Remembering, a Midwestern Version

Those of us who weren't in New York or D.C. on September 11, 2001 had a very different experience of the events that day and in the months that followed. We didn't live there, continuously and unavoidably reminded of the trauma and the continuing fear.

But we were affected nonetheless, and many of us like to share our stories. I think this is because so many people were so profoundly impacted; whether or not we were actually there, we all experienced the events in our own ways and were changed by them. My father can tell you exactly where he was sitting and how many times his shirt sleeves were rolled when he learned of President Kennedy's assassination. I can tell you a confused rendition of my memory of the events of September 11, 2006, as a way of coping with what happened, with the forceful assertion that we, here, are not invincible.

In 2001, Paul and I were relative newlyweds. We were also new dog and house owners. I had a new job, which was keeping me busy, often for 12 hour days with a couple of business trips a month. Paul was working on a 10-month project in Kalamazoo, Michigan, home only on weekends. It was a stressful year, and we were arguing a lot.

Fortunately, his company didn't care where he flew domestically on the weekends, it didn't have to be back to St. Louis. So when I had a weekend business trip, he'd often fly to meet me and we'd have a little 1 or 2 day mini-vacation wherever my convention was being held.

In early September, I had a convention in Buffalo. I flew out a couple of days early and met Paul. We had a lovely weekend together in Niagara Falls, Canada, and spent a day in Toronto. On September 8th, were up in the CN Tower, the world's tallest target building. It was a lovely visit, then Paul flew back to Kalamazoo and I finished up my convention.

My flight back to St. Louis from Buffalo was scheduled to arrive around midnight Monday night, so I told my family and coworkers that I was getting back early Tuesday morning, so that I'd have a chance to sleep in a little and shower before heading into the office.

Tuesday morning, September 11, I was awakened by the phone. Paul called and told me to turn on the TV.

"What channel?" I asked groggily.

"It doesn't matter," he replied.

I saw the taped footage of the first plane hitting the tower over Katie's shoulder, and I saw the second plane hitting too. I was stunned and sat silently on my sofa thinking, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.

In those early hours, no one seemed to know what was going on, and this effect was compounded by the way we were all glued to TVs listening to newscasters tell us repeatedly that no one knew what was going on.

We didn't immediately know where the planes took off from, except that it was from somewhere out East. We didn't know how many there were, how long this would continue, what was going to happen next.

I called my (then) boss, who was in the office and wanted me to come in too. I stayed on my couch for a bit, and soon she called me back to tell me that the office was closing for the day, though she didn't know why, and I didn't have to come in. She, and her boss, were concerned with the work that wasn't getting done. I couldn't bring myself to think about that, let alone care.

I called a good friend and coworker who lived alone, and she drove over my house so that we could watch BBC America together. I went out to McDonald's to get us some food, and she answered a concerned call from my father, who was wondering if I had arrived home from upstate New York. (Remember, everyone thought I was on an early morning flight.)

Then I started worrying about my father, who was working in downtown Chicago, not far from the Sears tower. No one knew how many targets there were, how long this attack would last, who would be next.

I called Paul occasionally, but he couldn't talk much. He was a contractor on a project, being paid by the hour and expected to keep working. Apparently there was a TV on in a conference room, and someone would call periodic updates to the guys typing away in cubicles. I didn't understand how he could focus on what he was doing.

A day or two later, I still wasn't up for grocery shopping or cooking, so I was in line at Boston Market to get myself some dinner after work. I felt like I was living in a surreal little bubble. The women behind me had brought in their children after a soccer game, and were happily gossiping about something - anything - it seemed utterly unimportant and I wanted to turn around and angrily ask them how they could just keep going on like everything hadn't just changed.

Planes weren't flying yet by Thursday night, so Paul rented a car and drove home from Michigan, but he was on one of the first flights back out after the airports reopened. My first flight after 9/11 was a couple of weeks later, on a business trip to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The airport and my flight were rather quiet and deserted, and I felt comfortable flying on a small plane to a place where the tallest structures seemed to be grain elevators and the stench of livestock met me as soon as I walked outside.

I never felt unsafe flying after 9/11, though I was certainly hyperaware of my surroundings and the other passengers for a while. I am still much more concerned with human error and mechanical failure when it comes to travel in a tin can in the sky.

Like most other people, I complained about the inconvenience of the new security regulations (mostly because people frustratingly seem unprepared when they reach security, rather than having their stuff ready to slip into bins on the belt) and having National airport closed.

But when I was on a sales call in Arlington in early 2002, I got a taste of what it must feel like to live somewhere less remote from the immediate danger. We were in a tall office building from which we could look over the Potomac and see the Pentagon. Throughout our meeting, planes regularly flew overhead, so close to the building would shake with each one. How could people work like this? Live like this? Surely blood pressure must be a major local medical concern? I could understand why so many people were moving further out into the 'burbs, or across the country.

I was never in any personal danger, but I was strongly affected too.