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A Woman's View
by flybynite
The Other Victims
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She is only 25 and facing for the first time that her world is not invincible. She thought once she survived her teen years, the college years and the "what do I do after college" crisis, her world would start to make sense.
For a brief period of time it did. She got her first job located in lower Manhattan. Some how she was managing to pay her bills even with her student loans taking a big chunk out of her paycheck. She felt finally free to have some fun and enjoy life.
That ended the day she stood outside her work and watched the second plane ram into the World Trade Center building. Life as she knew it had stopped. She was calm when she called home to say she was okay and that she was handling the devastation around her. By Saturday she realized she wasn't "fine". The realization of what happened started to get personal. Her downstairs neighbor was one of the stewardesses killed. The shrine outside her door and what seemed on every block was a constant reminder of the pain that had suddenly enveloped her city. When she was finally given permission to return to work, she had to cross through a military checkpoint. She had to close her eyes and remember she was in America.
It was on the subway when the fear of any kind of transportation began to hit. Her heart started to accelerate and it took all her energy to remind herself she was "safe". But would she ever be really safe again? Even the quick thought of running home was out, as she knew she was not ready to fly. She swallowed her fear but she did not lose it. It rattled inside her like a visitor from hell.
She had called to make sure her friends were safe. She learned that the friend who had an apartment by the WTC had not left home that morning. He was still there when the force of the impact blew out all the windows in his apartment. It was only a miracle that he hadn't been in the pathof flying glass. He was now homeless and wondered even when they did let him go back, how would he begin to clean up the debris? How would he ever be able to sleep there again?
Like many shop owners another friend, owner of a small record shop, had finally been allowed to go back and open up only to realize, who was going to buy records at a time like this? As he worried how he would ever make the rent, his accountant calls and reminds him of the sales tax due at the end of the month. His dreams of ownership were fading quickly.
For comfort, the friends gathered at what had been their "bar". The first moments were fragile; the images still so impacted in their brains. Slowly, they managed to find a safe place to share and smiles began to take the place of pain. But it would last only for brief moments as the memories found connections to all points of conversation. Guilt rushed over them. How dare they talk of trivia matters? Laugh? How could they allow themselves to be happy when so many were encased in misery, children being told their mother or father was dead, people homeless? Would they ever want to go and listen to their favorite band play again? Would they ever be entitled to be normal? At that moment, she looked at the faces of her friends, saw the pain crease their brows and knew they were the lucky ones.
A hush fell over the bar as five firefighters walked in and slowly the applause started. It gave them a brief moment of hope and power to feel they could offer some tiny offering of support. As evening fell, they walked home among the many candlelight ceremonies held everywhere. A reminder that there was still some tiny hope another live body would be found in the rubble.
She had faith when she was a child. She had forsaken that faith as she studied world religions in college and finding it hard to comprehend how she could denounce them. If she was to stay in her own faith, believe in it, then she could have no doubt the others were wrong. When she realized she could not do that, it was easier to not believe at all. Now in the midst of her fear and grief, she wished she could believe again like she did as a child.
Yet, with each ash filled step, she knew she wasn't sure she wanted to believe if it could cause so much destruction. So she lingered through the pain alone.
She is my child and I can offer her no real comfort except to listen and pray God would find a way to let her know she wasn't alone. There's no way I can brush away the scars like I did when she was 12 and facing a bully at school. I'm too far away to hug her or hold her when the pain gets to be too much. Selfishly, I am just happy she is alive. Like many Americans who have family living and working in lower Manhattan, I grieve for those who died and feel slightly guilty because I can feel joy one of mine is okay.
I know from experience, America will survive. But like each time we have faced national crisis, it will be a time of painful change. I know in my heart that love heals and that hate will steal that healing if we are not careful. I have to believe we can and will come above the prejudice that threatens us as we greet our neighbors of Middle East origins. There is real danger that the tiny coalition of hate mongers will see their numbers swell unless we understand that will be the moment the terrorists win completely. This is the one area that all Americans can participate in the healing no matter where they live. They can show the world that we are a country of mixed origins and are proud of that fact. That we do not turn against one another in times of crisis. We overcome what destroys other nations.
I have to believe in that one point. We are better than the hate that surrounded us the day two magnificent buildings came tumbling down. It is the only comfort that I can give her; that life will return to a time it is okay to laugh. They will have earned it.
flybynite is a regular columnist for Skateboard.
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© 2000 flybynite
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