As the ten-year anniversary of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001 approaches, most of America seems to be in a state of reflection. I am no exception. It's difficult not to think about an event that changed the way the world looks at America, and the way America looks at the world.
Every American over the age of about 14 has a story about that day. Where they were, what they were doing, and who they were with. Again, I am no exception.
I boarded a train on Atlanta's north side and headed into my office downtown. I worked for SunTrust Bank as an Investment Specialist. Specifically, I worked in the SunTrust Securities office, collateralizing and securing deposits of government entities. It sounds more complicated than it was. However, it required me to attend monthly telephone meetings with traders in New York City to move and gain assets to cover the deposits held by our bank in the name of customers like the City of Baltimore. As I did most mornings, I sat on the train with dozens of other early-risers headed into the city. We didn't speak to one another, and often never raised our eyes above the newspaper to even acknowledge one another. The faint smell of cheap coffee rose above the smell of bus exhaust at the last stop before I would exit.
Once in downtown, I gathered my belongings and stood. Once the double doors opened, we made our way like herded cattle out of the station and onto the bustling city streets. Even at just 7:30 in the morning, downtown Atlanta was a busy city with people coming and going every which way. I headed to my building and pushed the button for the 23rd floor and waited - stopping at seemingly every floor. Finally, I made my way to my desk, stopping grab a cup of lukewarm coffee and settle in to my morning routine: checking my mail, sifting through my inbox, and checking my voicemail.
By 8:30, I had settled in the conference room for a meeting. Our entire team was on a conference call to our partners in New York, located in the World Trade Center. We began discussing our usual business. Not a lot of small talk, which I recall made my team uncomfortable. I recall my boss saying once of our New York partners, "they are rude and abrasive." Thinking of the accounts for which I was responsible in Maryland and Virginia, I asked about purchasing assets for collateral. Before my Yankee representative could finish discussing possible allocation, a strange "crinkle" noise came over the line, and then it went dead.
We were unable to reestablish our connection, and left the conference room bewildered. The televisions on our trading floor were on during business hours every day - usually tuned to Bloomberg TV. As we left the conference room and headed past the trading room floor and back to our offices, we caught a glimpse of a news reporter with a caption that read something like "world trade center fire". At that point, we had no idea that anything other a freak accident. We turned the volume up and listened as the reporter explained that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. My heart sank a little. But before I had the chance to put together the events from the phone conference and the images of smoke plumes shooting out of the first World Trade Center tower, I watched an airliner drive into the second tower. And I had the sudden urge to vomit.
It was at that moment around 9:00 that I realized that what I was witnessing was no coincidence. We were unofficially, but undeniably, under attack. By whom? And why? How come we didn't know? Are we vulnerable everywhere? I was filled with a million questions, but even if I knew the words to speak, my tongue seemed to be swelling inside my mouth and my jaws felt as if they were locked tight. My knees seemed weak. I wasn't sure if I had begun to sweat through my suit, but I felt certain that I wouldn't be the only one. Everyone in the room seemed white as a ghost and almost immediately grief-stricken. I couldn't help but turn my eyes slightly left to peer out the windows. Only minutes from Atlanta's Hartsfield Airport, I had developed what previously had seemed like an irrational fear of rogue jets escaping the runway.
I decided to head back to my desk and figure out what work I might be able to put off to another time - a time of less distraction. After a few moments, I looked up and find a much larger crowd had gathered around the television. People I didn't recognize, perhaps from another floor or department. I stood up and made my way back to the television. As if in slow-motion like a dream, I saw something horrific and devastating: the south tower crumbled to the ground. I pulled my hands up to my mouth as if to keep a scream from escaping. I let out a gasp, just to keep myself from fainting.
I honestly don't remember the second tower collapsing. Everything in the next hour is a complete blur. I know that at some point I returned to my desk and gathered up my things, leaving my computer on and my voicemail inactivated. Our building manager informed us that the train service in Atlanta would likely be temporarily halted and that we should leave immediately. It seemed as if I hadn't even blinked, but had gotten myself off the train, into my car, and was putting my key into the lock. I went inside and immediately turned on the TV. I then learned that an airplane had hit the Pentagon, and another crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. The wave of nausea I felt before seemed to be rising up in me again and I needed to sit down. Then I remembered that I had a son, 2, waiting for me at a day care 20 minutes away. In a panic, I rushed to grab my keys and make my way to the school.
That evening I couldn't help but squeeze my baby boy a little tighter, and my husband a little closer. I now felt something I had never felt before: fear. I was afraid of an enemy I didn't know and couldn't see. I was afraid of being attacked for reasons I didn't know or understand. I was afraid and I didn't know how to be anything but.
In the past 10 years, I have grown used to the inconveniences associated with travel and the security associated with visiting any government building. I have seen firsthand the faces of war. The world is a very different place. And I have learned to accept life in a "post-9/11 world". But I have never forgotten that day.
My two younger children have never known life any different, and a part of me mourns for them. They don't remember being able to walk a family member to the gate at the airport, or not having to be fondled before going there. They don't remember a time of innocence in America. They don't remember a time we weren't involved in "the war on terror". The only "normal" they know is war - a war that took their family members away to a land halfway around the world to fight an enemy they couldn't find.
I often wish I could, but I can't forget that day. And I fear that I never will. But perhaps it is important to bear the burden of the memory... so that we may never be victimized again.
If I had to find silver lining it is this: we had become reunited with our fellow Americans. We forgot how we were different, if even just for a short time, to come together as American people. Out of many, we rose again as one...
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