I'd been living in Brooklyn since April of 2001. I was still getting used to the city after being away for so long, and I'd NEVER been used to lower Manhattan. The street layout never made any sense to me. And since that day, I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
I got off the train at 9:03 AM, as I was running a little late for work that day. I came up out of the Franklin Street Station on the 1/9 line, and saw lots of people on the sidewalk, looking up and pointing. I looked up.
“Well. This will be an interesting day.” I plugged into my radio to find out what was going on as I walked three blocks to work.
A month previous, the production supervisor had left for greener pastures. We needed all the help we could get. So I put in a good word for Carlos. He used to be a messenger in the financial district, running back and forth between Wall Street and Jersey City via the PATH train. When I got to work, he was there holding down the fort. Everyone was making phone calls. People walked in off the street to use the phones.
I called my parents house upstate and left a message; mom was out walking Tasha, our adorable black lab.
"Hey, Mom, you might have heard something about the WTC blowing up or something. I'm 15 blocks away from it, so I'm fine. I'll check in later. Love you."
Then she called my dad at work; he was out of the building at the time, so he was out of the loop. When he got back, he saw the news. One of the secretaries said, “Some lady called and said that ‘Jeff was okay,’ whatever that means.” My dad, who was already a wreck from his father dying a few weeks previous, was relieved.
After the north tower fell, we locked up the store and walked uptown. We ran into one of Lynne’s (and mine) freelance clients, and walked with them for a little while until they found their friends house. Carlos & I were worried about Bowie. He worked on the floor of the stock exchange. But there wasn’t much we could do. After I had worn a hole through the cuff of my left pant leg, we entered SVA’s main building at 23rd street. We sat in the cafeteria, listening to the radio, eating junk food, trying to make sense of what was going on, trying to put together a narrative for the events. After all, that's what Cartoonists do: construct a sensible story. After a while, we needed some real food. I offered to buy Carlos lunch; I had a hunch that the “last hired-first fired” rule was going to happen (and it did). But Carlos told me, “If you hadn’t got me that job, I’d be goo right now. I’m buying you lunch.” As the minutes passed, we called just about everyone we knew. It was a relief to hear everyone’s voice. Lynne, who had immediate Internet access, kept everyone else in our Cartoonists community updated on who has checked in and was okay.
By three o’clock, the subways had resumed service. We sat on the R, shell shocked just like everyone else. I got home and sat with my roommates, just trying to make sense of everything. Every so often, I’d call Bowie’s house and leave a message. By 7:30, I went up to my roof. The pillar of smoke extended from the pit all the way up, over and behind Brooklyn. I was bending over backwards, Matrix-style, trying to take it all in. The smell of the barbecue was setting in. And I was ready to give up on ever hearing Bowie’s voice again.
Naturally, that’s when my caller ID lit up with his name. He had walked from Wall Street to 125th street. There, he found one of his friends, who gave him a ride home to the Bronx. After he called his mom in St. Croix, he called me. The 25+ times I called him had registered on his caller ID, so he could tell I was freaking out. The next couple days, Bowie couldn’t walk; the blisters on his feet were numerous and excruciating.
Everyone I knew was okay, but not everyone was untouched. Chris’ dad knew two people that died.
I didn’t know it at the time, but one of Francis’ friends, Evan Forsch, was on the 89th floor of the north tower. A few minutes after the second plane hit, his floor was being evacuated. He and his co-workers made it out moments before it collapsed. Evan, a fellow Cartoonist (go figure), wrote a short story about his day called “Down and Out” for the 9-11: Emergency Relief comic, from Alternative Comics.
No comments:
Post a Comment