Into the void...

2002-09-11

10:53 a.m.

This morning, I stopped at Starbucks on my way to the garage for my car. I can’t really afford Starbucks these days, so I just had a scone. Due to the fact that Rob and I have absolutely no food in the apartment today, I figured I was entitled to my favorite kind of scone for the first time in quite awhile.

Cinnamon chip scones from Starbucks are positively the best. I used to get one every morning on my way to work at my last job. Sigh...oh, the lost days of being able to afford luxuries like Starbucks coffee and scones every single morning on the way to the job I loved.... Yeah, well, those people are now at the top of my shit-list, so I don’t want to think about it much more.

While they were getting my scone from the case this morning, I looked down and noticed a basket full of red, white, and blue ribbons and a little bag with safety pins. Sticking up from the basket was a little sign that indicated the ribbons were free to anyone who wanted to show their remembrance for those who died last year on this date. Thinking that was kind of a nice, subtle way to go about recognizing the anniversary, I picked up a ribbon, paid for my scone, and continued to the garage.

Once back at the apartment, I pinned the ribbon to my shirt and thought how proud I was to be supporting the American cause without going through any of the melodramatic ceremony everyone else seems to require. I also thought it would be a good idea to show my support, seeing as how I’ve been accused of being less than sympathetic to traumatic events in the past.

The ribbon provided a nice contrast to the bullet around my neck.

The ribbon was worn on the shoulder of my shirt for the bus ride to work. Before I even left the bus station, however, I had determined that the ribbon was not a good idea because I could see it out of the corner of my eye, and the last thing on earth I need right now is to be constantly reminded about death, dying, destruction, desperation, and despair by a ribbon memorializing an event that didn’t directly affect anyone I know. Realizing that’s rather the point of the ribbon, I had to take it off anyway.

I’ve spent far too many years of my life thinking about nothing but death. If I’m ever not thinking about death, it’s because I’m on a shitload of medication and I’m trying desperately to push the thought to the back of my mind and lead a relatively normal life. It’s not easy. It’s not fun. And it kills me that the world needs to be shoving this anniversary date in my face when I really can’t handle it. Besides, if I HAD known people directly affected by the incident, I would be severely offended that the rest of the world had the gall to presume they understood even one-billionth of the horror the event had planted in my soul.

All this "recognizing," "remembering," and "memorializing" seems a bit too much like "celebrating." What exactly are we trying to prove and to whom? Are the terrorists going to suddenly realize the impact the event had on us and regret their actions? Are the families who lost loved ones going to see everyone wearing red, white, and blue to celebrate the freedom allowed us by the mere fact that we happened to be born in or end up in America and then suddenly feel as though their loss hurts less?

As I finally turned to pass through the gate to the building in which I work, it was precisely 8:46am. Church bells started tolling on my left as the cars in the street to my right continued their trek through the bustling streets of Boston. The combination of sounds and the recognition of the awful irony of the church bells ringing to mark a moment of silence pierced through my brain and broke into the capsule that had been holding the memory of last September 11th.

Last September 11th, I was watching The Wayans Brothers on TV when the breaking news interrupted my relaxing morning of coffee and cigarettes. Rob was punching away on the keyboard of his computer in the other room so he could finish the paper that was due in class that day. At this point, only the Pentagon and one of the towers had been hit. I watched live as the second plane hit. I watched live as the first building collapsed. I watched live as the second building collapsed. I watched live as they reported Flight 93 crashing down in my home state.

Thanks to the media, I have been permanently and irreversibly scarred by an event that didn’t concern me.

Out of respect for everyone involved, I have refrained from saying too much about the incident. I have refrained because I worried that my reactions would be compared to my reactions to Columbine, and we all know I have too many enemies about that already. The truth is, though, that this particular event can’t really even be compared to Columbine. It’s entirely different. My reactions are different. My intentions are different. I can’t explain or even begin to understand why the terrorists felt compelled to attack America. If I did, I would try to explain it the same way I tried to explain why Columbine happened.

Still, probably no one would understand.

In any case, I feel the proper amount of respect for the dead and I believe that’s important to note. Of course, I always feel respect for the dead; I pay more attention to the dead than I do to the living. I care that my country was attacked. I care that I was lucky enough not to lose any loved ones in the attack. I still wish I had been able to witness such an event, but that’s rather beside the point. All I care to remember of the event is the one thought that kept running through my head over and over and over that day: "Thank god Rob is here."

I have the ability to love beyond the average capacity for a human to experience emotion. I have the ability to recognize when I should and should not show support for a cause. I have the ability to know what is tasteful and what is tasteless, and I have determined that all the celebration of this anniversary is decidedly tasteless. All that said, I want it to be known that I support the American cause even if I don’t attend any of the ceremonies of remembrance today. I may be only one person, but I have the ability to remember appropriately in my own way.

And I refuse to wear a ribbon.

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