September 11, 2001 to September 11, 2026

I've been pondering whether to post about this - this year. I mean, by this point, we've all grown tired of the stories, poems, and musings on that historic day. But it's been in the news, in my work emails this morning, and outside my window, I could see the long lone blue light shooting upwards into the night sky. On the way to work this morning - firefighters were in full gear, male and female, on the platform, along with three Chiefs in full uniform, inclusive of medals. And, this is the first time in very long time that I've been in the Financial District on this day. Last year, I managed to somehow avoid it.

Everyone has a story about this date, even those too young to clearly remember it. And, we've all grown weary of the telling. My mother went to a play today about a firefighter who was there. And there's a musical about it called Come From Away - about people stranded in Newfoundland - when their plane was forced to land there.

But if you all don't mind? I'd like to share mine. It's not a very large story. I wasn't a hero. I didn't really do anything at all. But it is a story. And sometimes telling a story - is a way of exorcising it. Or just seeing it from another perspective.

I'm not sure I've ever told all of it before now. I've told others stories, ones others have told me, over and over again until they've become ingrained in my memory.

Anyhow...I kind of need to set up that day, what came before it - so you can understand how drastically it upturned my life. Even if it wasn't so obvious at the time. It was, what I'd like to call, a conflagration of events - all happening at the same time.

In 2001, my life was going unexpectedly well for the most part. (I had a trip planned to Thailand for my birthday the very next year, and in July just two months prior - I'd gone to Portland and had a blast with friends I'd met on a Turkey sailing trip, and a literary agent was interested in my book. I was fearless. The world was safe. I finally felt comfortable in my own skin and was no longer suffering from imposter syndrome. This was up until roughly the end of August, when I hit a bit of a snafu, upon discovering that my boss with the assistance of a few management level colleagues and my associate was gaslighting me. I remember thinking how absurd it all was. So absurd, I wasn't quite sure I believed it. I'd not done anything to them, and was actually helping them. (He wasn't doing a very good job of it? Since I had non-management level friends whom he didn't know about and who weren't in on it with him. And they managed to persuade my associate, who had revealed it to them, to tell me truth. She (Janet) told me the truth on August 26, 2001. I immediately got a job interview with Barnes and Nobel on September 19, 2001.

The night of September 10, a friend and I had gone to a lovely concert hosted by a Lutheran Church in Hells Kitchen - where a bunch of Broadway singers sang a variety of hymns to bless the Broadway Season. That night, on the train ride home, we made plans to get tickets to a Peter Gabriel concert being held at the end of September at the World Trade Center. They were hosting a fall festival, and Peter Gabriel would be performing there. I volunteered to get tickets before work the next day at the World Trade Center.

My work hours were roughly 8:00 am to 4:00pm. I was planning on going early, and getting tickets then just getting to work late, around 9. I don't quite remember why I decided not to get tickets at the World Trade Center that morning and chose instead to get them on the way home from work? In any event, it was a split second decision, one I made on my way out the door.

To say it was a beautiful day is an understatement? It was the best weather ever. Perfect weather. Clear blue pristine sky. Not a cloud in it. It was cool but not too cool. Warm but not too warm. Perfect.

I can still remember what I was wearing that day. It's the oddest thing. I was wearing blue cotton/rayon blend pants, nice blue flats that matched them, ankle length hose, a white dress shirt with a lace flower over the chest, and a light weight baby's breath blue silk blazer. You know that light cornflower blue? Earrings. And a black satchel swung over one shoulder. The flats, were thin soled. And not something you can walk long distances in. Also a watch. (Not a smart watch - they didn't exist any more than smartphones existed.) I remember because I spent the entire day worrying about having to sleep in them. They were not clothes that I wanted to sleep in. Also there was no way I could walk more than a mile in those shoes.

I worked in the Bronx - on a hill just a few blocks from Yankee Stadium, overlooking the Hudson. The rooftop had a wooden deck nestled between two other buildings, one of which had a green light house on top of it. From the deck you could see the Hudson, and Manhattan with its fancy seemingly invulnerable skyscrapers directly south of it. Not clearly, but well enough. My brother lived in Chelsea and worked in Soho. My parents were traveling around Greece and not reachable. My grandmother, who was still alive at that point, lived in Liberty, Missouri.

Around 8:30 am or thereabouts, Janet, called me.
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Thank you for reading.