When we were allowed to leave the building at about 1:30 today, the
smoke that was still in the air was almost suffocating, and everything,
parked cars, leaves, street signs, canopies, were covered with at least
1/2 inch of powdery grey ash, and this was several blocks east and a
little south of the World Trade Center. People either had filter-masks
on or were holding cloths to their nose. Police and some National Guard
soldiers were on corners. There were no moving vehicles on the street
except for fire trucks and ambulances. It was very quiet. Very strange
for Manhattan. I went further east to walk up Water Street. That was
rather far from the explosion and yet even there everything was covered
with ash. It was as though there'd been a snowstorm, but it was a dead
one; there was no sparkle, and no crunch when walking.
There were papers on the street, and shopping bags and file folders, all
things that were sitting in an office many blocks away a few hours
before. There were a few pieces I picked up, papers with singed edges, a
page with the address of 1 World Trade Center, a copy of a check, and an
invoice from California with the sender's name on it, and I thought
thank god the person that sent this wasn't in those buildings. I have no
idea what I'll do with these few things. Maybe nothing. Maybe something
that will attempt to honor all those lives lost. I don't know now.
I passed some volunteers on a corner handing out wet paper towels to put
over our faces so we could breathe a little easier, and all I could do
was hold out my hand for one and nod slightly. I couldn't speak. Almost
everyone was very quiet, slowly walking north, wanting to get home.
Holding the wet paper towel to my nose made it possible to get some air
that wasn't mostly smoke or dust, and this was over three hours after
the second tower had collapsed.
When I passed Maiden Lane and looked to the left there was open sky
where normally the towers would have been clearly visible and was
overcome with unbearable sadness. I think people that live here, and
visitors too, will always feel a huge ache when they look in that
direction.
Some friends caught up with me after I'd been walking for a while, and
as we walked through the pretty community garden of an apartment complex
and through the east side of Chinatown we spent time figuring out how
each of us was going to get home. The F train was somewhere, but none of
us knew exactly where. At that point we were all just walking north and
didn't even know if any subways were running, and I wasn't sure if I
wanted to take the subway anyway. We occasionally looked back and just
stared at the huge dark cloud that looked like it would never dissipate.
As we walked Andrew told me how he'd passed the towers about 10 minutes
before the first plane hit. Stephen's wife and baby had been at home on
Long Island. Mostly we all walked without talking much. There were so
many people in the streets, walking.
We got into the Lower East Side and saw the F train stop at East
Broadway. First time I'd ever been there. It was running, so we all
decided to go on it in our continuing "head north" journey. While
waiting on the crowded platform we talked about the ash in our hair and
how extremely dusty Lee's shoes were and heard his story about how as
soon as the first plane hit, he had run to where his wife worked, which
was even closer to the towers than we had all been so the ash was
deeper, to find her because there was no answer at her office phone
number. Security there wouldn't let him in and he ended up using someone
else's ID. She wasn't there. He came back to where we work. He ran back
to look for her again. Finally he found out that she'd left her office
right away and had gotten home before the subways had been shut down. To
add to the poignancy of it he said she's expecting and he sighed as he
said he was so glad she was safe. All of us, and people waiting nearby
that heard his story, felt relief at that too.
In the very crowded subway car there was more talk about how to get
home. We figured out that I could change at 53rd Street for the train I
needed (if it was running), someone near us overheard Stephen talking
about Long Island and he lived there also so they figured out together
the best way to go, Penn Station versus changing at Jamaica, another guy
nearby told us his story about how he's the manager of a building on
Wall Street and he'd just gone up on the roof to check something just
after the first plane had hit, and how he couldn't move as he watched
the second plane.
I love talkative New Yorkers. Being so aware of each other is part of
being a New Yorker. I love New York. I am so incredibly sad that this
has been done.
Debra Shea
