This was written off the top of my head on the eleventh and posted in my online journal, and I've been arguing with myself on whether to post it here. But here goes.

The Day Itself

I didn't have class until 11 AM, so I set my alarm for ten. Eileen's alarm is set to the alarm sound. Mine, so that we can distinguish between the two, is set to the radio -- more specifically, a local alternative station. So when it clicked on and I rolled out of bed to hit snooze, a phrase caught my attention ... "car bomb at the Pentagon." (This, of course, being a rumour that turned into news that turned back into a rumour later.) I thought, "Geez, that's an awfully sick joke, even for LRS."

So I turned on the TV to have a look at CNN, where I first saw the tape of planes flying into the twin towers, and I said my first three words of the day, only two of which would make it through a RinkChat filter. Then Leen came back from the bathroom and I said, "Leen, you've got to look at this." She said something milder -- "Oh, my God," or something like that.

And then I took a shower; when I returned to my room, I saw the twin towers collapse. I pried myself away from the TV and went to class with fighter jets screaming into the air above me. I went to class. And took notes. It still blows my mind that I was able to do so. It's well that I did, though, as people who missed that day needed those notes. After class my mother called. She wanted me to come home. I declined.

As for the rest of that Tuesday, I went to a service at the Baptist Student Union, where I realised, more and more, that my path and theirs were very different. After that I went to the Interfaith Centre when I wanted to pray. And then the rest of the evening was spent listless in front of various TV sets with various people, (for all of whose company I am still grateful) soaking in news, numbers, theories, rumour. Mostly, however, it was images that sank in, images for which I have not yet found words in a year of searching.

Since Then

I haven't watched any of the memorials or reminiscing on TV. I lived 11 September 2001 once. I neither need nor want to do so again. There was a memorial gathering. I went to class; I had promised two band members (whose presence at the ceremony was required) that I would have a good set of notes for them on Friday. I mused on that parallel between then and now as I was walking toward my car, and it occurred to me that part of who I am is that I manage to be prosaic enough, sometimes, to be the one who can function when all others are floundering. The one who has the set of notes. The one who gets tissues for the people who are crying.

Still headed for the parking lot, I came to the end of the campus and turned onto Floyd Street, where I saw so many flags at half-mast. I know it's being done to honour the fallen, but for some reason, it still made me a bit angry, and I finally figured out the reason: Why should we be making this tail-between-our-legs gesture? Our flag shouldn't be placed back in its position of tragedy, but left in one of pride. A year later, we're still here, working, going to school, doing all the things that Americans were doing on 10 September 2001. We're a bit less naive, yes. The economy's a bit screwed up, yes. But we got through it.

I think that superficial grieving on the national level cheapens the real grief of the families and friends of those who did lose their lives that day, which is why you're probably noting my marked lack of sentimentality. I'm awash in it, and it's leaving a bad taste in my mouth because on 12 September, it will be business as usual for everyone but those who live with the ghosts of 11 September. This is why I don't want to see it made a holiday -- putting a name on it only speeds the cheapness that comes to holidays like Memorial Day. In years to come, will 11 September be a federal holiday that means only some distant history and a three-day weekend? It bothers me greatly to think it might be.

So, thoroughly disconcerted and disillusioned, I got home and sat down with my homework, some reading for my American Literature class. And after reading in The Heath Anthology of American Literature for a while about the Great Awakening, I came to:

"Other Americans took the same intellectual tradition Edwards followed and began to suggest, like the Europeans they read, that salvation for humankind was not in the hands of God but in the hands of humans. ... Known as Deists, they argued that the structure of the universe, not the Bible, attested to God. ... [They] considered God a kind of supreme architect or watchmaker who designed the world, set it in motion, and then left it to operate on its own. It was up to people, not God, to see that the world functioned for the good of all, not just those who happened to belong to one religious sect or another. Religious fanaticism was an object worthy only of satire -- as Franklin's 'A Witch Trial at Mount Holly' (1730) suggests. Rather than religious belief, people should inquire into doing good in the world."

At first I was just pleased to see my faith getting a nod in a sea of Protestantism, but then it dawned on me: "Other Americans." And a huge sense of pride welled inside me and overflowed, washed over me quietly, and I've been reflecting on that since then.

I'm not waving a flag or glued to my TV for the memorial programs, but I think I'm being patriotic.

-Cynthia