Thursday, 23 September 2010

Where were you when...

*this is from a free writing we did in a group meeting, with the above title as our lead in*

I was in traffic. Not just traffic--people were sobbing over their steering wheels, ignoring the fact that they weren't moving, ignoring that people in other cars could see their red cheeks and snotty noses. The morning had started so cheerful, so quiet. Why hadn't anyone called? Why didn't anyone knock on the door to say, "have you heard?" No one did. And I was in traffic for three hours on the freeway, listening to radio announcers over and over and over again, and then screaming some more as a second plane careened through glass and metal, through bodies and hope.

I sat there, unmoving, knowing he was on that plane, he and his fiance'. For three hours, with no cell phone and no company but other drivers lost in their own misery and loss. By the time I got to work, frantic, there was already a message:

They missed the flight.

They were stuck in traffic, running late.

They missed the flight.

The boss said no one could take time off because the world went on. So tears were shed over the little black and white television in the staff room, screams bounced off sterile white walls as all that metal and glass came crashing to the ground, tales of desperation, of heroism, of loss, of hope, of confusion, of need, of help, of bravery filtered through the terror laden broadcasts.

I was stuck in traffic that day.


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