9/11

I was in Manhattan on 9/11. I was a poor Artist living off the dollar menu and on my off days from work, I would walk up and down the Manhattan streets with my portfolio under my arm fielding rejections from gallery after gallery. I was about 10-12 blocks from the towers. I noticed that people were distracted and wherever there was a tv, at a bar, restaurant, or store, people were crowded around it.

Normally, I mind my own business, but people also looked worried, so I dipped into a restaurant and saw on the television that one of the towers had smoke coming out of it and people said that a plane had accidentally flown into it. I knew I could see the towers outside so I went back out and looked up and to my left, there they were, one with smoke coming out of it. And while a few of us were looking confused while staring, that’s when I saw the second plane fly into the tower. I immediately turned around and started walking uptown. I wasn’t necessarily scared, more concerned. Not that this wasn’t a big deal, but as a Black man, it’s different. I’d already seen the worst of society by the time I was 17, and lot’s of Black people, and people of color live with a sort of PTSD anyway. Whether it’s police brutality, or fleeing a war torn country, the grief and trauma we carry with us is something that most don’t know, understand, or care to. Until 9/11.

What I found amazing, and beautiful though, was for the next 3 months after 9/11, I’d never seen people so kind, helpful, considerate, and selfless. But, eventually, we went back to our normal selves. Our nature, I like to say. So, when I think about 9/11, it’s always bittersweet, because it just reminds me that we only ever truly unite as a country, as a people, when we’re attacked from outside. And that’s a shame, because we showed that we are better than that.