9/11: A Personal Rememberance

[Penndems]

Tuesday morning, September 11th, 2001. A bright, glorious day. Temps in the low 70s.

At the time, we were living in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, outside of Harrisburg. My husband and I had only been married for four months. On August 2nd, I was operated on for an emergency hysterectomy. The ensuing days had been spent on self-nurturing and recuperating, with a little help from Hubby.

On 9/11, he got up around 4:30 a.m. to get ready for a business trip to Philadelphia. A colleague would be traveling to Philly with him in order to brief their satellite office on new procedures for processing travel vouchers and expenditures.

In my semiconscious state, I hear a rush of water from the showerhead. The buzz of the electric razor. Opening and closing of the closet door, and his sock and underwear drawers.

A few moments go by, and I feel a kiss on my cheek.

“Honey, I’m leaving. You look so cozy curled up in bed.”

I laugh.

“What time do you think you’ll be home?

“Not sure, probably around five o’clock or so.”

“O.K., call me if you can. Have a good day, Honey.”

“You, too. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Y’all be careful on the Turnpike.”

I glance over at the illuminated time on our LCD alarm clock: 5:14 a.m. Rolling over, I fall back to sleep.
*************************************************************************
Tuesday morning, 8:17 a.m.

I awaken, make up the bed, walk down the steps to the first floor of our house. Went into the living room, picked up the remote and turned on CNN. Paula Zahn’s daytime show, “American Morning”, is debuting at 9:00. Walking into the kitchen, I grab a cup of coffee that began percolating at 7:30, and a banana nut muffin we bought at the local grocery store on Sunday. Making my way back to the living room, still in my pajamas, I sit on the sofa with my little feast in front of me on the coffee table, watching CNN.

Approximately 8:48 a.m., CNN reports that a twin-engine plane has hit the World Trade Center.

Oh my God, what is a plane doing flying in protected air space? Did the pilot have a heart attack? How did he get so far off course? Oh my God!

And then the second jet hit, and I go into shock.

An out-of-body experience. All sense of time escapes me. I can hear and feel, but I can’t move and I can’t comprehend what’s happening. My eyes won’t rivet from the horror on the television screen. Everything from here on out is remembered in fragments. A single thought: Dear God, we’re under attack.

My father works at an architectural firm in Northwest D.C. One of my brothers is a maintenance supervisor at a condo complex on Wisconsin Avenue. Another is the executive chef at Hogate’s Restaurant in Southwest. I’ve got to get to them, but I can’t drive down, the roads south are closed off. Are they on their way home?

CNN says that a jet has hit the Pentagon, and I hear myself scream. Dear God! And then, around 10:30 a.m. or so, reports that a bomb has exploded outside the State Department.

The State Department? Jesus Christ! My colleagues and friends . . .I’ve got to call. . .

Feeling my way over to the telephone, I call the number so familiar to me after almost fifteen years of tenure at State: Area Code 202, 647-4000. The operator answers, and I asked for the office of my oldest and dearest friend. She answers.

I reply: “It’s me.”

“Hey, I was just thinking about you! How are you doing? How are you feeling? Hey, my boss just came running in, and he says the Pentagon is on fire!”

Modulating my voice in a calm manner, I respond: “Get your purse and grab your car keys. Walk quickly to the stairs down the hall from you. Tell everyone you see to get the hell out of the building NOW. A plane hit the Pentagon. This country is under attack.”

“What!? Oh, my dear God!”

“I mean it. Hang up, and get the hell out . Call me when you get home, so I’ll know you got there O.K.”

“O.K., I will.” She hangs up.

My fingers feel for the telephone receiver buttons. I need to call my family. My stepmother answers.

“It’s me. Are you all right?”

She sighs. “I’m O.K., how are you?”

“I’m in shock. Marvin’s in Philadelphia. I haven’t heard from him, and I’m alone in the house, don’t know anyone around here.”

“I’m here for you. Just got off the phone with your brothers, they’re on their way home, but traffic is bumper-to-bumper.” Silence. “CBS is reporting that a plane went down in Pennsylvania.”

Pennsylvania? Where in Pennsylvania?

“They haven’t said. Where are you?”

A gasp. “In south Central Pennsylvania, near Harrisburg.” Jesus, when will this end?

“I’m gonna try to call your dad again, and I’ll call you right back”.

“O.K., thanks. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Called my mother. She’s crying, I’m crying. “I’ll be all right”, she says. “No Mama, you won’t. None of us will.”

What feels like an eternity passes. My eyes are glued to the television screen. Can’t watch, can’t look away. World Trade Centers collapse. I see, but I don’t hear the running commentary. Explosion at the Capitol. Evacuations at Justice, Treasury.

The phone rings. It’s my stepmother. “I just got off the phone with Dad, and he says he’s gonna wait until the traffic lightens up!” HUH?! My father was in his D.C.-area native frame of mind.

“What is his number, so that I can call him? He CAN’T wait!”

“I told him that, but he says he can’t leave yet, there’s too many cars on the road.”

“He needs to leave NOW. Mayor Williams has declared a state of emergency. What’s his number?”

She relates it to me, I call, he answers.

“Dad, for God’s sake, what the hell are you doing still at work? You need to get out now!”

“What, no ‘Hello Dad, you need to get the hell out?’” My wonderful father, keeping his perspective and humor even during a crisis.

“Dad, Mayor Williams has declared a state of emergency. He’s called out the National Guard. Please go home now, don’t wait. Dad, there’s a plane down here in Pennsylvania, and I’m at home by myself. Marvin went to Philly for a staff briefing this morning.”

He senses the anguish in my voice. “Do you want to come home?”

“Can’t Dad, Route 15 South is closed. Marvin’s coming home soon.”

After considerable coaxing, Dad agrees to leave. He’ll call when he gets home.

Hours pass. Phone call back and forth, between myself in Pennsylvania and my family and friends in the D.C. area. Yes, we made it home in one piece, but traffic is a mess. I’m crying again, but I can’t cry. Try to stay focused and calm – but I can’t . . . can’t think.. CNN is reporting terrorist acts all over the country. Flights grounded all over the country, being diverted to Canada.

Riviting my eyes away from the set to the living room window. It’s a beautiful sunny day, the kind of day my neighbors are out walking their dogs, jogging, walking. But not today. There’s no sign of life outside, only a stiff breeze blowing throw the tree on our front lawn.

From my fog, I hear the sound of the front door slamming. Footsteps running closer to me. I look up – it’s my husband. He face says it all, he walks closer to me, and we throw our arms around each other in a rigid embrace. “I’m here . . . I’m here."

We look down at the coffee table. A cigarette-filled ashtray, a cold mug of coffee . . . and a partially-eaten banana nut muffin . . . and I’m still in my pajamas.

This day will stay with us until we die.