Where I Was

I didn't have a TV on September 11, 2001. I was living in the Bronx and I woke up late for class that morning, so I didn't even turn on the radio before I ran out the door. It took me forever to flag down a cab, and once I did, the guy refused to take me to Manhattan. An airplane had hit the World Trade Center, he said. No one was going into the city.

It was a beautiful blue day. I stood on the corner of Fordham Road, looking up and down the street for signs of panic. I don't know why I didn't go home. Maybe I didn't really believe the cabbie. Maybe I assumed classes at Columbia were still being held. Maybe all I knew was in Manhattan, and I, in the Bronx, felt impossibly far away from everything familiar. But for whatever reason, I tightened the straps on my backpack and started walking west. I flagged down four other cabs before I found one that would try to get me to the island.

By the time we reached the Harlem River, the first tower had already fallen. The cabbie had Howard Stern on the radio. I can't remember what exactly Stern was talking about - no one knew what was happening yet and for hours the only news we could get in New York were DJ guesses - but I know I heard him use the phrase "towel head." I watched the cabbie's brown neck. He didn't move to change the dial.

Harlem was grey and quiet across the river. We started up a small bridge, but by the time we got out over the water the traffic had stopped. We couldn't see what was ahead of us, there was just the faint pulse of emergency lights above the cars. Traffic behind kept us from turning around. We were stuck. Out the window to my left, we could see the last tower burning - a big black tornado of smoke spiraling up from the building and hazing the sky.

We inched forward until a billboard blocked my view of the tower. The radio was turned up loud. The cabbie and I sat patiently. We felt none of the normal frenzy of New York drivers and passengers. We didn't know what was happening, but we knew it would take time and we both settled back into our seats. We didn't talk. The silence was comfortable, close even. I knew I never would forget that cab ride, or that cabbie, and the few times our eyes met in the rear view mirror, I knew he was thinking the same thing.

Suddenly, Stern began to shout. We inched forward, clearing the billboard. We should've been able to see the tower again. It should've been right there. There were 614 people in that second tower. Even burning, it was the tallest thing in the city. We should've been able to see it, but all that was left was smoke in the sky.