2005-08-25 - 10:05 a.m.
Caitlin heard the phone just as she exited the milkweed into the back yard, and knew she would never make it. But when the ringing started again she picked up the pace, holding the camera against her chest to diminish the awkward imbalance, and half ran towards the outbuilding studio.
Her mother’s voice seemed at once soft yet urgent. “Are you watching the news?” she asked and Caitlin, still breathless, laughed a little and said no, explaining she and Ginger had just come from a walk.
“Why, Mom? What’s going on?”
“Oh dear,” she said. “It’s terrible. A plane has flown into one of the twin towers.” For a moment neither of them knew how to continue.
“It’s probably nothing, Mom,” Caitlin slipped the strap from her hand and placed the camera on the workbench. She looked out a window, as if to discern events on the horizon. “I’ll bet a Piper Cub got lost in the fog.” It seemed plausible, as Caitlin remembered the long cloud in the valley that morning when she and Ginger started their walk. But then realizing the line had gone dead, she was suddenly unsure. Her mother had never before hung up without saying goodbye. Something must really be wrong.
She could not know that the worst of it would be the silence to come, mornings she would wake and nights she would fall asleep to a quiet house, and all the afternoons in between when half open windows would admit the incessant chirring of fall crickets. Even after watching the south tower go down, she anticipated little of that future loneliness as she sat on the edge of the bed and looked out across the overgrown meadow to the woods and a quarter windowpane of perfect blue sky. But though she did not know the future, she could remember the day, just as it was, for as long as she lived.
She waited with the phone by her side, after trying repeatedly and not getting through. Of course, the circuits were jammed. Everyone else would be calling now too. So maybe it was best to just wait. She would try again later. He would call if he could.
She watched the replay of the other plane as it hit. Again and again; she couldn’t help it, transfixed to see it enter, completely whole, and disappear. It seemed barely possible that a plane could so easily vanish, as if absorbed harmlessly like a single raindrop against the ground.
When the south tower fell it collapsed that illusion, too, disintegrating with geometric concision into a billowing cloud of smoke and dust that curled inwards as if to obscure the new emptiness and temporarily hide it from the world. The event didn’t seem real as it happened, and confused even the man on television, reporting. He did not realize the tower had fallen, could not, in fact, believe his eyes. And no-one had guessed the last tower hit would be the first to go down. It was just a matter of time, then, for the other. Caitlin waited and waited for David to call, to tell her it was all right, that he had missed his train or… anything. But some part of her already knew different. His office occupied a space directly behind the smudged point of impact, three-quarters of the way up. In the days to come, that knowledge would be a small comfort.
By mid-afternoon they decided the best thing to do would be for everyone to meet at Garret’s, halfway between herself and her parents. She was glad to have somewhere to go, something to do. It gave her a focus. At four she took Ginger for another long walk, petted her goodbye, and locked the back door.
Her niece and nephew met her car when she arrived. They called her Aunt Caitlin and approached shyly, each in their turn giving her waist a tight clingy hug. Everyone’s exaggerated politeness and deference made her feel like an acquaintance they had not seen in some time. Even her sister-in-law, Stacy, exhibited uncharacteristic solicitude in offering to get her a beer while bringing a plate of raw steaks to the grill. Finally alone again with her brother, Caitlin managed to talk somewhat more easily about the future, about what she would do, though every now and then, when words failed between them, they would just listen to the steaks sizzle, or say again how good they smelled, or simply watch silently as the fat fell to the fire. At one point Garret looked to the sky and noted the absence of contrails. When a little later she offered the view that David might still return home, her brother merely nodded, though even to her the spoken expression of such hope seemed absurd.
After eating they stood before the small television in the den and watched a special briefing from the Pentagon. The man introduced as the Secretary of Defense, someone called Rumsfeld, appeared slightly ineffectual, even a little simple. A reporter asked him what happened. “To the best of our knowledge,” he explained, “some very bad people took control of some planes and flew them into buildings.” At that, Caitlin no longer was listening. For the first time all day she lost grip on her emotions. She felt frustration and anger and defiance rising within. God damn it, she thought. That’s the best they can do? She remembered the President’s earlier faltering message and felt sudden sweeping contempt.
“We need new leaders,” she said, dismissively, and turned away as tears welled in her eyes.
