Journal entry page 3
Back at our apartment, we repeatedly tried to contacts Dabni and Gordon, some of our closest friends in the city. They live only a few blocks away from the World Trade Center and Dabni was upset because she was unable to reach Gordon. Phone and cell lines were disrupted and Gordon had left for an appointment and she wasn't quite sure where. She'd left messages for Gordon to come over to our place as their neighborhood had been evacuated; covered in ash and falling debris.
I looked at our supplies and wondered how long four people could survive on that. "SHIT! I forgot the bleach." Meg looks at me like I lost my mind until I explain a few drops of bleach can be used to purify a gallon of water.
Afraid of being separated for even a minute, we trudge back to Dags and now the place is packed with people buying emergency supplies. The check out lines stagger down the shopping aisles. Meg suggests we go to a local deli instead. I argue against it, but I figure we can always try back here if that's a bust. Luckily, it wasn't too crowded.
In my mind, I'm constantly flashing back to that day of destruction in Japan. My apartment in Kobe was up on a mountainside and was extensively damaged. So much so that when I saw the outside of my neighbors' seemingly undamaged homes, I thought I got screwed. Then I walked down the mountain and saw the worst thing I had ever seen: Total and utter destruction. The entire valley was rubble. Ten story buildings were now nine stories with the fourth floor measuring about two feet tall. A man stood atop a pile of bricks yelling downwards for his parents.
Panicked, I run to check on a student that lives in the suburban neighborhood. I come to her house and relax because the outside doesn't look so bad. Then I understand why my student is crying: an hour ago her house was a two story, not a one-story. Her mother was still on the first floor, buried beneath our feet. "Do you have an axe or a shovel or something?" She doesn't and I look at the hard wood floor looking for some kind of way down. I just wanted to retch at the impossibility of the situation. I felt absolutely useless.
I do my best not to think about that because I know that THAT is exactly what is going on in the wreckage of downtown New York with the rescue crews. My head is throbbing and the pit of my stomach is knotted. I think, I pray: Dear God, not again.
Finally, Gordon is able to get a call through the unreliable phone lines to us and we heave a huge sigh of relief. Dabni arrives with her Cairn terrier but she won't be happy until Gordon is there, safe in her arms. Meg and I instantly recognize how lucky we are to be together in this moment. We'd both go insane with worry.
Making phone calls is like try to roll snake eyes. I still can't get through to my mother and other friends in the city. Occasionally, I break through. I wondered doubtfully if my DSL line is working and strangely, it does work and I quickly fire off an email to my mother and eight siblings telling them that Meg and I are OK. Moments later my mother emails us back her immense relief and informs us that Barbara, my sister is okay.
Barbara lives in Portland and Meg and I just got back from visiting with her and her husband over the Labor Day holidays. For a moment, I wonder if the Western U.S. has been attacked when my mother reminds me that she was in Washington D.C. for a conference with Oregon's Humane Society. Her hotel is about a mile away from The Pentagon and when the plane hit, she assumed the shudder she felt was a small earthquake.