War of the Worlds

by Sarah Frankfurth

War of the Worlds.  That's what I thought when I woke up late for work, my kitties sprawled out across me, sleep hanging heavy in my brain. I turned on NPR and heard "American Airlines confirms that they lost 2 planes today" I thought, what do they mean? How do you lose a plane?  I listened for Bermuda triangle references and then sat horrified on my couch as I heard World Trade Center, Pentagon, Pittsburgh, terrorism, America Under Attack... 

I still went to work, dazed and shocked, but it was closed - the people that I saw looked me in the eye and spoke earnestly, like they were going to cry.  I went home and turned the radio on and heard more, felt shocked, helpless, sitting on my couch staring at my kitties, listening to the sirens scream down my street.

My friends called me and told me to come over, they wanted me out of downtown, close by where it was safe.  I rode my bike through an eerily quiet city. My neighborhood was devoid of everyone except the fucked up crackheads. Did they even know what was happening? Did they care?

City Hall was blocked off. All the streets were shut down around it, police standing guard.  I felt safer leaving downtown, not realizing that I'd felt vulnerable, had even thought an hour before that I'd walk to North Beach through the Financial District just to get coffee…

Nothing will ever be the same again, after today it will all be different.

I don't want this in my life, I don't want this to be a story of my life.

Oh, I remember that day...

No, I don't want this in my life.

I want to slide through life with no major catastrophes, the horror saved for other generations, other times, other places. I don't want this to be one of my stories.

But it is.

This day.

This day.

We spent the day watching the WTC dissolve again and again and again until we couldn't stand it anymore and went to lie in the sunshine in the park on this beautiful day and talked about my dead dad and Xan's dead mom and how we grieve, how we heal.

We drank port, we ate Mexican food, we drank pitcher after pitcher of margaritas, we laughed, we loved, Xan and Leyla kissed as we toasted our friendship and felt sad in our hearts.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

We walked along silent streets.  People shuffled past closed shops with confusion on their faces.  “I can’t place this day in the week.” Leyla said, “I’m trying to think of what day it feels like, but I can’t place it anywhere.  It doesn’t feel like a Saturday or a Sunday or a weekday.  It doesn’t fit.”   The world had frozen, we’d fallen out of time, but still the sun was shining, the air was warm, the park was filled with happy dogs and babies rolling in the grass.   

Underneath it all a paralyzing fear pulsed and raced.

Our innocence is lost, these days are over.

What will happen now?

What will happen to us?

Will we be alright?

Will there be a nuclear war?

What will happen to us?

The fears of my childhood, my belief that the world wouldn't exist for my old age, seems like it could be true.

We drank vodka until 4 in the morning when we climbed  onto the roof of Leyla's building and stared at the city, sparkling with light in the dark, dark night.  We tried to imagine it in flames, with smoke streaming out. 

We were kids again, pretending the fear around us was a game.  Josh  did headstands on the pebbly roof, but kept falling so he came over to hug me hard, lie on top of me, and roll around telling me how much he loved me.  We were talking fast - like we had to fit these words in before something happened.  I carried him home that night.  Dragged him through the Lower Haight, through the Tenderloin, picked him up out of the gutter when he'd fall, laughing, after dropping the bottle he was mechanically drinking from.  We were a mess, but it numbed the pain. It stopped the sound of - why?

Why this day, this day. 

Such a sad day, such a beautiful day.