A few minutes ago I started up a new word document and started writing... Well, at least tried to start writing. Something started to flow, and so I went with it. I just let myself begin writing, but something disturbed me about the writing. This is how far I got...

"Subsequent to the horror of seeing someone’s face like that when you realize you are the one responsible, is knowing that there is nothing you can do to change it.

I was there. I saw it happen. And I know there’s no going back.

I ran a shop along East 53rd for four years. First year was rough, but bearable. We were able to make rent. Later it became easier as we started to have a regular clientele. This is what happens in New York. People get to know you, and if they like your service, they come back and they bring their friends. They brought their friends, and more friends. This was all before 9-11. Before the world went black.

I was too far uptown to know what was going down. 7AM we open, so 6 o’clock I’m there. Everything was prepping and the radio was on as always. It makes the mornings go by a little faster. George stopped by as he always does when we unlock the doors. Coffee, cream, no sugar. Then comes the woman from across the street. Coffee, half and half, three sugars and a bagel, toasted, no butter. The regulars start pouring as the trains pulls into the station every morning. I know when some of my customers are in a rush if the 8:45 train has no arrived. They like us. They know we understand.

But that day, all the trains stopped. Nobody was coming out of the station. The radio wasn’t playing music, only talking about a plane that hit the trade center. My Douglas worked there. My baby. He was only there one month working on the fifteenth floor for a small company. He was so happy he got the job telling me “Ma, in a few years you’ll never have to work again.” It was so sweet of him."

I forced myself to stop writing, and then suddenly I began to cry. I had to force myself to get off that stream because I knew it was something I did not want to touch. I lived 9-11 in New York. At the time I was working in Midtown, far from the incident, but I will never, ever forget the smell of death in the air. It smelled sweet and smokey. The thought still bothers me. A friend of mine died that day, and it still is very unsettling to me.

It's not something I want to relive.

Sorry, you do not have permission to comment.

If you are a member, try logging in again or accessing this page here.