I don’t remember the interactions I had with my friends, floormates, or the boyfriend (Lys) of that day. It didn’t phase him – and it didn’t phase me – I was more upset at the needless loss of life and those left behind more than anything. New York wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t know anyone in that area.
I don’t remember the afternoon or much of the next day, outside of the lieutenant colonel of ROTC getting us together in a group at PT and telling us a) not to worrry and b) we were gonna git ’em.
I don’t remember the days/weeks that followed. I got on a plane that following March to Reagan National in DC with Lys to visit his mom in Virginia. Didn’t think twice about it. In 2004, on my 1st trans-Atlantic flight to Germany, I sat across the aisle from a group of Muslims in full garb. Again, I didn’t think anything of it. I remember looking over their shoulder to see the book they were reading was in Arabic; what looked like scribbles to me was their language.
This Sunday, our church marked the 10th anniversary with a service dedicated to that fateful morning. One of our church members was a fire fighter than responded that day and he talked about what happened. I went to church alone that morning and the air felt thick. I prefer to be alone on the heavy days. I sat in the back, on the floor, and tried not to tear up at certain points.
Half of guys I’ve, um, “kissed” have been firemen. What can I say? I have a thing for EMTs. (And I married a tertiary responder, ha!) I look at things differently now than I did back then; perhaps because I’ve experienced more of the world, got the inside track to a fire fighter’s thoughts, and spent a vast amount of time in an emergency room where tragedy occurs on a near daily basis.
I also do not remember this. I just found it, ironically enough, on 11 September. WTF?
So much has changed, yet so much hasn’t. Isn’t that the way 10 years always goes by?