Anniversary

Three years ago, I was worrried abut how my friends would get home, whether they were injured, or whether they were dead, because they were in Manhattan (and I couldn't be sure where) when the towers fell. It was a day spent next to the phone, hoping to herd my family back to Staten Island, hoping they could connect with each other to provide support. It was a proud day to live in New York, because it was true that it was a chance to see and hear about people being at their best even in the worst of circumstances.

One event that will stay with me (and I can't believe this day can still bring back tears but I guess it can) is the rogue bus driver of a New York city bus who picked up Gabrielle and Nicole and many others on board and calmed everyone down, telling them that he'd get everyone back to Staten Island somehow. And he did, through what must have been the most hellacious traffic and chaos imaginable. To that anonymous bus driver I extend my thanks for bringing my family back to me.

I still remember most a reaction from one of my friends at the time who was crying over the death and destruction and said something like, "of course they attacked it, it was like the US's middle finger flipping off the world. And we're just going to go to war." What bothers me most about the portrayal of peace activists, or even people who aren't completely anti-war, just anti-this war, is that grief isn't attributed to them just as much as it is the war supporters.

To all of my friends who went through that day with me, I love you.

To all of the New Yorkers who lost someone that day, I hope that you can find peace.

To Rudy Guiliani, thank you sincerely for the one moment of your mayoral life you weren't a royal fascist pig.

To George W. Bush, fuck you, you incompetent asshole.

To everyone who died trying to save people's lives that day, I'm so sorry that this war is the memorial that we Americans have left for you. You deserved a lot better.