I sat on the 126 bus into Manhattan.
It was 8:30 in the morning, and we hit some major traffic on the causeway into the Lincoln Tunnel. Traffic stopped. To my right, out the window, was the skyline of Manhattan, which I look at every morning, without fail.
It has a changeability about it which is hard to describe. It looks different every day, although the buildings remain the same, of course. The city is a moody bastard.
On rainy days, the structures glower darkly, and sometimes The Empire State Building vanishes into the mist, as though it is not there at all. Other times, because of the light of the sky behind it, the spire of the Empire State Building stands out like a black paper cut-out. Stark and beautiful. Spare. Sometimes the entire landscape is washed in a glow … light pouring against the buildings, making everything look warm and soft. Like you could mush up the bricks into mud. I love it on days like that.
My favorite is when there is turbulence in the weather. As in: To the left you see clear gleaming sky, and directly overhead are purple-black thunderclouds, bearing down on the blue. In weather like that, the city of Manhattan has a beauty which, quite frankly, takes my breath away.
The causeway I was trapped on this morning is the same causeway where I witnessed the second explosion in the World Trade Center. By the time we reached the causeway on that day, the first building had already been burning for about 20 minutes … the buildings could not be seen, because of an parking garage obstructing the view, but you could see black smoke filling the air.
When I saw that pillar of smoke, I knew. I knew that we were not talking about a pilot accident, a JFK Jr. moment. I knew it was big. Nobody’s phones worked. One girl got through to her boyfriend at home, who was watching it all on TV. She became our eyes and ears, reporting to the rest of the bus what was happening.
It was such a beautiful day. Remember what a beautiful day it was? Blue sky, no clouds, beaming sun … the city across the river looked benign, peaceful, ordinary.
And then suddenly, everyone started screaming.
Before the screaming began, there was definitely a tense air on the bus, people clenching fists, conversations breaking out among strangers, nobody knew what was going on, only that a plane had flown into one of the towers … but suddenly someone started screaming … everyone looked back at that black pillar … and we all saw the second explosion … streaming up into the sky … Everybody stood up … everybody started panicking … I was screaming … everybody was … nobody’s phones worked …
The girl who had miraculously gotten through to her boyfriend started shouting to all of us above the chaos: “That was a second plane that just hit … a second plane…”
Then. For the first time. Terror.
I started praying outloud … I was not alone … many people were praying … as we all feverishly kept trying to use our cell phones. My prayer became all one word:
hailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessedartthouamong
womenandblessedisthefruitofthywombjesusholymary
motherofgodprayforoursinsnowandatthehourofourdeathamen
hailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessedartthouamong
womenandblessedisthefruitofthywombjesusholymary
motherofgodprayforoursinsnowandatthehourofourdeath
amenhailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessedart
thouamongwomenandblessedisthefruitofthywombjesusholy
marymotherofgodprayforoursinsnowandatthehourofourdeath
amen…
Dial, hang up, dial, hang up, dial, hang up …. hailmaryfullofgrace….
Meanwhile, traffic still was not moving.
I know now that within 5 minutes after the second plane hit (or an extraordinarily short amount of time, let’s put it that way) all access in and out of the city was shut down. All tunnels closed.
And then, slowly, our bus drove itself over the median strip, turned itself around, and drove us all back into Hoboken.
People were screaming, crying, jumping up and down, completely freaking out.
Every time I go over that causeway, to this day, I remember September 11. I stare out, again, at the city skyline, in all its different moods, and remember that blindingly blue awful morning.
