I'm in New York.
I used to live here.
9/11/01 was my second day of grad school.
I watched flames and smoke from a street corner near class.
Many students left soon after.
I didn't have an apartment yet.
But I stayed, realizing that I had prepared for this day so thoroughly that I sent one set of storage boxes to my parents in the Midwest, and the other to Suzy in California: In case I died, I didn't want my parents to have to wrap their heads around the evidence of a life lived creatively.
Being here was a dream realized.
There was no better place for me to be in the world.
Where would I go?
Eventually, the grad-school-in-NYC part of my life ended.
I've been back lots of times.
But I'm nervous now.
Because it's the first time since I lived here that I've allowed myself to feel the trauma of the events.
Don't act surprised. I'm a late bloomer.
And I had an iron cage around a tiny heart.
Since nearly losing it--and by losing it I mean comparing myself to homeless folks on the street and finding that maybe the only thing that separated us was charity--I started a slow return.
This visit is part of that return.
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sending you lots of love on your journey. heal well, dear one.
ReplyDeletepemsi, its wierd. the towers are still in the sky, just as light instead of concrete. i'm glad you're here, the whole city is if i may speak for it! welcome back again, don't forget to give your self credit for understanding as much as you do!
ReplyDeleteNico, you rock like a pop rock, roll like a flintstone, yabba dabb'indeed. You are the only person I know who has stabbed the city in simultaneous anguish and love. Concrete heathen. Tarnished saint ascending in light from a grave site still gaping after 6 timeless years. Can I just say that it is W-R-O-N-G that I am communicating with you VIRTUALLY when I am minutes versus miles away from you? Can't wait to meld minds in person. ..Pems
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