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I tried J.R. 's phone again. There was still no answer. I was pacing the floor, holding my phone tightly in my hand when Kelley came through my apartment door asking if I had heard from J.R. She looked panicked. Her blonde hair was sort of wild, her blue eyes wide, and she didn’t smile.
I shook my head. I refused to cry.
“Maybe cell reception is just jammed. Can you imagine how many calls are being made right now?” Kelley tried to reassure me. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
I couldn’t find my words. I was scared that if I spoke, I would cry, and I didn’t want to cry. I knew I couldn’t afford to allow myself to think the absolute worst.
“They think it’s terrorists,” she says. “The way those planes flew into those buildings…” It sounded like she was going to tell a story, but then she ended the sentence with a shudder.
I sat down on the couch, still clutching my phone to my chest. “What if he’s not okay, Kelley?”
“You can’t think like that right now, Rach.”
I knew she was right because it was the very thing I was telling myself. I held my phone so tightly, my palms were sweaty against it. I silently prayed for it to ring.
The news then broke in with a report:a plane has just crashed into the Pentagon. Hundreds feared dead.
No word from J.R.
Another news report:the South Tower of the World Trade Centers has collapsed.
No word from J.R.
Another news report:a plane has just crashed into a field in Pennsylvania.
No word from J.R.
Another news report:the North Tower of the World Trade Centers has collapsed.
No word from J.R.
There had been so much tragedy in that one morning. All of this had happened before noon. I couldn’t even begin to process all my emotions. I was numb. Nearly emotionless. The thoughts in my head were all jumbled together. All I wanted—all Ineeded— was to hear from J.R. Even if it was for only three seconds of broken cell reception. I wanted to see his name pop up on the screen of my phone. I wondered how many other Americans were waiting for the same thing.
Kelley made us drinks. I sipped from the glass slowly, my hands shaking as I tried to bring the glass to my lips. My mind was somewhere dark. War, death, uncertainty.
“He’s not going to call, Kelley,” I said, pacing the floor. It had been hours now, and the news reports still went on relentlessly in the background. “He would have already found a way. He’s not okay.”
By two p.m., the attacks seemed to have stopped. The news reporters only had the aftermath to discuss. The collapse of the Twin Towers left miles of debris, dust, and bodies—some intact, some not. The site of the crash in Pennsylvania was void of any survivors. The Pentagon was still on fire. So many were dead. They couldn’t even come up with a number. Their best guess was in the thousands.
It was like something out of a horror film. It was eerie. The sky outside was gray. There was no sunshine, and if there had been, I think it would have felt like betrayal by Mother Nature. My heart broke for all of the faces I saw on the television. Survivors covered in dust, their eyes bewildered. The news reporters said things liketerrorists,war,gasolineshortage,foodshortage,WorldWarIII.
I had always felt safe in that little world of mine. We lived in America, the greatest country in the world. I had lived every day of my life like there was a tomorrow. I went to class at the university. I bought groceries. I went to the movies. Sometimes, I even went to The Handlebar.
That day, my entire world was shaken. My security was diminished. I couldn’t see how life would ever be the same, and I knew that if I felt like that, thousands of miles from ground zero, how much darker were the worlds of those closest to the victims of that day?
I thought of the people who, unknowingly, boarded the hijacked airplanes that day. They thought they were going home. Going on vacation. Heading out for a new job opportunity. They were people just like me, just living.
The victims of September 11, 2001, were wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, someone’s child, someone’s boyfriend, someone’s girlfriend. They were people, just living. Just like me.
I thought about J.R., the man I had only known for four months, the man whom I undoubtedly loved with every ounce of my heart. He had been on a plane that morning leaving New York after a wild night in Manhattan living out his dream. J.R. was just living.
There was no way for me to know where J.R. was or if he was a victim. There was no one to call. There was nothing for me to cling to. No hope. Just the unknown.
It was eight p.m. News reporters had concluded that it would be weeks before we would know exactly how many people had died. It would be months before the clean-up was finished. Footage showed people lined up by the hundreds at gas stations, filling their gas tanks. There were rumors of a gas shortage.
I kept trying J.R.’s phone. Of course, no answer. My phone’s battery was close to dying, and I was beginning to think that it was time to accept the fact that J.R. was not coming home.
My heart was broken. Kelley and I sat in silence. It had been hours since we last spoke. Our eyes were glued to the television, but how much more of this could we stand? I knew that I would never forget the images of people falling from their office windows, of the planes crashing into the World Trade Centers, of those same two buildings crumbling to the ground. I imagined families all over the country, staring mindlessly at their televisions, too. Some of them, just like me, were still waiting.
