Curtis Johnson | + Follow Poet |
Narrative | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

911 Recall

My commute was about half an hour, and I was due at work at 9am.
Normally, most of my news came when I was driving, which was what
I did for a living at the time. I departed for work, and as usual, immediately turned on an all-news radio station. I started hearing reports of plane crashes that later became much more than crashes.

As if that wasn't horrific enough, the plane crashes were live weapons
of war successfully targeting two towers in New York. Driving to work,
I passed an air force base in my community and glanced over, noticing
no activity as reported by the news that all air traffic was suspended
by the government.

I arrived at work not knowing if there would be work because most of our
work was dependent on air-traffic from northern to southern California.
As it turned out, we were to do our normal routes except at the end where
we'd drop bags and packages at the airport. Everything was to be brought
straight to the yard, and our work day ended.

So much more can and has been said about the events and after effects
of 911, but herein, I must consider the lone individual American, and the immediate impact each must have felt. A flashback of that day consumes
me 'with the feel of the atmosphere'; an atmosphere that has embraced me
for 21 years; an atmosphere so refreshing and reassuring, that I dare not
allow it to escape my memory.

As I suspect with all the drivers, our workday was filled with far more
than meets the eye. Sure, there were visible questions, subdued anger,
controlled fear, solemnized sadness, and a great sense of oneness seen and
felt at every stop. Even the freeway traffic seemed to speak unity; and the
vehicle occupants and I were bonded in ways I had never felt before. Even
the international scene and climate with regards to America were filled with "We love you America!".  The atmosphere was laced with reassurance and hope.

That feel of unity on 911 as a memory is reassuring, but the real unity in America appears to be history. 'The feel' is gone, and I want it back. 'The
feel' is gone, and I want my country back; I want 'the feel' I felt on 91101.

I must say that, in my lifetime before 911, I had witnessed a lot of love being exported from America but not a lot of love being imported from other places around the world. This switch was very refreshing, one that I have always treasured since 91101.

091122PSCtest. A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest. Strand

Please Login to post a comment