I posted this to my mobile blog this morning.
It became my first post to Writers Island
The Topic was My Imaginary Life
Today the city is quiet and sad.
It feels as if the bricks, stone and mortar are remembering along with the people.
My journals both online and otherwise have almost no entries about what I saw and felt that day.
Why is it six years later I feel the need to get it all down?
Is it grief deferred?
Walking along Broadway I see fireman in dress uniforms – embroidered patches on their shoulders in memory of those lost.
I remember turning along with the massive crowd when that man shouted; “There she goes.”
The second tower fell within itself in just a second or two.
We all turned and continued up 6th Avenue.
One woman began to sob, a businessman carrying a briefcase hushed her quickly.
“Now don’t start any of that!”
And she stopped instantly.
As we continued up the Avenue, an endless dusty joyless parade, I saw people sipping drinks and dining alfresco in the Chelsea cafes.
All I could think of was Nero and his fiddle.
I walked the five and a half miles home.
If it was going to be my last day on earth then I wanted a last long walk.
The weather was unforgettably perfect.
When I close my eyes I can still see the particular blue of that sky.
In My Imaginary Life the event never happened.
Someone removed those men from the planes.
And it was just another day.