Two years ago, I still didn’t know what was happening. I’d taken my son to school, and had heard some vague report on the radio — which I always have on in the car — about some kind of bomb, perhaps, at the WTC. I figured, well, I’ll see it on the news at home. The announcer had no more to report, so I switched channels.
By the time I got home, I’d forgotten about it, and was happily messing with my email. Then my mother calls and says to turn on the news, that “something” was happening in New York….
I couldn’t move for hours from my seat once I’d turned the set on. It took me about 15 minutes to convince my husband, who’d come home early, that both towers were, indeed, gone, not still standing, like in the replay of earlier tapes.
My memories feel fragmented. I called people all over the country. Not that my friends in Los Angeles were in any danger from this, but still….
But what do I feel today? According to the news, I am supposed to be overwhelmed by pity, nostalgia, anger (righteous), all cobbled together in some idealistic Republican idea of patriotism. I hate Republican ideas. What I feel is my own.