use a pay phone.
There was this doe eyed freshman from Boston that had walked out of my class with me and, standing outside amongst the odd parade, looked at me like I was her only solution. I couldn't even tell you her name right now if you asked me, but I remember clearly seeing the pure panic in her eyes, taking her by the hand, and telling her she was coming with me.
I didn't break down until I heard Desiree's voice on the other end of the phone. She was at her office in Long Island, and the thought that the person I wanted to see the most was so far away during a tragedy washed over me. Something about hearing her voice and telling each other I love you completely broke me.
We were together almost a year at this point, and just in case I didn't already know that Desiree Diorio was the one, I knew it for sure in that moment.
But something about feeling responsible for someone else always sets me straight and brings out my natural leader.
And I was getting this freshman girl home safe.
For the next 8 hours or so, Freshman-from-Boston and I made our way uptown, walked over the 59th street bridge, and got on an outbound LIRR train as far as it would go, where my parents came to pick us up.
We passed some of the craziest shit in our journey - people just sitting at a bar like nothing had happened, in silence. Bartenders and servers were still going about their day, and thank God for them - because there is no day that people in NYC needed a stiff drink more than that day.
For the next few days we sat at my parents house, Desiree, our friend Angela, freshman-from-Boston, and my parents, just staring at the tv in complete awe - taking in all that happened, the stories, the love and support that came from community everywhere.
The anger came later, but for a few days, in the wake of this epic tragedy, in the midst of all the devastation, there was togetherness. Love. Hope. People helping one another.
If you looked hard enough, you could find the beauty.
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