Thursday, September 13, 2001

Three days

On the first day, I stepped off an airplane and drove home where I showered and shaved and dressed and turned on the television as an afterthought to check the traffic and weather. What I saw was a far grimmer forecast than I could have ever imagined. On the first day, I sat at my desk and tried to find all of my friends and family over the wires.

On the first night, we cancelled the show and I went out and had a drink and held my friends close and couldn't sleep at all.

On the second day, a missing friend was found and the show went on and I made a donation and I got angry because my brown friends were catching shit from idiots and I tried to work and got nothing done.

On the second night, I went out to dinner and talked of fear and frustration with a gentle man and called my mother and chatted with friends and slept fitfully for three hours.

On the third day, I had stuffy nose and a headache and I wanted to flee, to go to the place where people were hurting and hold them and bring things and feel like I was useful. But I sat at my desk and actually worked and copied and FAXed and tried to make a dent and learned that a friend had fallen from the sky.

On the third night, I watched the news and looked into the eyes of a mother who loved her son and for the first time in three days and three nights I cried. And now I can't work and now I can't sleep and now I can't stop crying.

As awful as it was, I liked the first day better.