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9-13-01 - 3:04 p.m. Last night I was finally able to get through to Lexi over the phone. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. I've been contacting just about everyone I know, just to check on them. Lexi told me a terrifying story: Simon was right by the WTC when the first plane hit. The two of them were on the phone. Simon had gone up to New York to visit his NYU friend, and stopped at a payphone to chat with Lexi. As they were talking, Lexi told me, she could hear what sounding "like a low-flying plane" or a "screaming engine" getting increasingly louder. Simon started to sound confused, then scared, then said, "OH SHIT! What the fuck?!" and Lexi said she could hear, over the phone, the "loudest noise I've ever heard in my life." She asked him what was happening, if he was okay, and he said he was fine, but had to get out of there. Then he hung up. Simon's home now, with Lexi and...Noah...and they're all fine. I don't know about Simon's NYU friend, whether classes have resumed or what, because Lexi wanted to talk about what disturbs her most about this: that the plane came from Boston. Anybody who knows anything knows that Cambridge and Boston sit practically right on top of each other. It's almost pointless for Cambridge residents to deny living in Boston, as it's, at least from where I lived, about a ten minute hobble away. There is the river, and the bridge, and then the spectacular city of Boston. Lexi brought up a good point; that we never know if the people we pass by on the streets are average citizens or mass-murderers. She could have passed by the hijackers without a second glance a million times, never knowing just what kind of atrocity they were capable of. I've been forcing myself to turn away from the TV as much as possible. I just can't stand to watch that footage any longer. I can't look at the people who have lost families and friends. It's too much. And yet a part of me wants to go to New York to see it, to prove to myself, once and for all, that this isn't some Hollywood movie with computerized special effects. As much a purpose as a memorial would serve in place of the Twin Towers, I personally feel that, once this is all resolved (and I'm not talking emotionally) we should rebuild them, just to prove to the world that we can go on and that nothing can keep us from fulfilling our legacy. I want there to be a memorial of some sort, of course, to show that we will never forget those we lost their lives so senselessly, but perhaps it should be where Building 7 was, or in between the Twin Towers. I don't know. It's just crazy right now. In other news, I am now stich-free. Which is not to say my stomach is a sexy sight. The process for removing stitches from one's abdomen is not a pretty one, and it actually hurt more than I had expected it to. When, a few years ago, I had the stitches in my hand removed, it wasn't this bad. Maybe that's because that was my hand as opposed to my middle. Now when I lower the waistline of my pants and lift my shirt, people can see what's left. The scar is going to be small. A lot smaller than my initial estimations. It's probably just over an inch long, and is less than a centimeter wide. Bryan's surprised I had my stiches removed this early. Me? I don't care. They're gone. I still have to be pretty careful so as not to open the wound, but can otherwise return to "normal activities." Yay.
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