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the cloud of smoke forcing mascara stained tears down my already damp cheeks. I
had no concept of where I was, various flickers of either lights or fire were
everywhere and desperate figures were running around in the haze. I began to
follow the small crowd, tearing off a sleeve of my shirt to hold over my mouth.
Where people had only that morning been working at their desks making busy
phone calls and filing paperwork at their desks, it was now filled with smoke,
panicked voices in the distance and objects lying on the floor.
I close my eyes as I remember that day, five years ago in 2001.
The nightmares continue to haunt me relentlessly, I can almost
smell the smoke in the air at times. I have kept myself away from this
place for so long, frightened of the effects it would have. The
counsellor has been suggesting this as a possibility since the
beginning, however the nauseating feeling in my stomach does not
coincide with the feeling of acceptance or relief that I am supposed
to experience. I can still no longer walk through the rotating doors
to smile at the receptionist whom was lost in the fires, or use the
quick elevators that no longer exist or talk to most of the friends on
my level because almost all of them were part of the 3,000 people
who were killed. In my new job I have remained separate from most
of my colleagues, unable to allowmyself to bond with others without
dealing with my internal trauma, however, unable to face what
happened.
Finally I reach the pool of the South Tower, where I had worked.
Slowly I move around the square, allowing myself to read the names
of those whom I had worked with. People whom I had encountered
once or twice are in front of me and my vision begins to blur as
liquid gathers behind my eyes, ready to fall. The slow, steady tapping
of my heels on the pavement comes to a halt as I approach the names
of those I’d been closest with. I reach out my tentative fingers to
slowly trace the names which were written in bronze on the
memorial. My composure is lost as the tears begin to retrace their
path down my face. Sniffing, I reach into the pocket of my long coat
and retrieve a white flower which I place gently on the memorial to
remind them that I haven’t forgotten them and I never will. As I
turn away, I watch the blue light extend high into the sky where my
tower used to be. I remember the joyous times I’d spent with my
colleagues prior to 9/11 and a faint smile passes my lips as I walk
through the city lights.
‘
Twin Towers
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