A 9/11 Reflection: Kindness to a Stranger
Monday, September 10, 2001. It was just another warm end of summer day in NYC. I was excited because my vacation was to begin Tuesday morning. I would be off to Northern California for a stop in San Francisco, and most importantly, wine country. That afternoon after work I got caught in a torrential downpour with thunder and lightning adding to the necessity for me to hurry home.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001. I woke up to a beautiful day! It was one of those first days the breeze is finally ushering in the beginning of fall: bright blue skies and a chill in the air. I was in a hurry I had to run down to my cousin's work on Wall Street to give him the key to my apartment. He had graciously accepted the chore of watching two cats while I would be gone. I jumped on the subway and moved my way downtown. As I exited the subway I could see that something was drawing people to look up. As I began to look up myself I could hear people saying that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. To my amazement. it was true. I could see a hole in the side of the building. The sound of sirens from first responders was everywhere, the silent cool breeze had turned into a very noise collection of voices and sirens.
I waited a few minutes and turned back to walk to my cousin’s office. I had not gotten 100 feet when I heard an explosion that rocked me to the core. As I turned to look I could see a fireball coming out of the side of the other Trade Tower. People yelling, "another plane!" It was almost hard to believe but somewhere deep inside I knew that our country was under attack. I immediately began to try and make phone calls, to my mom, to another cousin who worked in the Trade Center, to my cousin who I was suppose to meet, but the phone calls would not go through.
I decided I should move my way to my cousin’s office so he would know I was ok. I found him in his office with co-workers listening to a transistor radio because the TV signals had gone out. I stayed with him, and we listened intently to that radio on all the instructions the City of New York and the State tried to give us. We both wondered if any of our cousins or brothers happened to be at the scene. Coming from an Italian family, our family tree was comprised of many fireman and police officers.
I decided that I should make my way home knowing I wouldn't be flying to my vacation on this day. As I left, I hugged my cousin and told him to stay safe and get home to his girlfriend because she would be worried. I walked out and knew I would have about 97 blocks to walk, an equivalent of about 3 miles. As I was walking through the panicked throngs of people, I began to hear a noise I will never forget. It was a kind of throbbing kind and the oxygen was being snatched from me quicker then I could react. From my vantage point I wasn't sure what was happening. Very quickly as the flood of smoke and debris rushed up the street, I knew that something terrible had happened. I was able to run into a Duane Reade Pharmacy just as the manager was locking the door and yelling for everyone to head to the basement I remember being in the basement as the second building collapsed.
I remember the tears and the prayers of all of us strangers huddled together. I remember an African American man asking if I would pray with him because he thought his wife was in the building, and the young Chinese girl on her way to language school having only arrived two days prior. In the couple of hours we stayed locked in the basement, all 13 of us became a family. It didn't matter our skin color, race, or religion, we all prayed and cried together. My family was on my mind and my heart. My cousins could have been in the building, my mom would be trying to get a hold of me and not able to. It was a horrible and calming couple of hours with these "strangers."
When we finally exited, I saw what looked to be a war zone: something I had only seen on the TV or in movies. I used my sweatshirt as a face mask and made my way the 97 blocks back to my house. Along the way I was offered water, a shower, free McDonalds food, and a place to rest. People clapped and prayed as the first responders from all over the Tri-State flooded into my city.
I finally made it home late that afternoon, showered and sat down and cried. I must have cried for hours until my phone miraculously rang. It was my uncle In Italy. He told me that my mom could get through to him and ask him to some how get a hold of me. I don't know if it was luck or divine intervention but we were able to three-way call my mom.
I learned in the next couple of days that I had four relatives at the Twin Towers that day; three of them returned home. My sweet, loving cousin was passionate about being a firefighter, and he left us doing what he would have wanted to be doing, saving others. I also lost a personal friend that day. A man who was the first to say to me "Aaron, I don't care that you’re gay, nor does God... God made you that way." Thank you Fr. Mychal Judge for being an advocate for those that didn't always feel welcome at the table. On this Day of Remembrance, let's remember all the acts of heroism by first responders and all the other unnamed people who led by example and strength. It was on that day that I saw both the awfulness of human nature and the brilliant light of humanity that allowed them to be loving and caring to strangers in their midst.
