Don't ever forget

It's been 7 years now. 7 years of that drum beating silently in the back of my head. 7 years of seeing what I saw and thinking somehow I wasn't supposed to be seeing this event. 7 long years....

I know there were a lot of people there with me as well. It doesn't matter if you were physically there or if you were watching it all unfold before you on the news. You were there. You remember what you were doing. You remember that you just stood there and thought as we did. You saw it unfold the same as I. Felt what I did each and every time you thought of those people. You saw the news ticker on the television. You heard it reported on the radio. No matter who was telling you, it was done in a trembling and very unsure voice.

I was working in a building only a couple of blocks away. Each time I'd settle down for lunch, I'd sit on the windowsill perched high above the street. Eclipsed by the shadow of those buildings. Eating my sandwich just staring up at them in awe. "Sooner or later those big bastards have to come down" I thought all the time. I watched the shows on how they implode tall structures once they get too old for their surroundings or use. One thing was certain, I didn't want to be there when it happened, no matter how grand of a spectacle it was.

Joe had a habit of being a clown that we worked with. He was always putting gay porn in a co-workers toolbox ( you hadda know Joe, I guess) or in the middle of going to the bathroom, he'd throw a roll of duct tape square against the door and create this huge "THUD" to rattle you. I liked Joe, but he had a strange sense of humour sometimes. But that's how we blew off steam. In that building you had to ignore that you were strung from a cable 20 stories inside of an elevator shaft. You needed something to take your mind off that this was a very unusual and dangerous job for some reason.

THUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOM

"Godamnit, Joe. Knock it off. It was funny the first 200 times ya did it, but now it's"..... (walkie talkie squawks) Jesus, did you hear that? I keyed my mic.... "I thought that was you" I said. "Nope.... I thought it was you" Joe keyed back.

We both ran to the nearest window we had available. No keyed mic's. No anything. Just craning our necks as best we could ( yes, we were that close) to see what the hell was going on. It was an accident? It had to be an accident. Please tell me it was some sort of crazy accident. "We should get the hell out of here, no matter what happened it's not going to be fun trying to get out" I half heard over the mic. "What?" I signaled back. "DOWN, NOW!" I heard back. "Copy" was my reply.

We met downstairs covered in a fine powder. Nobody said anything. There were 4 of us. 3 piled into one van, Joe walked down the street towards the matter at hand. Joe was a volunteer Firefighter in his local town. "I got this...go" was all we heard from his walking away and dragging out his reflective jacket. Great guy, that Joe. But he was a bit daft if he thought he was going to be saving all of NYC on his own. "No you don't" a policeman shot back at him. "I see your badge and stripes, but this is us" as he sped off. Joe got the wave off and complied. I think if that cop wasn't there, Joe wouldn't have been with us today. He'd be one of the countless among the rubble. But instead, Joe was right behind us as we jockeyed for position out of there.

"Jesus, what is that?" BAAAAAAADOOOOOOOOOOM. We all ducked as though it was 3 feet over our heads. "move Move MOVE" I heard from somebody somewhere. That was all we needed to go. We turned left and had a direct view of what was going on. "Is that? Are they throwing cardboard out up there? No, that doesn't..... oh man..... THUD.....what the.... noooooo..... THUD.....THUD" We didn't need any confirmation of what we were seeing. It was people who were choosing to end on their own terms instead of letting some asshole dictate how they should go. We couldn't imagine what kind of hell was unfolding before us. Actually putting it to mind that it's better to end in a flash than feel that intense heat and agony of what was going on up there. I still to this day can't put myself in that position. It's got to be better jumping to your death and having the free fall of the street meet you in 20 seconds than it is to endure one more second of your skin getting burnt off.

As soon as it was clear we all picked up our cell phones and dialed furiously. I called all the key people I knew and gave them a story of how I wasn't even in the city, so they shouldn't worry about me. After all, I didn't want people focusing on me when they should be worrying about their own well being. "I'll be fine" I said. "It's just going to take a little longer getting home is all" With that, we all stayed in the slow lane as a collective. Anybody driving away from NYC that day knows exactly what I'm talking about. Somehow, some way... we all as a people unknowingly were banded together at that solitary moment. Nobody was in a rush. Nobody was in a panic. NOBODY dared go in the fast lane ( in a 2 lane or wider road) for fear that they may impede assistance to somebody who needs it. After all, we were making it home. There are more less fortunate than we and we all know that. Looking back on it, I don't really even remember anybody doing anything unbecoming an ace citizen while driving at that very moment.

..............

8 hours later I was home. I slowly removed my clothes. Without saying a word, everything went into a double garbage bagged sack, right down to the boots. I hopped in the shower and washed it all away. Hanging my head, I silently gave myself a chuckle when I saw a swirl of sooty grey-brown snaking it's way down the drain. "I hadn't been this dirty since I was a kid" I thought to myself. The long dog days of summer filling my head of when my cohorts and I used to have dirt fights and lots of laughs. Good times..... innocent times....... gone times, that innocence never to return. Not to me. Not to this generation or country for that fact.

It wasn't until I moved recently that I threw that bag of sooty clothes out. I hadn't forgotten about it. Quite the opposite. I knew it was there. Silently reminding me every day of that innocence lost. I couldn't bear to touch it. Finally on the day of the move I tossed it aside like so many other trinkets we collect over the years but don't need on moving day. "I'll replace that... and that" I said as throwing out knick knacks because I don't feel like packing them. "This one, I hope I'll never replace"..... and out went the bag.

.....................

7 years of that drum beating. 7 long years. I hope it grows silent some day. But I know it won't. I know I won't forget. I won't forget the heroism of everyday people as a whole. I won't forget about Joe there, ready and willing to risk it all for sake of another. I won't forget how it sounded that day. How it smelled. How it tasted in the air.

I won't forget the people that didn't deserve this. I won't forget about the faces who bravely helped and too, perished. I won't forget about the people on other planes who stood up for what they believed in. Who made a crater in a field in Pennsylvania, and the ones who fell silent at the Pentagon. I won't forget those across the nation and over seas who felt our anguish and stood there with us with head hung in sympathy. I won't forget all those brave young men and women who are not here with us right now and fighting without asking for any thanks.

No my friends, I will not forget. The drum still beats. Slowly keeping rhythm of that memory. I hope you don't forget either. Please, don't ever forget........