I woke up unusually early. Not that “early” to me was that early, but I remember having a few minutes of spare time in the morning before leaving for work, which NEVER happened. I turned the TV on to check out the famous morning shows before heading out. I watched a plane flying towards and eventually crashing into WTC, with a frantic voice of a female reporter describing the scene. I was intrigued. Hmm… a preview of a new movie? I changed the channel, and the same thing. Changed the channel again, and well, saw the same thing. Well, whatever it is, today must be the opening day. I turned the TV off and headed out.

On the way to work, the radio stations were not playing any music. They were just talking and talking and kept switching to some kind of report about some planes crashing into twin towers. And finally it started to sinking in.

Upon arriving at work a little early, I left my stuff at my desk in nearly empty office, and went to grab some coffee at the cafeteria, which was crowded with people watching the news coverage on TV. When the building came down, there were gasps and short cries of horror and ohmygods, followed by a momentary stunned silence, and then actual crying. I felt sudden pain in my gut and had to grab my stomach watching the building crumble down.

Nobody could work that day. Half the people left to go get their kids. Most people tried frantically to reach somebody on the phone, which, landline or wireless, were decidedly busy and failed to connect people. I was one of them, trying to call my friends who worked or lived in downtown Manhattan, especially Nick, whose office was in WTC, and was able to reach not a single one of them.

Then my cell phone rang. 212 area code but an unfamiliar number. When I answered it, it went dead. And that moment will haunt my life forever. I spent all day wondering who it was. Was it one of my friends? Did any of them need any help? Was any of them dying in pain? After a couple of days, all my friends were accounted for and it was decided that none of them called me. But it continued to haunt me. Did somebody try to get through to a loved one before he or she died so as to say good bye? Did someone try to notify somebody, anybody where they were trapped?

I had just moved to Queens from Brooklyn near Brooklyn Bridge a couple of months earlier, but I could still smell and see the smoke for days. I was glued to TV watching the search and rescue efforts for two weeks, a little too conscious of the fact that the smoke I was smelling included that of  somebody’s body burning.

I stopped watching news and deleted that number from my phone.