What it means to me...

Every September 11th I remember exactly what that day was like for me.

So there I was. 21 years old. Having the absolute time of my life during this rite of passage. The countdown to NYC had begun. Only a week left! I wake up on September 11th to the phone ringing all too early in the morning...

...“Are you watching T.V.? Something is going on in New York.” There is an icy panic to her voice that let’s me know I didn’t forget something while I was closing the shop last night.I do not get dressed. I do not turn on the T.V. I just get up and drive to the shop in a mental fog. I do not have to look first. I have known Judy long enough to know that this must be huge. As I pull into the parking lot, our coffee shop has many more cars there than usual. You’d think we would be busy being that we were the only shop for miles, but we have never once advertised and we don’t even have a sign. You wouldn’t believe how many people try to order fried rice from me or how often I hear “what a lousy Chinese menu I have”. We’re hooked on to a Chinese restaurant whose tower blew down some time ago and took our only sign with it. It actually made the news in our little community. I had to be on TV with no makeup, soaking wet hair, and getting interviewed by a close-talker.

I walk in and see the TV on. There are three incidents that constitute turning on the television at the shop: 1. I’m working late and I can watch the Simpsons in peace. 2. Judy is working a 12 hour day and doesn’t want to miss her soaps. 3. National emergencies. This was not a soap opera day. People are just standing there like zombies watching our circa 1970 television. No one is speaking. Just staring. Then we watch the second plane hit live on national television.“Jesus Christ! What the hell is going on?” I yell. No one responds.

That is how I spend that entire day. Judy and me staring at the television in silent awe. The planes crashing, the people jumping, and the towers falling all right before everyone’s eyes. No sparing the weak. Everyone is able to watch. Talk about traumatizing. Then it hits me. Oh my God, my sister is going to die before I ever get to see her again. I haven’t even spoken to her since I was like 10 years old. Now I’m never even going to get the chance to tell her that I’ve always loved her. I’ll never get to tell her how much I looked up to her beauty. How I always was so intimidated by her grace. I’ll never get to explain myself as to why I wouldn’t come see her for the family weekends when she was in college. It has nothing to do with my mother being overprotective. I was an eight year old hermit. I never meant for her to feel unloved. I toiled with the idea of her sitting there; the only one without a little sister to show off for these weekends. I try to call her and no one is home. I try to call her work and no one is there. Cell phones aren’t accepting calls right now. I know this is it. She has died, and she’s never gotten to look at a face that is just like hers.