Bacon and Eggs

The title of this blog doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the subject matter-- only that its what I'm chomping on at the moment to get enough energy to get my work done.

So.

Let us begin.

Last night, my new roomie and I were to meet up at a Soca Party in lower Manhattan. If you don't know what Soca music is, its almost like a mix between regae and club music. Anyway, she advised me which subway stop to disembark-- however, was not awares as to which way from the subway stop to walk from. So, I took myself, and my ill sense of direction, the wrong way.

After walking almost seven blocks, I came to a well-lit facade and a lot of construction. Squinting upwards to see what was hanging from the curved overhang of this facade, I saw the words "WORLD TRADE CENTER PATH STATION." When I saw that, I looked down to see the numerous signs and billings posted by the City and State of New York, with pictures of the building, and destruction, of such a mammoth structure.

My stride slowed to a saunter, and I stood agape side stepping looking at each sign, trying to get a peak of what it looks like now. My eyes scanned The List: "THE HEROS OF SEPTEMBER 11, 2001," which contained every person that died that fateful day. Friends, it was a sight to behold.

Consecration postings urged people not to desecrate this "special place," they call it. My feet still carried me to the viewing point past Liberty Ave. As I walked down the slight grade, I glanced over to see hundreds of folding chairs still set up-- a microphone and speaker stand still propped, and a brand new memorial emblazoned on the side of the WTC firehouse. My heart sank as I saw the bundles of flowers that were placed in front of the memorial, all blocked off to preserve the spirit of those who were lost.

I turned to the observation deck and slowly walked toward. My memory raced as I thought back to where I was on Sept 11, 2001: In college, in my dorm room, asleep. I was an RA: I remember my television automatically turning on as my alarm clock, but not really paying much attention to the news report. Then, from my very own hallway, I hear cries of panic and screaming: my residents beating on my door for a kind word or just a listening ear. I jolted out of bed and what projected on my television screen was when then second plane hit the building. I opened my door to see one of my residents sitting against my door weeping. She sobbed, "My brother works in the second tower. He's not answering his phone... I... I...." I knelt down and held her and tried to assure her that he probably made it out safely. I walked her down to her room and just as she began to sober up, one of my male residents yelps, "Holy shit!!! That tower's comin down...!"

There I am, looking at the huge pit of once was and now what it has become. Cranes, scaffolds, beams, tracks, every scrimp of metal trying to fill that huge hole of memories that will be burned in millions of minds, hearts and souls. I felt the tears weld up in the corners of my eyes as I turned around and still saw some damage to surrounding buildings and wondered if the dust, dirt and gravel under my feet was created by a construction truck, or something else. "My God," I breathed as I saw the beams jutting out the concrete supports that held up the building. The mastermind behind that whole plan knew exactly what he was doing.

And how it would effect us all.