Remembering 9/11
The 25th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks and reactions brings back memories of that surreal day.
Some of those experiences were captured in a short story I wrote a few years later, "Freedom," which was first serialized in a newsletter (Coloquio), later read on NPR (WYPR's The Signal), and then published in abridged form in Syndic Literary Journal. The story became one of the sections of my novel in stories, Tracks.
The full story is about 30 pages, far too long for a blog post or social media share. But I'm inclined to share an exerpt today, because it captures how it felt to be at work on what started as an ordinary day and ended like everything had changed.
Here is an excerpt from "Freedom," a story featured in Tracks: A Novel in Stories.
For Joe, it took time for the devastation of that awful day to seep in.
He sat at his computer, entering figures into a database at the office where he
temped. Marge, the chatty woman in the cube next to his, had a habit of reading
the hot Internet headlines out loud. She was the office herald, alleviating Joe
of the need to read the news himself. On this particular morning, she stood up
to bellow out a big one. “My Lord! An airplane’s just hit the World Trade
Center in New York!”
Joe finished the set of figures he was keying in before pausing to let
the news register. “Wow, that’s pretty bad.” It was bad news in the way that a
lot of news was bad: an airplane has been hijacked or has crashed; young
children have been taken hostage and are being killed; several teenagers in a
rural town have been murdered in another school shooting; a weather disaster
has taken countless lives; an ethnic cleansing campaign has been reported in
Africa or some far off country no one pays any attention to. Joe sighed and
went back to his work.
Before he’d filled his screen, Marge was shuffling up and down the
cubicle aisles announcing that a second plane had collided with the other
tower. Then he knew it was not just more bad news, not just another terrible
accident. Hysteria broke out in the office when the Pentagon was struck.
Eventually, everyone was sent home early because no one knew how this day would
end.
On the car radio, as a fourth plane crashed in Pennsylvania, the
devastation sounded even worse. But when he got home and saw his mom—stunned—on
the floor in front of the television, he fixed his eyes on the screen’s images
for the first time and saw the unimaginable for himself: people jumping from
the high, flaming windows, the towers crumbling into rubbish heaps of flesh,
stone and glass. The more he heard, the more he saw, the worse it seemed. And
for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was not ashamed of the
tears that streamed down his face.
Wu called to offer his condolences. “Everyone here in China thinks this
is terrible. Almost like it happened to us. Hard to believe. We are with you,
my friend.”
Joe called Bi’nh in Baltimore.
“It’s terrible, Joe!” she cried. “I mean, I’m okay, don’t worry. But it’s
terrible! It’s not far, you know, the Pentagon, only an hour away. Right in my
backyard! And the towers! God, Joe, I wish you were here! What’s this world
coming to? Where’s it going?”
Joe didn’t know where the world was headed, but he knew where he was going. His
slightly-over-minimum-wage assignment through the temp service wasn’t important
to him; Bi’nh was. He took a train the very next day from Chicago to Baltimore.
He wasn’t about to fly if he didn’t have to. He spent a week with her, crying
with her, holding her, his lips pressed against the part in her silky black
hair as she nestled against his chest.
In the hours before his train was to take him back home to Chicago, Bi’nh
held him in the privacy of her apartment. “Thanks so much for coming.” She was
the first person to offer a genuinely happy smile in days, and it was a welcome
sight. “I love you, Joe.”
He kissed her deeply, hugged her tightly, her golden cheek against his
chest. For a long time they stood there, interlocked. Already he could taste
the pain of missing her. “I love you too, Bi’nh.”
Joe’s original decision had been to quit college only temporarily after
getting his two-year degree. Then he would work for a year or two, make a
little money, and go back to finish up his bachelor’s degree. But that all
seemed insignificant as he held Bi’nh in the wake of September 11.

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