That first view of my city was awe inspiring. Most sunrises are. But, this was no ordinary sunrise. This was the moment when I first looked for that hole in the skyline. It felt strange, yes, but as distant as if it were on television.
I am not yet in my apartment because my subletters are still there. Maybe that’s why I feel this detachment. Not as much from the attack itself, but from the post-attack behavior.
The flags, the lapel ribbons, the pundits, analysts and newscasts, the Presidential speeches, and those news briefings by an oddly smiling Donald Rumsfeld, Secretary of Defense. I am sure that it is going to take awhile to process it all.
I was warned that the changes to the city would be subtle, but remarkable nonetheless. I did feel fear when I travelled from New Jersey, where I am staying, through those tunnels to New York City. Not unlike that moment in the catacombs outside of Rome where I had that panic attack.
Early one morning in Manhattan, I was out with my camera. I started taking pictures inside a Food Emporium (ah, a Roman name). The store manager asked me to stop. Outside that same store, I photographed some highrises, a bridge, and a parking sign. Moments later, a police car drove up behind me. The officer watched me until I went back inside. When I told my friend that I found this all very strange and a little disturbing, her response was “hey, we’re at war. We’ve been attacked!”
Did I really spend three months in Rome? It is hard to believe that I was ever there. That last week was a rush of last minute sightseeing, errands and packing. My final evening I decided not to hang in a piazza and drink wine with strangers. Instead, I spent the time with Gina, my padrona a casa. She made me bruschetta, and together we watched an Italian soap opera about the Mafia. She translated for me–from Italian to simpler Italian. It was a lovely farewell.
Flying home was fairly uneventful, although airport security is truly tougher. Thank God, eh!? In Frankfurt, some things in my backpack–like a camera tripod and a tiny brass Art Nouveau figurine–concerned the authorities. They asked me to unpack it, which I gladly did. They took away a pair of tweezers I had thoughtlessly left in a makeup bag.
Within days of my arrival in the United States, I had to jump right into the dentist chair for emergency dental surgery and to get a tooth pulled. Oh boy, welcome to New York. I suspect this, plus the jetlag, have contributed to my feeling of otherworldliness.
I have been fortunate in this transition time, however, to be staying with friends who I love very much. One lives in an elegant highrise apartment in the city. The others live in a huge home in New Jersey. They have an 18-month-old child who is learning how to eat by himself. As I watch him maneuver–with complete and total concentration–to get a tiny piece of fruit on his spoon and then into his mouth, I am reminded of how truly precious these little moments in life can be.
La vita continua.
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