Wednesday, September 11, 2002

I had slept in the guest bedroom because Michael and I'd had a fight the night before. I had left the little black and white TV on all night next to the bed, for company, and woke just as Bryant Gumble announced that there was breaking news from Manhattan.

Michael had already gone to work. I tried to call my mom, but all circuits were busy. I turned on every teevee in the house.

I saw what you saw. No point in trying to describe it here.

The local Baltimore news cut in every now and then, admonishing us to refrain from driving on the highways or using the phone, unless absolutely necessary. I fired up the DSL and emailed everybody to assure them that we were okay and to read the news online (strangely, there wasn't much coverage for a while).

At some point, I went outside and marveled at the unusually quiet sky. Our house was in the northern, rural part of Baltimore County, under the busiest flight corridor in the country. Even though all the airports were an hour or more away, there were always commercial or military aircraft overhead. Now, the sky was nothing but cloudless blue, the only thing airborne being the ravens hurling from birch to birch, cursing each other.

Michael came home early, hollow-eyed. We hugged for a long long time, making up without saying a word.

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