|
Somewhere between a nightmare and the state of consciousness I heard an army
aircraft overhead and awoke with a frightening gasp. My house is only ten
minutes from Logan airport where the inhumane terrorists began their suicide
mission. The past days' events started at breakfast with the morning show as
breaking news reported an explosion in one of the World Trade Center twin
towers. I thought to myself "what a horrible accident." Then eighteen
minutes later, as I was about to leave my house for work, I see a jet coming
across the television screen right into the other tower. In unison, the
reporter and I cried out "oh my god!"
Still naive, I wonder why air traffic control is having a problem. Not
until minutes later did I realize there is no such problem. And now I still
can not feel the enormity, the reality of this cowardly act. I see the
pictures over and over of the planes crashing into the towers and those
buildings then crumbling to the ground as downtown inhabitants take off
running and screaming. I see the scene at the Pentagon. I hear the numbers,
the potential fatalities. I can not grasp the situation. It's too violent
to be tangible. Maybe if I could touch it, I could feel the rage that so
many Americans possess. It's like when a mother or father gets sick or loses
a job and the child sees his or her parent vulnerable for the first time,
discovering that role models are not immortal.
The severity hit me when I watched a clip on the nightly news showing the
first tower hit crumbling to the ground. The media, typically flawless in
nature, let the clip roll on, having no concern for guidelines as a woman in
the back round screams, "Jesus fucking Christ!" Peter Jennings wore a shirt
with pit-stains and a reporter on location wore a sweatshirt with her
hair tied back.
I wonder how an individual has the capacity to hold such intense hatred. How
horrible that must feel. As I listen to callers on the radio, I shudder to
hear the thought of disproportional violent retaliation. I do not fear the
power of these terrorists. I do not question America's ability to respond.
I do fear one's capacity to hate.
Professional baseball is postponed as well as the Emmy Awards. Arab taxi
drivers are being beaten up. Arab shop owners now have bricks being thrown
through their windows. On the streets there is silence. In communities,
residents holding candles unite in prayer. At hospitals, the Red Cross
receives numerous volunteers to give blood. As a nation, we wait.
Preventing remainders of humor or the actual humanity of one's right to
laugh, late-night comedy shows are cancelled for the time being. There is no
cover-up, no way around this one. It's real and sits here in the pit of our
stomachs, waiting for alleviation.
|
