Ok, this might be trite, but I read someone else's memory of September 11, 2001, and thought I'd put mine out there in cyberspace for everyone everywhere to read.
On September 11, 2001, I was just finishing up my mission to Italy. September 11 was a Tuesday, the next day was preparation day, when I was supposed to pack to go home, and on Thursday I was going to go to the mission office and fly home on Friday, the 14th. That was the plan. Here's what really happened:
First of all, the time difference is 6 hours later than Eastern Time, so the morning was uneventful. We actually worked in our apartment mapping out our area and contacts, since I had been there a really long time. We took our customary 3 hour lunch (1 to 3 pm) and then called a friend to wish her a happy birthday. Then we got some really weird phone calls. First, a guy from South America called us. He was a regular at our English class, but didn't speak English as well as he spoke Italian, and he didn't speak Italian all that well. He said something about war, the twin towers, and making sure our families were ok. He didn't give enough real information that we knew what was going on, but we all had an eerie feeling after that. Then our friend whose birthday it was called us back. She got a call from her mom about an attack on New York and wanted to let us know to check on our families. Again, no real information, but we were sure something had happened.
Regardless, we decided to get out of the apartment and talk to people about religion. My companion and I went to visit a member of the church who hadn't been to church in a while, but enjoyed visiting with the missionaries. We rang the intercom at his apartment building, announced who we were, and he seemed to think about that for a second, then said, "Yes, I guess you should come up." Then he buzzed us in.
He was watching what I recall as being the Italian version of CNN. It may have even been CNN Italy, for all I know. But he directed us to his living room and told us to sit down where we could see the TV, which was odd, since missionaries don't watch TV, and he knew that. This was after both planes had hit the towers, after the plane had hit the Pentagon, and after the fourth plane crashed in Pennsylvania. I'm pretty sure it was after the towers had actually fallen, but I don't know for sure. I do remember that footage. I remember the huge pillars of smoke, and I remember the replay of the second plane crashing. I remember most vividly the footage of the people looking up from the street as the towers smoked, then realizing they were falling, and running to get away, like a bad disaster movie, but not corny at all, only horrific, because I knew it was real.
On TV in Italy, though, they showed something I'm pretty sure they didn't show in the US. They showed what looked like a remote bar, full of Lebanese, cheering. It still makes me sad and sick to remember that, most of all. People cheering for death and destruction like it was a game. I thought later that it seemed staged, and may have been shown purposely as propaganda against Lebanon and in favor of the US, but that doesn't change how disgusting it was.
After probably an hour and a half, or more, of watching replay after replay, and talking about it as much as we could, we said we should probably go, and went to catch the bus to go to our English class, which was that night. The bus ride was interesting. There are a good number of immigrants in Italy, and a lot from Morocco. There were a lot of Moroccans on the buses most of the time, and that day, after watching Lebanese celebrate the death of hundreds of Americans, it was hard to separate them in my mind.
We had English class, and cancelled an appointment or two, expecting to hear from the mission office some instruction or information. When we didn't get any call, we called them. So it was late at night on September 11, that I finally found out what was going to happen. As far as they knew, no flights were crossing the Atlantic, and they weren't sure when they would be again. We were not to leave the apartment the next day, if at all possible, but I was still supposed to plan on going home on Friday.
So on the 12th, we played Risk all day long. Kind of ironic, I know, but there it is. I packed too. The next morning, I was ready to go, and since I hadn't heard anything, I thought it was a go. I was supposed to meet the missionaries who drove at the subway station closest to the mission office. After my companion had locked our apartment door, the phone rang. We looked at each other worriedly, and I wanted to ignore it, but he unlocked the door and went back inside. I waited just outside the front door. He came out a minute later shaking his head, saying I was to stay put. That was it. I was supposed to call my family and tell them I wasn't coming, and I was going to stay in Italy at least five extra days.
Those five days were the most surreal times I have ever experienced. The worst part is how unsure I was of the plans. I only knew my flight had been canceled. I didn't find out my new flight date until a couple days later. It seemed like I would never go home. And while that might seem great, to be stranded it Italy, believe me, it's not. It is never fun to be stranded away from home, not knowing how or when you'll be able to go back. Everyone seemed a little bit more distant in those few days, and I remember feeling despondent and in a fog. Right after I found out my flight was definitely off, I just went to my bedroom and sat on my bed. I unpacked a little, and just felt horrible. I eventually did get home, obviously, and I got some good experiences in those last few days, and wasn't constantly depressed, so I came out of it.
Ok, so that became a much longer story than I wanted to write. And it extended past September 11, 2001, but the next few days were very connected in my mind. Seven years later, and I still remember seeing those images on that little TV in that cramped apartment, buying the newspaper the next day (also something we never did), just to get more information. I didn't really consider the world evil; that wasn't the feeling there at the time. It was more like a feeling of solidarity, like the Italians, at least, were on our side. The headline over the picture of the remains of the trade center towers on September 12, 2001 in Milan, Italy read "We are all Americans."
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