Memories of 9/11

It's dawn, the morning after the 7 year anniversary of that incomprehensible September 11. Crickets in the backyard are chirping loudly, sounding like the constant buzz of an alarm clock that goes unheeded. Yesterday on my way to the office I stopped by the site for the first ringing of the bell for the moment of silence when the first plane hit. This is the first year tears did not fall, and it almost seems like just another day. The clothes I was wearing that day are still in a plastic bag in my drawer. Magazines chronicling the horrible events are in my closet, and I pull them out every year and am reminded of the horror that humans are capable of.  I was lucky. No one I knew had died, and I had been below ground when the first tower collapsed. It was chaos in the Fulton Street subway that morning. No trains were coming. What was coming from the tunnel was a dust cloud that caused everyone to panic. Was it poison gas, such as the one that had been released in a Japanese subway not too long ago? People cried, screamed and ran. Shoes and books were left behind. Emergency escape doors were locked. Floor to ceiling exit turnstiles meant to hold one person were crammed by three. I honestly thought I would be a goner, either by being crushed or inhaling a toxic gas. When I finally emerged from the subway, the landscape was surreal. It looked like a blizzard had occurred. Everything was covered with whitish gray ash, and it was difficult to see. I am asthmatic and didn't have an inhaler, so I started to wander around crying, looking for anyone else. I saw a couple of people covered with ash. I asked one woman what had happened, and she said a tower had collapsed. It was completely gone. I found this impossible to believe. I wandered around looking for more signs of life and saw ghost-like appearances up ahead - people obscured by whiteness so thick I could barely see my hand in front of my face. I had no idea what to do but could hear people saying they were going to cross the Brooklyn Bridge to escape the mayhem. I cried and cried and felt so lost as I made my way toward the Bridge entrance, holding my scarf over my nose and mouth. In the depths of despair, I miraculously heard someone calling my name and a coworker appeared. What were the chances? Jeff tried to get me to calm me down to stop crying. We began the walk over the bridge. It was so hot and sunny - no shade anywhere. There were hundreds of other people crossing too. Some were dangerously scaling the outside of the bridge, perhaps taking advantage of their adventuresome spirits. Any car on the bridge could not go any faster than people were walking. There was simply no room anywhere. It was bumper to bumper people. About a third of the way over there was a loud rumble. I turned in time to see the second tower collapsing into itself, followed by another cloud of white. People panicked and began to run. Someone shouted that the bridge was going to go down next. That scene occurred a few times before we finally reached the Brooklyn side of the bridge.