It Wasn't An Accident, Was It?

She was standing at my office door, eyes wide, a fearful expression on her face. "This plane crashed into one of the towers in New York, " she began.

"I know," I interrupted. I heard about it on the news while I was getting ready for work this morning. "How awful."

"No," she said. "I mean, yes, it is awful, but I was talking about the other one."

"The other one?" I asked, confused.

"There's two planes," she said, her voice faltering. "And more, I think...I just saw your door open and thought you should know."

I didn't even know her. She was just one of the many students I encounted in my job at the university. But here she was standing at my doorway looking lost and scared. My sister, Faith, who at the time shared the cubicle next to mine walked out into the common area of our office.

"Where did you hear this?" she asked the girl.

"It's on the news. It's just-- I thought you should know."

Faith and I looked at one another, then without speaking, I followed Faith back into her cubicle and watched as she tried pulling CNN up in the internet. "There's nothing," she said, "the system must be overloaded right now." She swore. "I want to know what's going on."

So we walked up and down the hallway and poked our heads into classrooms. Lectures had ended abruptly; students and professors alike were using the recently installed smart-classrooms to access the local news media on television. There we saw the first images that were horrifying the nation. Faith and I had always been very close, but not especially touchy-feely-huggy. That day I grasped her hand and we stood like that for several minutes before leaving the classroom and walking back to our shared office.

I don't remember which of us asked the other, "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

Later we took a walk across campus. Everyone we saw looked the way we felt-numb. Strangers were comforting one another. People wept openly. One student walked toward us with purpose.

"I'm giving blood," she said. "I'm going right now. A lot of us are. You should come if you want."

Faith smiled, "It's a really good idea," she said.

"It's the only thing I know what to do," said the girl.

So Faith and I went back to the office and got the rest of the afternoon off. Our supervisor thought it was a good idea, and anyway she said, "no one is going to get any work done today. It's too much."

When Faith and I arrived at Carter Bloodcare, the line to give literally stretched around the block. They were actually sending people away, asking us to come back later. To please really come back because our blood would be needed. We promised we would.

Later we sat talking everything over. Neither of us knew anyone in New York. Neither of us lost anyone we loved. Neither of us had ever even visited New York. We'd wanted to. It was on a long list of places we-must-see. We just hadn't yet. Most importanly, we were together-sisters and best friends and we still had time. So why, we wondered, did it hurt so much? We felt guilty, almost, for hurting when the media bombarded us with images of Americans who'd truly lost everything.

Today, five years later, I remember those images and feelings with perfect clarity. I remember getting a phone call from my mother, a rare occurrence as she tends to prefer emailing. She just wanted Faith and I to know that she loved us. I think a lot of families took 9/11 as an excuse to set aside conflicts and old relationship barriers and say words they'd been wanting to say for years. I remember watching the news every single night, reading Time and Newsweek, just trying to make sense out of something so horrible. I remember walking on campus with my sister and seeing an all-American blonde WASP type screaming with hatred at a Muslim woman wearing traditional veils. I remember Faith offering the Muslim woman quiet words of comfort after the enraged woman stormed off. I remember the phone call I received from J cancelling play rehearsal that day. I was playing Dunyasha in Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard. It was just as well that it was cancelled because my chosen profession suddenly seemed incredibly trivial, petty, and self-absorbed. Who gives a crap, really? I thought. I remember watching the news and seeing that much of the blood that had been collected wouldn't be needed after all. It made me sick to my stomach. I remember feeling, for the first time in my life, hatred and a desire for revenge--another sickening feeling. But I wanted it. I wanted justice for all those people who lost mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters.

I don't believe justice has been served. That's for another post, I suppose.

Anyway. I just wanted to say that I remember.