Today is September 11, 2015. It is the anniversary of one of the greatest modern tragedies to befall our country in my lifetime. I’ve tried very hard to push away the air of solemnity and vague sadness that I usually feel every year on this day. I’ve been at least partially successful although my lovely lady asked me why I sounded morose.
How can I answer? I feel sad because I’m recalling the day I was sitting in the customer’s lounge at a car dealership in my hometown. I was drinking a cup of fairly decent coffee and wondering how long it’d be before I could go back home. The TV was on in the lounge. Some show was on. Even now I can’t remember what it was.
And the the news broke in with a report that sounded so incredible, so unbelievable that I honestly thought it must’ve been some sort of hoax.
A plane had struck the one of the World Trade Center towers.
Like WHAM! Right into it! How fucked up was that?!?!
I remember the news reporter going on about how startling this event was and what might have been the cause of it.
There was that delay that seem to last for hours…but it was only minutes.
Then the second plane struck the other tower.
And not long after that…they fell.
I can’t describe what I felt as I watched that even now. I was numb. -I- was in shock. No movie, no TV show, no book had ever affected me like that moment when the towers fell.
Real horror, I think, doesn’t scare you. It doesn’t startle you or make you feel afraid or give you some sort of rush.
To me, it’s cold and vast and it swallows you up. It’s an empty feeling that instantaneously makes you a different person…sometimes forever.
I think…maybe that’s what real horror is. And I hope I never have to experience it again.
9/11. I wish I could forget it. But I know I never will.