Jason Rodriguez - The Moose in the Closet: ...

Within my first year at TAO we moved from our run-down offices in McLean, Virginia to a swankier setup in Reston. Further west, cheaper real estate. I was now taking two trains and a bus to work which was a pain in the ass but we had a much nicer spread and there were better lunch options/happy hour bars nearby. One of the new lunch joints was this Korean deli right in the lobby of our building – I’d go there almost every day for some breakfast and once or twice a week for lunch.

I was in the deli eating a cheese omelet, talking with my boy, Max, when the first plane hit.

The deli always had NPR playing over the radio. I remember the report first stating that a plane crashed into one of the twin towers; that the details weren’t known yet – the reporter was talking about the time a plane crashed into the Empire State Building and saying that that was on a foggy day. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a cloud in the sky on this morning, everyone thought it was an accident. Max and I, both native New Yorkers, listened intently but not overly worried. We both admitted that it was fucked up but in that boyish way – the one where we have a little smile on our face because the whole scenario seemed unreal. Like it wasn’t really happening. We were picturing the monologue Dave Letterman would eventually give once they found out the pilot was drunk – we harkened back to the jokes we whispered as pre-teens when the Challenger blew up.

As of that morning, we still dealt with tragedy by making light of it and thanking God that it wasn’t happening to us.

And then the second plane hit.

We weren’t smiling anymore. We weren’t talking about bullshit prop-jobs flown by millionaire playboys with too many gin and tonics coursing through their veins. I remember Max saying it first, “This isn’t an accident.”

We cleared our trays and went up to the office.

Our coworkers were already setting up TVs and radios in several offices – huddling around them. I ran into an office and saw the images on the TV for the first time – the smoking buildings. Bob, my boss, asked me if I had any family working in the Trade Center. Shit sinks in – my entire family lives in New York. A lot of my friends, too. I run to the phone and begin dialing but no-one is answering; I’m getting “all circuits are busy” messages. Calling my dad’s cell. The home line. Whoever’s phone number I remembered. But nothing was getting through.

So I start shooting out emails and frantically checking to see if anyone responded. Going back and forth between my office (which had a radio) and the office next door (where there was a TV). I didn’t even try to call Robin – she was at work – started her new job in Washington DC about two weeks ago – and the day’s events didn’t really concern her.

But then the plane hit the Pentagon and I couldn’t get in touch with her, either.

We didn’t have cell phones at the time. I was trying to call her office but getting busy signals and error messages. Robin’s parents somehow got in touch with me – got through to my office line – and they were asking me if Robin’s alright. I told them I was trying to call her but I wasn’t having any luck. I told them that she’s probably fine, her office isn’t near the Pentagon or the Capitol – she was in Northwest DC and there’s nothing but apartment buildings up there.

I hear Max scream my name from the office next door.

I go inside to see a cloud a smoke and a message across the bottom of the screen that says one of the towers possibly collapsed. The room was silent.

The second tower collapsed and that’s when I started crying.

I grew up in Red Hook – directly across the water from The Towers – you could see them from almost any block in my neighborhood. I’d bring dates up to the roof of our building and we’d watch the sunset over the Manhattan skyline and the Towers were always right there. Sitting up there with my father on the 4th of July and watching the fireworks reflected off of them.

There has never been anything more real in my life than when those towers collapsed.

I’ve been through a lot of deaths. Those of you who’ve read this site last year know about all of them. My Uncle Alex, my Godfather, died of complications due to AIDS when I was in college. My cousin Steven – not even a teenager – also died as a result of the AIDS virus. My Uncle Michael, my confirmation sponsor, died two days after Christmas when his liver shut down. Nanny and Uncle Joe both died from emphysema.

But there has never been anything more crushing in my life, more shocking, than when those towers collapsed.

I finally get in touch with Robin. The news down here in DC was going ape shit. We’re hearing rumors of truck bombs going off outside the State Department building and snipers on the Washington Monument taking out suicide bombers on the lawn. Everyone is freaking out. Reports are leaking in about a plane crashing in Philadelphia – it turns out that one is true.

I’m calling Robin every thirty minutes while trying to get in touch with my parents. It takes about four hours but I finally talk to them – my mom’s crying and I can hardly get a word out of her. I find out everyone’s alright – my only relative who worked at the Trade Center was still on his way to work when the first plane hit. He was stuck on a bus in the Battery Tunnel – he climbed out of the window and walked to my parent’s house.

All of my relatives who worked in Manhattan were either at my parent’s house or on their way there. We were the only ones within walking distance of Manhattan – if you take the tunnel we’re only several miles from the Trade Center.

My mom was in the neighborhood when the first plane hit. My father was actually in Brooklyn Heights – right at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge – drinking a coffee – he heard and saw the plane hit, you couldn’t get a clearer view of the attack from Brooklyn. He went to pick Elizabeth up at school immediately.

My parents were telling me that there were papers all over the neighborhood from the towers – they drifted across the river and peppered our streets and back yard. They still have a stack of charred documents and post-it notes they picked up. They can’t bring themselves to get rid of it.

I started hearing from my friends, as well. Everyone was ok and walking back to Brooklyn.

The news was settling down. There was no bomb at the State Building. No suicide bombers on the Mall. Robin tells me she’s going to start walking back to the apartment.

There was this guy Ralph from my job – he was a real douchebag. I’m sitting in my office with a coworker, listening to the radio, and he comes in with a work-related question. My coworker just kind of looks at this guy and tries to answer. I wanted to say something, you know – I really despised this guy and I wanted to call him a cunt and remind him that we’re currently under attack – that people are dying and suffering and worrying right now.

But I held my tongue. I knew if I got started I would have knocked him out. Someone would have had to of pulled me off of him. I was too angry to get into a fight with anybody.

At around 3PM Max tells me he’s going to try and drive home. We both live in DC – all of the major bridges are closed off but we take a back way – Chain Bridge down through Embassy Row. It was surreal – every embassy had sentries standing out front – there were police everywhere and checkpoints at major intersections.

Max drops me off at home. Robin’s already there, watching the television. I go straight to my balcony – we were in Southwest at the time and I could see the Pentagon smolder from out there. The streets were empty – dead quite. Everyone was inside, in front of their televisions. I was watching the Pentagon burn and feeling helpless.

Our phone rings. Robin’s grandfather passed away. He’s been sick – Robin’s mother tells her that they wouldn’t let him watch the news – they hid the day’s events from him because they didn’t want him to see what was happening to his country. He was a WWII vet – he lost a brother in the war – and his last days shouldn’t be spent seeing all of this.

Robin wanted to go to Boston the next day – take a train. I agreed at first but as the day went on, I realized it was impossible. The planes were grounded – the trains weren’t even running and when they got back up everyone trapped away from home was going to try and get home. I had to tell Robin this. It was hard – she was saying she’ll go without me – but she eventually comes around and realizes that I’m right. Maybe I was being chicken-shit; part of me still feels like she blames me for missing her grandfather’s funeral. I think I’d blame her if it was the other way around.

Chicken-shit. That’s what I became after September 11th. I was a bleeding heart liberal before the attack. Now all I wanted was blood. I cheered when we bombed Afghanistan. We went out and bought our first car to help support the American economy. We bought cell phones so if we were attacked again; we had a means of communicating with each other. I supported the war with Iraq. I supported the Patriot Act.

On a flight to Florida I saw a man in full Muslim dress make his way to the bathroom. He was in there for a while so I reported him to the flight attendant. The flight attendants knocked on the door until he came out and then searched the bathroom.

Chicken-shit.

It’s really fucked up how easily I was manipulated – how easy a lot of us were manipulated. I had the fear for a long time. I was checking the news non-stop – hitting refresh every ten minutes at work in case something happened. It’s not until I got a hold of myself – until the fear left – that I realized how much I helped fuck things up. There’s no redemption at that point – I can rally against the administration and make fun of Fox News all I want but no matter how much I lash out I know I’m only trying to cover up my own mistakes.

I can look back at September 11th now and see it for it was. The worst attack to ever happen to this country. The most heartbreaking and terrifying morning of my life. An event that made me realize how much I love my friends, family – Robin – and how I can’t stand the thought of losing any of them.

I realize how helpless and insignificant we are – how our lives are controlled and manipulated by people with more power than us, on both sides. And it’s better to love the ones in my life than to spend time wondering when powerful men were going to kill me.

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Sunday, September 10, 2006

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