MONDAY 9/17/01
So it’s Monday.
Like every other Monday for the past year or so, I get up at an ungodly hour. I somehow manage to shower, grab my bags, and head out the door for Union Station in DC. It’s time once again for my weekly ritual of riding Amtrak to New York’s Pennsylvania Station. It’s a gorgeous morning – the sun is just starting to electrify the eastern sky. And with the streaks of clouds providing depth and texture to the horizon, it’s magnificent. Especially when my cab crosses the Roosevelt Bridge – the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and the Capitol all back-lit by a fiery sky.
There aren’t that many cars on the road, and just before 7a there probably ought to be. However, I focus on the sunrise, trying desperately to snap a few pix (I’m obsessed with taking pix lately), and scan the streets of Washington for anything, well…different. After all, we’re at war…sort of.
Surprisingly, the routine continues. Stop at the Amtrak QuickTrak machine to pick up my ticket. Swing by the newsstand for the Washingtonian, the Washington Post. Grab an EggMcMuffin (okay, today I got two – what’s your point?) and then strategically position myself near the boarding gate so that I can be the first to get on after they let “Darwin’s Special Friends” (the elderly, the unfortunately young, and those with “special needs”) board. Finally, I get my chance. I fight my way onto the platform and amble over to the train. Which is when a really uncomfortable question pops into my head: where’s the best place to sit on a train if someone’s gonna blow it up?
This makes me angry. This is MY town, and the Northeast Corridor (basically the train route between DC, NY, and Boston), is like a second home. The fact that I should be in a situation where I have to worry about this is a load of bull. But, since I have to get to work, I board the train (last passenger car, NOT next to an exit window, I just noticed) and try to distract myself.
Out comes the Washingtonian. That holds my interest for about 30 seconds. Then my favorite book. Nope. I stare out the window, silently, until we pass Baltimore. Finally, I decide that writing would be cathartic. Out comes the laptop. Then I put it away, as writing seems futile. I feel helpless.
Then it dawns on me. DC, as much as it’s been hurt, is still there. People at the mall, the monuments and memorials. Same with Manhattan. In both cities, folks are out spending money, meeting friends, laughing, crying, loving. People are on their way to work in the morning, just as I am. As we rocket north along the rails, the little cities and towns of Maryland and Deleware and Pennsylvania are beginning to come to life. Fields are still wide open, green. The rivers and lakes are blue, inviting, reflecting the rising sun. The warm glow bathes the trees and the brush along the tracks, and deep down I get it, I understand.
It’s easy to say that America – that Americans – will never be the same after last Tuesday’s terrorist attacks in New York, Washington, and Pittsburgh. That’s true to a certain extent – but that’s the easy analysis. It’s what sells newspapers, gets people to tune in to the 8 o’clock news. I suppose it’s true to a certain extent: there will be heightened security at airports, at our nation’s federal buildings. Certain industries will wither, others will die. We’ll all be a little more cautious, reigning in our national penchant for unbridled optimism. But dig a little deeper and you’ll discover a much more important truth about America, a truth that is often cloaked by the minutiae and craziness of our daily lives. A truth that shines brightly in the face of adversity. Our perseverance, our concern for others. Our generosity. Our love. It proves unequivocally our strength and goodness and decency, especially in times of crisis. We’ll survive, and the United States – and the world – will be a better, safer, place.