I don’t know where everyone of my friends and family were on September 11, 2001 (the day irony died… that’s ironic, Graydon, in hindsight). Over the past 5 years I have heard many stories, some sad, some glad, some moronically ignorant, some poignantly humorous. I’ve told people, even just this past weekend, the story that I know best. Mine.

It’s a good story. It’s not as tragic as others. It’s not as happy, either. But it’s mine, and I think that it’s good to keep telling it, for the simple fact that, by remembering that story, what happened that morning on individual levels, that we start to remember a little of what happened right afterwards – we cared about each other a bit more, for a bit of time.

And, even for a cynic like me, that’s a nice thing.

We’ve gotten so wrapped up over the past 5 years in forgetting how we got into this mess we are in now. We denied that it could happen to us, on our soil, we angered over it, we bargained over both sides of the issue, what to do next, and we even started, and are in the thick of, a sick depression over our loss. But we still haven’t accepted it.

Accepting loss and grief means coming to terms with it, not fighting it. And we are still fighting it: personally, professionally, politically and militarily. When will we accept it and move on?

So, to help, I share my story. And I encourage every one that reads this to share theirs, and have others come here and share theirs. I think you’ll see that it really helps us to accept things – shit happens sometimes. And shit will continue to happen. Anyone that thinks we can somehow rid the world of hate does not truly know how to love. Read your Goethe, for Christ’s sake. Or for ours.

+++

I couldn’t find Sundi that day. As I walked to the PATH train it was, to use the cliché, really a gorgeous day. The building was on fire already – I didn’t see the impact. Some woman on the train was even complaining about the delay getting into the city. Her companion remarked, “Yeah, but think about the people in that plane.” When I got out of the station at 33rd, the second building was on fire. I walked to work on 33rd and 9th. The TV was on. Wild stories were everywhere.

Phones weren’t working. We walked to a pub on 9th and watched the first building fall. We left the pub after that, determined to go our separate ways and leave the city. I had no idea where Sundi was – she had taken the train through WTC that day, but much earlier, on her way to class. Not knowing what to do, how to reach anyone, I went to the only place I knew to go – my best friend Kevin’s apartment on 13th street.

He was there. We talked, tried to make sense of what was going on. I finally reached my mother on a pay phone. Little did we know our main cell receptors were in rubble. Not reaching Sundi, I did the only other thing I knew to do – go back to work.

She finally called around 4 o’clock or so, I think. Her boss at the ballet shop she worked at actually made her employees stay, like someone was going to go buy a fucking tutu on that day. We resolved to meet around 6:30 to head to the ferry, the only way to Jersey. We waited for about an hour and a half, and finally got on the boat. It’s funny, in a way, to remember the things you saw that you didn’t recall so vividly at the time. There were all kinds of people on the boat, all walks of life. Some people were still covered with soot and ash and, probably, in all sadness, people. There was quiet murmuring, an almost normal commute home.

Of course you could see the dust and smoke, but it was obscured by buildings. The ferry left the dock, and as soon as the smoke cloud came into full view, the boat went silent. Not quiet, but silent. You could hear the water lapping against the sides of the boat. Everyone turned to the southeast and watched. No words, nothing. Just stared, really. But we all knew what everyone was thinking – why? For what?

Here’s the point: for that one moment, that single moment, everyone on that boat, and I assume in many more places, forgot who they were. For that moment, we were all the same. And, in hindsight, we now know for what – so that we could have that moment. For a short time to forget everything unimportant and remember what was. Each other.

In that ball of fire and death, through what would eventually be the catalyst of war, was peace.

Remember “never forget?” Well, we’ve forgotten. We’ve gotten wrapped up in this shit that has nothing to do we us. We’re a country focused on the foreign while ignoring the fact that, domestically, we don’t really have a say over the foreign conflict. We need to start. We need to come together, like on that boat, and think the same thing.

Think about the power that all those people together would create. Can you imagine? Think about it this way – Let’s say this Twinkie represents the normal amount of psychokinetic energy in the New York area. According to this morning’s sample, it would be a Twinkie thirty-five feet long, weighing approximately six hundred pounds. That’s a big Twinkie.

Never fucking forget. And share.