I'll
never forget September 11th, 2001. Misha had flown in the night before,
and taken a cab from JFK to my office, which was on the corner of 57th
and 5th Avenue. We brought her luggage upstairs (she never traveled with
less than five bags) and spent the night in the vice president's
office, making a bed of cushions with the two sofas - way nicer than my
tiny room in the Queen's House with Shawn, Damon and Reilly. The next
morning, we woke up at 7AM and put the couches back together and around
8, before people started rolling in to the office, headed over to the
Deli a few blocks away for breakfast. We returned around 9AM and saw
masses of people gathered around the GE building above FAO Schwarz,
watching the two big screens broadcasting one of the World Trade Towers.
We inquired as to what was going on, only to learn a plane had hit one
of the towers. We could look straight down Fifth Avenue and see the
plumes of smoke rising into the air. Misha and I tried our cell phones
but there was no service. Then, we saw another explosion (we later
learned that was the second plane) --- and I had just been there a week
ago as my boss had a breakfast meeting at Windows on the World
and left his wallet so I had to go pick it up. After realizing the
gravity of the moment, Misha and I raced up to my 15th floor office
where I was met by the secretary Margarita, who said my mom had already
called several times and that the Pentagon had also been hit. It was
like being in a Roland Emmerich movie. After I called my mom and told
her I was okay and getting out of the city, I phoned Shawn who was still
sleeping, and uttered the weirdest words ever, "Dude, get up... New
York is under attack." As there were no cabs, subways or any public
transportation out of the city, we were faced with the long march to
Long Island City... and of course... as I mentioned, Misha had five
bags, including two relatively big suitcases... that I was going to have
to carry. Luckily we were on 57th street and it was a pretty straight
shot to the Queensboro Bridge... As I walked across that bridge, I felt
like the Israelites exodusing from Egypt. And I remember two New
Yorkers, random people I never saw again, came to my aid with Misha's
luggage, easing the burden. We all found humor in me having to carry
these bags, but it was quickly abated by the incomprehensible terror
surrounding us. All we could do was watch from the bridge as the towers
collapsed into dust clouds of ash and soot. The lives lost,
unfathomable. The reasons why this was happening could not be calculated
or understood to us. It took Misha and I two hours to make the four
mile trek to my house. And I remember when I got there, everyone was
standing in the living room, jugs upon jugs of water everywhere that
they'd run and purchased at the Pathmark, eyes glued to the TV - where
we first learned of the passengers who fought back on United 93 -- and
then Damon turned to me and said... this was Osama bin Laden. I didn't
know who that was at the time. The next thing I remember was the sound
of JET ENGINES thundering from outside and we all scattered out of the
house, as if WE were the next target. But it was just a pair of US
fighter jets patrolling the sky. We soon came to terms that the threat
was over and the aftermath and journey to understanding were upon us. A
dozen years later, I'm still trying to understand it. I don't think I
ever will.
