9/11: WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE PLANES HIT THE TOWERS...? BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

 

9/11: WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE PLANES HIT THE TOWERS…?

BY SANDRA HARRIS. ©

Have you ever been asked where you were when Elvis died? Or when JFK was assassinated? I was only a nipper for the first historical landmark, and not even alive when the second happened, but I do remember exactly where I was when the terrorist planes hit the Twin Towers in Lower Manhattan.

It was a Tuesday afternoon here for us Irish, as we’re about five hours ahead of the United States. I was walking through town on my way to meet my then-boyfriend for a couple of hours. I didn’t know it at the time- or maybe I did, deep down- but our long-term relationship was on its very last legs, and would only limp on for a matter of a few more weeks, before eventually dying out completely, like a car with a busted engine, on October 31^st, 2001. Breaking up on Halloween? That’s so me…!

We had reached this horrible kind of end-game stage where we were meeting up for sex a couple of times a week, but nothing else. The closeness between us was gone forever. There was a divide between us as wide as the Grand Canyon, and I was resolutely refusing to see the Writing on the Wall. Whenever I accidentally caught a glimpse of it, I pulled my blinkers firmly back into position over my eyes and pretended like mad that I hadn’t seen nuthin.’ Like a Mafia defendant, lol.

Anyway, I was en route for the first of that week's sex meet-ups. They had all the heart of an ATM machine, and I’m ashamed now that I let them go on for so long. Not much I can do about it now, however. I was clinging on to the relationship with my fingertips, thinking that where there was sex, there must surely still be love too, or at least caring. Typical dumb female, eh? So, there I was, walking down the street mulling over ‘the Relationship,’ as I was constantly doing in those days.

There used to be a TV shop down the end of a certain street on my way in to town. They had about twenty TV screens in the window, and, as I passed, curious as to why there was a crowd gathered in front of the shop, all the screens were showing exactly the same image: two identical tall sky-scraping buildings with a load of thick black smoke and fire billowing out from their upper levels.

What’s going on, I asked my fellow rubber-neckers? Is that a film? What is it exactly? Terrorists have attacked the World Trade Centre, said one of them. Wow, that’s terrible, I said, not really fully understanding what the person meant.

What was the World Trade Centre again, and what were these two tall structures to do with it? I stayed and watched the on-screen images for another few minutes, only half-listening to the exclamations of shock from passers-by, then I carried on into town, my head firmly back in Relationship La-La Land once more.

In my defence, at the time, I was a young single parent with serious man-trouble. When you’re bringing up a child on your own, your world tends to be very narrow. You’re going back and forth between school and the doctor’s surgery and the dentist and the supermarket on a kind of permanent loop, you’re perpetually tired and forever worried about things like rent and bills.

You barely pay attention to what the weather’s like over your own head, much less a terrorist act that takes place a continent away. When The Relationship finally broke down irreparably in October of 2001, it took me a good couple of years to get back to a place where I felt I was living in the actual world once more.

There were probably a load more important world events in the two or three years after 9/11 that passed me by as well. People do tend to focus more on themselves and what’s going on in their own little worlds, because that’s genuinely what affects them the most. I was obsessed with my own sorrows at the time, and missed out completely on seeing the Bigger Picture, and what 9/11 meant for all of humanity, including me and my own little family.

This weekend was the twentieth anniversary of 9/11, and, for whatever reason, I immersed myself all weekend in TV documentaries about what happened on that fateful, never-to-be-forgotten Tuesday morning in early September, 2001. I learned so much.

For the first time ever, I fully understood the events and I got them straight in their correct sequence as well. I found out who was behind the plot to attack America and what grievances they thought they had against the world’s most powerful nation.

I learned where Osama Bin Laden fitted into the picture, and who Al-Qaeda were and who the Taliban were. For the first time ever in my life, I felt like I at least partly understood the ‘War on Terror.’ I understand why it’s such a negative thing that the Taliban are back in power in Afghanistan right now, and why it’s such bad news for women and girls in particular.

I watched survivors tell their heart-rending stories, and I saw footage of people running for their lives as the Towers collapsed. I saw the iconic but terrifying image of ‘the Falling Man.’ I heard some of the phone calls from the passengers on board the hijacked planes in which they said goodbye forever to their loved ones, and I watched the reactions of these heart-broken loved ones on the ground.

I heard about the bravery of the firefighters and police officers, many of whom lost their lives on that day in the service of others. The story of United 93, the plane on which the courageous passengers fought back and thwarted the hijackers’ plans to a large extent, made me cry buckets. I learned why Guantanamo Bay was a bad thing, and how this current presidency might be the one to finally shut it down.

It’s taken twenty years, but finally I think I get it, the importance of 9/11 and why we should never forget it. I’ll finally be able to discuss it knowledgeably with others and probably will do, every chance I get. I’ll even be something of an amateur or armchair expert on the subject, or, at least, I’ll think I am.

I’ll be like one of those annoying people who manage to give up smoking and then go around annoying everyone within earshot about how bad smoking is for you and why you should give it up like they did. There’s nothing so irritating as a late convert, lol. Better late than never, though. Peace out, y’all.

AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY OF SANDRA HARRIS.

 Sandra Harris is a Dublin-based novelist, poet, short story writer and film and book blogger. She has studied Creative Writing and Vampirology. She has published a number of e-books on the following topics: horror film reviews, multi-genre film reviews, women's fiction, erotic fiction, erotic horror fiction and erotic poetry. Several new books are currently in the pipeline. You can browse or buy any of Sandra's books by following the link below straight to her Amazon Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B015GDE5RO

Her debut romantic fiction novel, 'THIRTEEN STOPS,' is out now from Poolbeg Books:

https://www.amazon.com/Thirteen-Stops-Sandra-Harris-ebook/dp/B089DJMH64

The sequel, ‘THIRTEEN STOPS LATER,’ is out now from Poolbeg Books:

 https://www.amazon.com/dp/1781994234