Where I Was

I grew up in an airline family.  My father was a pilot; my mother was a flight attendant.  I was taught from a young age to be aware of my surroundings.  Thankfully, it wasn't until I was a teenager and left the country for the first time that I realized there was a component of that awareness that was based in fear.  I had confused awareness of my surroundings with simply paying attention – which, admittedly, was not my strong suit.

The first place I visited outside of the United States was Paris, France, in the mid-1980s.  I remember sitting down on a bench in the airport, waiting for my mother and sister, and there was a bag on the ground next to the bench.  When my mother came over to me, she asked where the person was who had left the bag.  I said I hadn't seen anyone there at all.  She quickly motioned to a policeman who was standing nearby, and the area was about to be evacuated when a woman came running to retrieve the bag.  Apparently that woman was as clueless as I was about leaving bags unattended.  Most Americans then had no frame of reference for terrorist activities, but Europe was fairly well-educated about bags with bombs inside being left in public places.

I traveled to Great Britain eight times between 1988 and 1996.  I love it over there.  But when I go back through the photographs I took, I laugh.  I took pictures of signs that struck me as so absurd that I wanted to be able to show my friends when I returned home.  Signs of suitcases encircled in red, with a big 'no' line striking through them at an angle and words of warning below about the possible fines and penalties for leaving your bags unattended.  It amused me then because I was looking at it through the eyes of a person who simply didn't know.  I just kept thinking, "Who’s the dummy who’s stupid enough to leave their bag for someone to steal?"  It never entered my mind that those signs were there to warn me that unattended baggage had a nasty habit of blowing places up… and that I probably shouldn't park my ass on a bench next to them.

Until September 2001, my knowledge of terrorism was limited, but greater than what my friends knew.  It probably affected me more deeply than my peers when, in 1985, Flight 847 was hijacked on its way to Rome.  In December of 1988, my mother's flight from London to Boston departed Heathrow 30 minutes after PanAm 103 that was blown up over Lockerbie, Scotland.  The captain flying her plane was good friends with the captain of Flight 103.

I knew what terrorism was, but like most people born in America, I had never been affected by it.  It didn't really live in America.  There was the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995, claiming over 150 lives.  The Columbine High School shootings in 1999 were a rude awakening for America - especially because it was kids taking the lives of other kids.  As horrific as those events were, we had a grasp on why they happened.  Timothy McVeigh, to simplify the situation, was an anti-government nutcase.  The Columbine shooters were kids who had been bullied who had no coping skills of which to speak, and they decided to exact their revenge, each of them spurred on by the other.  Both acts were horrific and caused terror - but some intangible element was missing, and I didn't equate either with "Terrorism."

On this day in 2001, my daughter and I flew from Ft. Myers, Florida, to Portland, Maine.  I had just taken a job at a hotel in downtown Portland, and I'd already been working there for a little over a month.  I had a furnished, seasonal rental home within walking distance of a quiet beach, and my mother had been caring for my daughter in Florida for me while I got settled in Maine. 

We arrived home in Maine on Sunday night, and I had arranged to work only a half day on Monday, September 10^th.  That way I wouldn't have to leave my daughter in daycare all day on her first day in Maine.  My father drove up Monday to spend the night with us.  On Tuesday I planned to go in to work for a 9:00 meeting with a client, and my father had agreed to drive my daughter to daycare for me after lunch.

I got to my hotel on Tuesday, September 11^th, at approximately 8:30am.  I remember thinking what a gorgeous day it was – crisp blue skies and cool morning temperatures that promised to warm up in the afternoon.  I picked up a copy of the Portland Press Herald and the USA Today in the hotel lobby before heading to my desk to turn on my computer. 

I spoke briefly with the Director of Sales, a woman from Texas whose name now escapes me, because she planned to attend the breakfast meeting I had scheduled with my client.  At a few minutes before 9:00, we were gathering our papers to head to the meeting when a sales manager walked into the office and announced that a plane had just flown into the twin towers in New York.  We all looked at each other and I asked the obvious question: What kind of plane? Was it a Cessna?  He didn’t know.  He had just heard it on the radio on the way in.

I didn't think much more about it.  We went to the lobby and waited for our client, escorted him into the formal dining room for breakfast, and when the waiter arrived, we all ordered.  When the waiter came back with our coffee, he informed us that a second plane had flown into the twin towers.  All three of us at the table – like everyone around the world hearing news of that second plane – knew then that the first plane had been no accident. 

We kept discussing the program that our client had come to plan with us.  He was the chairman of a local association that wanted to begin an annual chili cook-off tradition at the hotel.  His idea was to have plastic chili peppers given to each attendee as they entered, and each contestant would have a fishbowl at their station, ideally to be filled with plastic peppers from people voting for their chili.

Our food arrived, and we ate while we discussed possible decor for the ballroom that would house the event.  Not long after we began eating, our waiter came out to tell us that a plane had been flown into the Pentagon.  There were no words.  We thanked the waiter for telling us; our client said he needed to leave, and that he would be in touch later that week.  The Director of Sales looked at me, and I looked at her.  Neither one of us said a word.  America knew without fail that it was under attack.

I called my house as soon as I got back to the office, but there was no answer.  It was probably 11:00 before my father picked up.  He had taken my daughter to walk on the beach.  I asked him if he'd turned on the television at all, and he hadn't.  I told him what I knew, and he told me he wasn't going to watch anything because everything in the first 24 hours is speculation and over-reaction.  While my mind had instantly started reeling - wondering whether or not a situation like the one portrayed in the movie Red Dawn was possible, his disdain for the media seemed to allow him to defer panic until all the facts came in.  I admire that about him.

My hotel had a contract with United Airlines, so their pilots and flight attendants stayed with us on their layovers in Portland.  An information suite was quickly set up for them so that they could gather with one another and find out what was happening.  Following my father's example, and armed with the knowledge that I wouldn't be able to function if I saw what was going on, I was the only one in the office not to visit the suite to watch the news. 

My father dropped my daughter off at daycare as planned that afternoon.  I picked her up shortly after 5:00 that night, and as we drove south to our new house, I noticed that the bright blue September sky was not criss-crossed in contrails from airplanes as it usually was.

America was robbed of its illusions of safety on September 11, 2001.  Who was going to attack us?  Canada?  Mexico?  It never occurred to us – never crossed our minds that an attack could happen on our soil.  It was arrogant.  And in hindsight, I can say that I miss that arrogance with a profound longing.  The world is a worse place for having endured that single day.  Now we pay attention to unattended bags, endure virtual strip searches at the airport, and watch our civil liberties be cast aside in the name of safety. 

I used to laugh when the adults in my world would pine, nostalgically, for a simpler time.  I understand now.  I understand so much more than I ever wanted to understand.  My prayers are with the families and friends of those who were lost.  To me, it feels like I blinked and ten years passed.  The goosebumps, shortness of breath, and lump in my throat comes as quickly today as if I were hearing about it all for the first time again.  It still feels as though it could have happened yesterday.  To them, though, I'm sure it feels like it has been an eternity.