I got out of the shower to hear that a plane had crashed into one of the twin towers. I thought, what a horrible accident. Alex got back from the store and I told him that this was a reminder to live life when you can and not put things off. We had almost gone to the towers a couple of weeks earlier, but got tired, so we thought we'd do it later…Then, the other plane crashed. We didn't have a TV, so we listened to the guys on the radio try to describe it and get the eye witness call-ins. We wondered why people weren't calling it a bombing of some sort. One plane could be an accident, two planes in two towers is on purpose. Alex wondered how close someone could get to the accident.

I was late for work so I got my stuff together and I left for the train. At the station, the train I take (B) was sitting in the tunnel before the platform. We all waited. Another train passed on the outside line, and then the B came forward. This happens all the time. I got on and sat down for the usually ten minute ride. Somewhere between my stop and the next, the train stopped again. I eavesdropped on three people sitting across from me talking about the crashes and other things. I got my journal out and wrote. The train passed us and we all thought we'd get going again…we didn't. One of the three tried his radio… nothing. Another guy must have overheard, as a couple of minutes later he said he could get some reception on his radio. The south tower had collapsed. We didn't think he was serious. Really? He updated us… there were explosions at the Pentagon, and near the Supreme Court… they stopped all air travel in the US!… They've shut down the trains. They've shut down the trains?! We're on the trains! We all talked and worried and chit chatted. A voice came over the loud speaker telling us they were clearing out the 59^th St. station (the next on our line) so they didn't know what we'd be doing. They'd let us know. We couldn't go back, as there was another train behind us. After being down there for about 45 minutes, the train moved. It went to 59^th St, and they told us to all get out.

I didn't talk to them much, but I don't think I'll soon forget the two girls and two guys that I spoke with and "went through" the radio up dates with. Or even the old man next to me, who said, "I guess I won't make my 10:00 meeting."… It was 10:05.

As we poured out from the subway into Lincoln Square, it was surreal. People everywhere, not knowing where to go or what to do. I was one of them. Should I walk to work? It was only my second day. I didn't have their number with me, so I couldn't call to ask. The cell phone wasn't working and there were huge lines at the pay phones. I wondered which street to walk on. Home was closer than work, so I'd go there and call. I went up Columbus. I saw people stunned listening to radios. A mother weeping, holding her little girl. I hurried the 17 blocks home as fast as I could because I knew Alex would go stir crazy listening to the radio. And hadn't he said, "I wonder how close you could get"? I kept trying the cell phones and got nothing. I got an open pay phone, and everything was busy circuits. I got home to a note from Alex, "heading off to see what [he] could see. I called work, and the receptionist said there was no one there, and don't come in. Then the phone didn't work. I tried the cell again. I got through to Melissa and Mom. They were relieved to hear from me as they had already gotten calls wondering if we were ok. I broke down in tears because I didn't know where Alex was. I didn't know if he had left right after me, and could've been down there when the second tower fell and gotten hit by debris… (The mind reels at a time like this) I didn't know. Some friends got through on the phone to see if we were ok. I said yes, but my stomach lurched. I didn't really know. We were ok this morning.

I had my sister call Alex's parents on her other line so they wouldn't worry. I left messages on Alex's cell, a phone that rarely works anyway. After talking to Mom and Mel for a while, I had to get out of the apartment. I didn't know where to go so I went to an Irish bar we've been to a few times. I thought if Alex hadn't gone downtown, he might have gone there. A community we sort of know, and it has TVs. He wasn't there. My heart sank. I knew he'd gone downtown. But then, I really knew that when I saw that the video camera was gone.

I was going to leave, but the TVs were pumping image after image out to the people. I didn't really want to go home so I got a soda, took a seat, and pulled out my journal. For the next couple hours, I wrote and watched TV. Seeing the cameramen running away from the scene, with the camera backwards was weird. You know it's really bad when they do that. There was another girl there with her journal so we talked for a bit. I finally got a message from Alex saying he was on his way home. Whew! I knew it would take a while so I stayed for a bit. When I went home it was still empty.

Finally Alex got home and we relayed our tales to each other. I watched his video and saw photos. We went to get dinner and it was very eerie. The streets were almost empty. Most of the stores and restaurants were closed. The restaurants that were open could only take cash. After dinner we went to another restaurant/bar, so Alex could see what actually happened. My brain was full and I didn't want to see anymore, but I couldn't stop watching.

Finally we went home and tried to sleep. I felt a little disjointed form the whole thing. I felt like I could've been in LA watching it on TV, but then no. I'm glad I'm here. It's a little more real. I found out that I had missed Alex by minutes, and if I'd gone home up CPW, I might have seen him, and we could've gone down there together. But that's not how it happened. And it's amazing how different our experiences were.

I would still like to go downtown & see what I can see, just to make it more real. I have been searching for words to describe how I feel but not very successfully. But I read an article by the theater reviewer in the New York Times, Bruce Weber, that says what’s in my heart quite well. So please indulge me as I quote him extensively:

"..But the persistent and deepening throb of pain, I think, is caused by something beyond helplessness. ... I have never felt smaller or more insignificant than I have this week and partly this is a terrible irony because I’m among the lucky. As far as I know, I’ve lost no one close to me. I’ve lost no property. Whatever images there are to haunt me from the tragedy are the ones that haunt millions who watch television and read the newspaper. Even my personal experience of the calamity is one I shared with a crowd…. I have, in other words, no private terror or individual anguish, the emotional currency of the moment. And though this will sound selfish or chilly or less than magnanimous, I resent having no purchase on sympathy. But I understand. There’s only so much sympathy to go around; we’re all doing triage with our available feelings.

At the same time, unless you are in certain professions, it turns out there is almost nothing to be done to lend a hand, aside from donating blood… or money. The business of reassuring out-of-town friends and loved ones of one’s own safety doesn’t take much time or energy. Compulsively watching television does. The inability to do much more than keep oneself informed is a terrible frustration. And it is cruelly isolating…

I commend Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani’s declaration that New Yorkers should return to their normal lives, go to restaurants and stores, resume their jobs, in order to keep the economy and the spirit of the city afloat and to send a message of our enduring hardiness to those who would destroy us.

But part of me wants to respond, respectfully: That’s easy for you to say. You have a pertinent life to lead. What about those of us who feel as if we’ve been robbed of ourselves, who’ve had no choice but to wait until this subsides and the world returns to a semblance of something we recognize, something that allows us to go on with our lives without dismissing them?

It seems to me that what terrorists stole from even the most fortunate of New Yorkers on Tuesday may not have been our lives but fragments of them – whole unrecoverable days, an unspecified number of them in which we simply believe we don’t matter. What can we do in the meantime to pretend otherwise?…"

Peace,

Tiffany