Shoulders back, heads up, barracuda grin
wise-cracks, playback, hold the worries in
press play, record again: I’m fine. I’m fine.
I’m not a morning person. Even after eleven years, I l struggle with crawling back into bed after morning drop-offs or ignoring the alarm clock altogether and burrowing deeper into the covers, especially on cool or wintry days. Yet, on this particular morning, begrudged, I answered the phone, wondering who in the world could call at such an ungodly hour. Didn’t people know my wake-up time? No earlier than noon?!
To my surprise it was my mother. She didn’t call often and she wasn’t an early bird either, so instinctively my mind told me something was wrong. That part is a long story but involves a drunk lady, a car, my challenged cousin, whom stoned-lady had on top of the car holding down a mattress, and a hospital. Cousin’s injuries were many, his diagnosis not so good.
Minutes later, as I lay in bed, someone knocked on the door. It was a repairman. He informed me he’d come to fix my leaky faucet. Finally! I thought. I let him in, opened the curtains, realized what a gorgeous day it was. If only I could wake before noon every morning, I thought to myself. I even opened the windows, took in the breeze signaling the imminent change of seasons. While fix-it -guy tinkered with the sink, I switched on the television. That story too is long, painful, and all too familiar to us. It involves an anchorman, several planes, and two iconic towers.
I watched as the newsman reported a plane crashing into the World Trade Center. Gosh, I reasoned, that’s crazy! And, as my mind often does, I imagined the people on that plane and what must have gone through their minds as things went haywire. What were they thinking; what did their prayers consist of; who did they call, if anyone?
But then, shortly after, another plane. I froze. Mouth open. Thoughts churning. Something wasn’t right with the scenario. At all. I didn’t understand how and why it seemed to just…aim for the building, almost as if on purpose.
Fix-it guy stepped into the room. He too stood there. Mouth open. As news continued to develop, we learned of another plane; and I knew, maybe we all knew then, that some strange ish was going down. As networks replayed footage throughout the day, my heart just…I don’t know, I can’t describe it, even now. People–jumping., running, crying, in a daze, in a state of disbelief?
I went to work. The city went wild. There were rumors of gas prices sky-rocketing so nearly everyone in the small town where I live was at a pump. Of course my car sat on empty. I didn’t even try to get gas; that was the least of my concerns. What did concern me was our future. And, vain as it was, I wondered if I would get to see my upcoming birthday. Would any of us live to see our birthdays?
That night, I snuggled closer to my boyfriend, listening for the sound of planes overhead, even though all flights were restricted. I closed my eyes and knew that something significantly changed that day. Mind-sets changed, the world changed…and hasn’t been the same since.
- What were you doing on that fateful morning?
- What were your thoughts?
- Do you feel the events of that year changed how we think, live, react?
- If so, how?
Here is a reader’s take on that day:
Barbara Ann Divine
September 11, 2001
On this day I woke up a lot later than I do now. I had no kids, no husband, and I actually got sleep. I was living at home and my sister and her kids lived next door. I walked up to her house and for some reason I was alone. I turned on the tv to see that the world was finally coming to an end.
I used to think my grandmother was crazy. She always said it was gonna happen. That people would finally get crazy enough to pull something like that. She said, “Girl you better know how to grow your own food and live out in the woods. ” Now I believe her way more than I did then.
I watched just a few people, with hate filled hearts, destroy thousands of lives in minutes. I watched towers fall, and you knew that people were jumping. People covered in ash were running for their lives and ducking into stores in hope that the ash would not follow and kill them. Blood, firefighters, flags, these images would still haunt us today.
I went into my dead end job that afternoon in shock and everyone was talking about it. We all still talk about it and, for those who watched it through a tv screen, were scarred from it. Could you imagine living it? Even now when I hear a plane in the sky I duck and wait. I won’t fly, and never plan to. This is now the state of my world.
I don’t plan for it to get better, and for us that believe in a certain God….one day it will have to get worse for it to get better.
Writing isn’t my only love. In fact, I’m not sure which came first in my life–writing or music. Let’s see, I wanted to play guitar and take dance lessons sometime before pre-K, and as soon as I learned how to place my alphabets correctly on the little blue dotted lines, I began creating stories. Still, if you think about it, it looks like music came first.
However, my introduction to Miles was somewhat of an accident. I decided to buy Kind of Blue because…well, it fit my mood at the time. My best friend was getting married and I was a little melancholy, unsure of how it would change our relationship. Every evening, I’d light a citronella candle, sit outside, and write about the upcoming change in our lives, all while listening to Miles.
Ironically, that CD was also the introduction to my husband. Yep, the best friend got married. And later, I got married. But before that, I met Future Hubby in the CD section of a retail store. I was looking for more of the jazz genius I’d been listening to for the past couple of months. Future Hubby’s words were, “what you now about Miles Davis?” Of course, the man who is now my husband had tried several times before then to get me to call him and go out with him, but something about him challenging me with a music question struck a chord. From there ensued a debate. And then a date.
Soon came marriage and children. I’d put the kids to sleep with Kind of Blue and Love Songs by Miles.
Somewhere in there, one night while I was asleep, I heard a horn, a distinct pitch, a sound that only Miles could create. I looked up. I’d fallen asleep with the television on one of those music channels that play all night. Solea, it read at the bottom. By Miles Davis.
I knew it! But where, on what CD? Obviously one I didn’t have. I adjusted my eyes to the blue light of the television screen–Sketches of Spain, the words read. I had to find it.
F.Y.I: If you’ve never heard it and you like jazz, go get it.
Art comes in all forms, not just books and poetry.
did you live enough
do what you loved?
we get only one chance;
we only get