10 Days - Part 22
Thursday, October 16, 2008

I felt even BETTER the next morning. I put on a pair of jeans and no sooner had I buttoned them around my waist and they were on the ground at my ankles. I ran to the bathroom and stepped on the scale. I knew that I’d lost a little weight on my trip. I mean, how could I not? I’d barely eaten and I’d been trying to keep up with superman. But as I looked down, I was shocked to see that I had lost ten pounds. TEN POUNDS??? I’d been trying for years to lose ten pounds. Who knew that all it would take was a week in Burma?

The 3rd day of our trip The 6th day - after the infamous bike ride

I'd been to my very own Ashram and I hadn't even known it!!! After 4 years of therapy and finally learning to feel comfortable in my body, it felt like overnight I had been given a new one. I wasn't complaining one single bit.

As the weeks progressed, the feelings of sadness and shame I'd felt surrounding what I had interpreted as the “failure” of my trip slowly began to fade. As I told the story over and over, I managed to focus on the adventure I’d been on, the humor of the whole thing (ie: me, princess at heart, biking through pigs and goats) and the fact that I’d actually done it. The general consensus was that people were inspired and thought I was brave. And I started to realize that I was.

Burma Boy and I corresponded a bit. We talked about what an amazing adventure we’d both had. I sent him a version of the letter I’d written on the plane ride home and he sent me an email telling me how he’d felt on the trip as well. Turns out with some distance, we both felt that we’d had a wonderful experience and had learned a tremendous amount. The emails kept up for a little while, but there didn’t seem to be as much of a point anymore. My stomach didn’t flip when I received one, and he didn’t rush to write back. The fairytale was over. Now I could move forward.

And move forward I did. Being in Burma helped me to realize that life was too short. Being in Burma helped me get a better body! And being in Burma helped me appreciate me for me a little more. I hopped back on Jdate with a newfound body and more importantly, a newfound confidence.

I was dating a wine purveyor (we’ll call him Wine Boy) and sort of beginning to like him, when I got a message at my office on a Tuesday in July from Long Distance Boy. The one from March and Passover…remember him? He was back in town and wanted to grab a drink so we made plans to meet after work that night. Long Distance Boy and I sat and sipped dirty martinis and laughed. A lot. He felt like an old friend, someone I’d known for years. The whole thing felt bizarrely familiar. I walked him to see “Hairspray” and he held my hand. Was he flirting with me?? He kissed me lightly on the cheek goodbye and told me that he wanted to get together again later in the week.

Later in the week turned out to be a barbecue at his brother and sister-in-law's for the 4th of July. The four of us went to the beach and LDB and I swam out to a dock in the middle of the water. We sat and talked and laughed some more. My mind was racing while we talked on the dock? Was he flirting? Because it sort of felt like he was flirting. And I sort of felt a little nervous, but the good kind of nervous. And before my mind could come up with an answer, LDB was kissing me. And I guess I had the answer to my question.

“Why do you have to live in LA?” I asked with genuine despair.

“I’m not thinking of it that way,” he said.

Well, what was he thinking? I wanted to know EVERYTHING he was thinking. But I didn’t ask. I felt completely confused. What about Wine Boy? He lived in New York. I liked him. But LDB…well, LDB made my stomach flip. But LDB lived in LA. Uch.

When I woke up the next morning, I’d made my decision. I was NOT going to do this to myself again. I was not going to be with someone who lived far away, who I couldn’t have a real relationship with. I was not going to kiss LDB again.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:47 PM 1 comments  

Labels: , , ,

10 Days - Part 21 and nearing the end...
Tuesday, October 14, 2008

When I woke up, the plane was hitting the runway at JFK, and I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been happier to land in New York. I had 15 welcome home messages on my voicemail and I needed it. I went through customs, feeling like I’d been gone for 10 months rather than 10 days. I settled into the back of a cab, like it was a stretch limo knowing that although I hadn’t figured out how yet, I was a little wiser.

I took a deep breath and called my parents first.

“Hi Mom. I’m home.” I said, exhausted and not really wanting to have this conversation.

“Hiiiiiiii Honey!!! How WAS it??” asked my mother, who had chosen not to share my adventure with anyone else in our close knit family to protect me from having to explain should this not turn out the way I had hoped. And it hadn’t. It most certainly had not turned out the way I had hoped. But in that moment, I realized part of the reason I was scared to take the risk to begin with. I’d grown up thinking that if things didn’t turn out with a success or a happy ending, then the risk hadn’t been worth it. Which naturally makes a girl stop taking risks for fear of having unwanted news at the end of the adventure. I found myself thinking about all of this as my Mom called to my Father. Was the risk only worthwhile if the outcome was as expected? Didn’t you have to take the risk in order to find out what the outcome would be? And wasn’t there a reason for the expression, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”?

“Billy, pick up the phone! It’s Michelle!!!!”

“Well, it was an adventure. I wouldn’t say we are a match made in heaven.”

“I knew it. I knew it. Bill, didn’t I say I didn’t like the sound of her email?? I knew it. Are you ok? What did you do? Was it miserable?”

I waited for my mother to finish her questions, although I was really too exhausted to give much of an answer. Too exhausted to explain to her that it was miserable at times and wonderful at times. Too exhausted to even be able to begin to process what I had just done.

“I’m exhausted, but I’m good. I’m glad to be home. But I can’t expand on this right now…I’m just too tired. Can we talk again tomorrow?”

“Of course. Of course. We’re just glad you’re home safely. We love you.” Which was a nice thing to hear. Especially since, at the end of the day, I knew that while my mother would have hoped for me to have my fairy tale ending, she and my father both loved me no matter what.

Next, I called one of my oldest friends, Kelly. Kelly and I had been friends since we were 3. She knew pretty much everything about me. If there was anyone I could be with who would understand me, it was Kelly. I left her a voice mail telling her I was back, asking if she wanted to go to 4 PM yoga and eat some REAL spaghetti with me. I left a few more messages for my closest friends telling them I was home and alive and too exhausted to talk. And oh yeah, I was NOT madly in love.

As I walked through the streets of New York on my way to yoga, I was struck by the joy I felt about things that would have normally bothered me. It was a grey-ish, cold, sort of drab day. A nice change of pace from the pounding sun. There were impatient people everywhere, taxis honking too long and too loud. Several people ran into me on the sidewalk. But I’ve never been happier to be in the concrete jungle in my life. I was ecstatic to be home, to feel the pulse of the city. I was not so ecstatic about having to face the world and tell them that my fairytale hadn’t come true. Still, when I saw Kelly at yoga, I felt a surge of relief. She was just happy to see me, happy to practice yoga next to me. But most importantly, she told me she was proud of me for making the trip.

As I inhaled and exhaled through my sun salutations, I inhaled and exhaled those words. I was proud of me too. I had taken the biggest risk I had ever taken in my life. And no, it hadn’t turned out the way had I wanted, the way I had planned - but I was OK. I was still standing. No one was laughing at me or telling me I was foolish to have tried. (Then again, I hadn’t really talked to a whole lot of people yet.) The risk had been worth it. I had been on an amazing adventure half way around the world.

I poured over every last detail of my trip over a huge bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of red wine. As I described my adventures to Kelly and my interactions with Burma Boy, she helped me to work through all the feelings I was having. She reminded me that I have a tendency to beat myself up for certain things, and she made me feel phenomenally better by telling me that she thought I handled myself better than most would have under the circumstances. I don’t know if it was the yoga, the spaghetti, the glass of wine, or having one of my oldest friends to talk to, but I already felt slightly rejuvenated.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:46 PM 1 comments  

Labels: , , ,

10 Days - Part 20
Sunday, October 12, 2008

Saturday morning I woke up early. I got ready for my day and just as I was about to leave, Burma Boy woke up. He was sweet - the sweetest he'd been since I'd arrived. We both were actually. It was hitting us that this was our last day, and it was as though both of us wanted the chance to start over. Or to recognize that we didn’t know each other as well as our emails made us think that we did and operate based on that - rather than thinking we knew each other as well as we knew our closest friends.

I had decided to spend the morning touring Bangkok alone. Burma Boy had spent a lot of time in Thailand and had already seen the Grand Palace, but I felt like it was something I wanted to experience while I was there. Besides, I was enjoying my independence and was making up for some of the time that perhaps I should have taken for myself when I first arrived.

I took the river ferry up to the stunning Grand Palace. This was no FairyTale Land. This was truly beautiful. From there, I took a Tuk Tuk ride where I learned a few Thai words from the adorable driver and hit the market to buy some gifts. I didn’t have the energy for any more sightseeing. I was so exhausted from our first 9 days that I just wanted some good rest and relaxation. The trip was over. And now I needed a vacation from my trip.

After lunch, I met up with Burma Boy, Caroline, and Tom. We went for Thai massages, we went to dinner. It was actually really nice. It was lovely to be around other people, to relate outside of just the two of us. But I felt totally confused as well. I was just starting to get to know this person. All of a sudden I was questioning if perhaps I wanted to get to know him more? Would things have been different if we were under different circumstances? Was I just scared to go home to have to report that I didn’t fall madly in love? I definitely was ready to go home to be around the people that loved me, the people that I could be myself with. But all of a sudden, leaving felt bizarre.

We got into bed that night and while we were both quiet, it was clear there was more than we wanted to say. I tried. I told him that all things considered, I’d really had a good time. I’m not quite sure that was exactly what I meant…but it was the simplest way for me to express myself. I told him that I’d learned so much. I told him that I was glad that I’d come. And those last two things, I meant.

I boarded the plane at 6 AM and my head felt like it was about to explode. Not only did I need a vacation from my vacation, I needed a vacation from life. I thought that going away was going to help me to clear my head, but it seemed that I was more confused than ever. I sat on the plane and attempted to write in my journal. But mostly I cried. I cried because the movie in my head had been all wrong. I cried because I had been a pain in the ass at times. I cried because he’d been a total jackass at times. I cried because I had communicated poorly (and I was starting to realize that at times, I hadn’t communicated at all). I cried because I’d taken the risk and it hadn’t paid off. I thought I was finally going to find love and I hadn’t. I cried because I wondered if I ever would. I cried until I fell fast asleep.

I sort of half woke up when we got to Tokyo. I moved through the airport in a trance. My eyes were puffy, my backpack was too heavy, and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep and wake up in NYC. I don’t know how long I was there, I didn’t eat anything strange. In a zombie-like state, I boarded the plane and quickly fell asleep again.

When I woke up several hours later, I felt a little better. I opened my journal and began to write to Burma Boy. I wrote and I wrote until everything that I was feeling and thinking was on the page. I told him that if I had the whole thing to do over again, I would have made the trip again. I admitted that all I’d really wanted was for him to like me, that I’d been scared and nervous when I got off the plane and met him in The Great Hall. I admitted that as much as I had tried not to have expectations, I hadn’t left any room for the fact that we didn't actually know each other. So we both took certain parts of each other’s tones and habits personally, when actually, we were just being ourselves. I admitted to him the many times that he’d hurt my feelings and I admitted to him that I felt like he was disappointed in me because I couldn’t stomach the food and because I couldn’t always keep up with him. I admitted that I knew I could have done certain things differently, but I vented about all the things that I wished he’d done differently too. I told him it felt like he often didn’t listen to me. And I admitted that I was mortified that I’d accused him of talking about me with Caroline. And by the time I started to process all of the feelings I was having, it was time for me to leave and then I just felt even more confused. I wrote it all down. And then I fell back to sleep.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 9:37 AM 0 comments  

Labels: , , ,

10 Days - Part 19
Friday, October 10, 2008

We arrived at the Shangri-la hotel on Friday in the early afternoon. Burma Boy made me wander around while he checked in. Apparently, he had made the reservation under the guise that he was a travel agent so he would get a nice discount. (There were travel agents in his family, so he had the necessary paraphernalia to ensure success.) He was supposed to be traveling alone to get an even further discount, explaining why I couldn’t be anywhere near him while he checked in. Ahhhh, the life of a super haggler. My instructions were to eventually wander into the lounge where he would pick me up to take me to our room.

Now THIS was a room. A grand, luxurious king bed. A huge bathroom with a tub and a shower. Drawers and a view and little take home shampoos and conditioners. Big white towels and bathrobes and slippers. I was home!!!

Friday was warm and beautiful and we relaxed by the pool. Burma Boy’s best friends were also staying at the Shangri-La for a wedding, so not only did I have the opportunity to be uncomfortable with him, but with his comrades as well. I met his friend Caroline early in the afternoon by the pool. She seemed lovely as she (understandably) checked out the whacko that had flown across the country to go on a second date. I left them alone to catch up while I went to get a two hour thai massage. HEAVENLY. They cost about $5 and I see no reason why a person should not get one every day, twice a day if you’re feeling indulgent. I had enjoyed the time that I’d had to myself the day before in Yangon. I was happy to go have more in Bangkok.

And the food! Finally, the food was edible. Better than edible. It was GOOD. I took Burma Boy out for dinner that evening and the experience couldn’t have been further from the date we’d gone on 4 months earlier. There was little laughter, conversation was not easy. I’m not really sure why I hadn’t called Thai air myself to see if I could depart a day early, but I didn’t. I was grateful to go meet Caroline and her boyfriend, Tom, after dinner. It was good to have some distraction from just the two of us. I was starting to feel less and less connected to this person, not more. I tried to be normal, to be myself, but I was already feeling uncomfortable with Burma Boy and when he was surrounded with his two best friends, I was the odd girl out. I chatted with Caroline’s sisters who were obsessed with fashion and loved my dress. But the whole time, I was sure that Burma Boy and Caroline, who had been whispering incessantly, were talking about what a pain in the ass I’d been and how much he couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Completely and totally convinced. SO convinced that I had decided that I knew the ENTIRE conversation they’d been having. I felt my face get warm and my heart start to beat…anxiety and anger flooded my body. By the time we got back to the hotel, my jaw was so clenched that it would have taken a small army to pry it open. Burma Boy, who had finally gotten observant, asked if I was ok.

“No, No, I’m not OK. I’m not ok since you just sat there and talked to Caroline about me for the ENTIRE evening!” I spurted at him through clenched teeth.

“What are you talking about?”

The look on Burma Boy’s face told me I’d been wrong. Very, very wrong. I had made the entire thing up in my head. They hadn’t been talking about anything even remotely involving me.

The anger flooded out as quickly as it had come and was rapidly replaced with shame. How could I have been so self-centered and paranoid? Where was the confident young woman who had flown there from New York? This wasn’t me…I wasn’t myself with him. I had become completely insecure. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t my fault. There was no one to blame. It was just the way things had turned out…and now I just wanted to go home. We got into our big plush bed and I stared at the wall, wishing things had worked out differently, thinking of all the things I wish I could have changed. It wasn't long before I fell asleep. I had succeeded in effectively exhausting myself.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 5:15 PM 1 comments  

Labels: , , ,

10 Days - Part 18
Wednesday, October 8, 2008

The next morning we departed on our little plane to head back to Yangon for just one night. Yangon is extremely depressing -- the streets are so smelly and packed and packed with people. Everyone chews on beetlenuts. I was never able to actually identify exactly what beetlenuts are, but I know this much: they're horrible for your teeth, they stain them orange, and they also stain the ground orange where everyone spits. So everywhere we turned we saw either orange ground or orange smiles. The level of poverty is unreal.

After we arrived, Burma Boy sent me to the market while he…what else? Haggled. We had decided to leave Yangon first thing the next morning. We saw no reason to spend any extra time in such a depressing city. The problem was that my ticket was refundable and incurred no penalty for a flight change. Burma Boy’s was not and would require a $50 payment, which, as we all know by now, he was not going to pay. When he found me in the market an hour later, he had a victorious smile on his face. The haggler had won. I found myself wondering if the $50 was worth an hour of his time.

We decided to go our separate ways for the afternoon. I chose to go see the Shwedigon paya- the largest and most beautiful stupa in all of Burma. He decided to adventure to see Ang San Suu Kyi, the Nobel peace prize winner who was under house arrest. Originally we were going to see her together. However, I made my decision not to join him after we asked the people at the front desk for directions to get to her home. Everyone went silent and looked around to see who was listening. Then, one of the women at the front desk brought her face uncomfortably close to ours, and as her eyes darted back and forth to make sure she was not being heard, in hushed whispers, she explained that no taxi would or could take us there and once we did arrive at University Avenue, we would have to sneak by the guards. She let us know that no one was allowed to even speak her name in this country. That was all I needed to hear. As far as I was concerned, I’d been adventurous enough for the year. Burma Boy could get arrested by himself. Besides, he would need someone to go to the US Embassy if something did happen.

I made my way to the Shwedigon Paya which is huge and bizarrely sort of looks like Fairytale Land that I used to go to up in Lake Winnipesauke, NH when I was a little kid. It certainly was elaborate, but not that different from most of the other temples we’d seen. And while the Burmese seemed to feel that if you made something gold it was beautiful, I was starting to feel like if you’ve seen one temple, you’ve seen them all…

We had decided to meet back at the Strand hotel that night for a cocktail. I went home and took a shower and put on a skirt and even a little lipstick. The Strand is this gorgeous, posh hotel that's completely out of place in the middle of this run-down city. The hotel is just grand, like a palace. I arrived and felt like Eloise must have felt when she arrived at the Plaza. I also felt a huge wave of relief. They had food I would eat, they had air conditioning, they had big, plush chairs I could sink into and enjoy a delicious glass of red wine. Now THIS was vacation.

As we sat in the bar and ordered cocktails, I finally felt like my flirty self again. I melted into the lavish, red velvet chair, slipped off my sandals and brought my legs together in what I guess one could call sort of mermaid style (legs together, knees bent and to one side with feet to the other). I'm describing this to you because, in my opinion, this is a very lady-like way to sit. I wasn't sitting cross-legged or with my feet up on the table. I just got a little more comfortable. I was ENJOYING myself. And you'll never guess what happened next...

Burma Boy had a problem with the fact that I had my feet on the chair. This time I spoke up. I asked him if he seriously thought I was offending someone by being comfortable. I wasn't flashing anyone, I wasn't spread eagle. I had quietly and cozily tucked my feet into the back corner of this lavish seat.

"Would you put your feet on a chair like that at a nice bar in New York?"

And I told him yes. "Yes I would. I would do it in New York at most bars. I would have sat this way at the freaking Plaza if we'd gone there...I don’t go places where I can’t be comfortable and make myself at home…"

I was just fine…and if he didn’t like it, well then TOUGH. After several days of barely a sip of alcohol and almost as little food, I could feel the red wine coating my stomach. My head felt a little lighter and my voice, which I had been pushing down this entire time, found itself.

"You're not in charge of me, you know. This is our trip, and you've been treating me like a child."

And with that, we started talking. But we also kept drinking. I think we both said a lot - but I can’t remember much of it. I do know that some of his points were valid and I listened. I also know that my points were valid. It felt good to get it out - to argue. Eventually, we stumbled home to our little hotel with a little less baggage to take back with us to Thailand the next morning.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:29 PM 0 comments  

Labels: , , ,

Ten Days - Part 17
Sunday, October 5, 2008

I opened my eyes and looked up.

"Did you ride straight here?" he asked with a bit of shock.

“Yes, actually. I did,” I said with a sense of accomplishment.

He had been stopping at every single little temple along the way asking the monks if they'd seen a “small curly brown girl.” And that's what had taken him so long. We laughed for a moment and I couldn't help but feel good that he'd been bothering to look for me, that he'd had concern. (Of course given that I'd practically gone into cardiac arrest the day before, his concern was understandable.) We rested on the side of the road in the shade for a while. It was the most comfortable I’d felt with Burma Boy since I arrived in Thailand 5 nights earlier. Maybe it was because I hadn’t waited around for him, because I’d taken some initiative and done something on my own without worrying about what he wanted or what he thought. But for whatever reason, we sat there in comfortable quiet for a while before we headed back on our way.

Burma boy guessed that we had another 20 minutes to go. I felt great relief in the knowledge that the end was near, and we got back on our bikes and rode. 20 minutes turned into 30 and about an hour later, after a stop at a gas station to fill my depleting tire, we arrived at the bike store where we’d started 2 days ago. Burma Boy asked me if I wanted to ride to see more cave temples with him. I didn't tell him that I thought he was nuts - that we'd been out since 9:30 that morning. I simply said that I appreciated the invitation, but that I was going to pass. I had learned my lesson once. I was going to do things EXACTLY the way I wanted to. Which was to NOT ride a bike anymore or look at any more temples. While superhuman haggler went to exert MORE energy in the blazing hot sun, I opted to go back and sit in the pool and pretend, just for a MOMENT, that I was on vacation. My body refused to move anymore.

I took a taxi back to the hotel. First things first, I showered. Then I dragged my limp legs to the pool and sat motionless in awe of the events of the past 5 days. It was Wednesday. Was it actually possible that I still had half my trip left? All signs led to another five days of hiking, biking and starving. I sat and pondered the choices I had made, equating parts of this adventure to my life in general. I started to think about the way I was communicating. Had I really been clear about what I wanted or had I just spent time wanting to make Burma Boy happy, even if it was at my own expense? But my brain was too tired to think about it any further. I was exhausted.

After I sat by the pool for a little while, reading and pretending there was some sort of fabulous cocktail in my hand, I discovered that I could email through our hotel. I was shocked given that the country had just gotten access to the internet a week earlier. I emailed a brief note to my mom to let her know that I was alive and OK and another to three of my closest friends. I was elusive with my mother. No need to make her worry about the fact that I was in Burma with a guy that I was finding was not my match made in heaven. I was more candid with my friends. It felt amazing to finally put my feelings on paper to the people who knew me so well. As I wrote, I felt a bit of a release. I was grateful to be able to admit to them that Burma Boy wasn’t my soul mate. At least when I got home, there would be a few people that I wouldn’t have to explain that to. I felt so grateful for the support that I knew I would have. I had spent a lot of time recently being concerned that I was too dependent on my friends… that I liked to be with people too much, that I should be more independent and spend more time alone and deal with my thoughts on my own rather than hashing through them with other people. And as I hit send, I realized I was all wrong. That being a bit dependent on the people in my life that loved me was actually a wonderful thing. That I was so incredibly lucky to have people with whom to hash things through. That I had friends who would love me despite the fact that my fairytale hadn’t come true; I had friends who would love me and be proud of me for taking the risk. I realized that despite the fact that it hadn’t turned into the movie I had scripted in my head, I was glad that I had come because I would never have to wonder. I would never have to ask myself “What if?”

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 3:22 PM 1 comments  

Labels: , , ,

Scent of a Memory
Thursday, October 2, 2008

It's amazing the way our senses can transport us somewhere instantly. Smell in particular. I smell something and I'm carried back - to a person or a place, a room or an event.

Last week, I was walking the dogs in the early morning. Once I can actually get my ass out of bed, it's one of my favorite times of day. It's still calm and quiet and the newness of the day is fresh upon me. The air is still cool - even here in LA where it's been hotter than hell as of late. And my puppies pull me along, thrilled to be out exploring for the day. On this particular morning, we turned the corner and instantly, it smelled of camp. The scent of a bon-fire hanging in the air from the night before. A smell of comfort, of warmth, of marshmallows, of friendship. It was a smell of safety - one of those smells that you love. That you wish they made a candle of.

But in an instant, the smell changed - grew stronger, more intense, BAD. It smelled BURNT. And my memories went instantly from fond to heartache. The air smelled burnt. And the only time I remembered anything smelling like that was the days following 9/11.

I wrote this post on 9/11 this year. I posted something else, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to post at all, unsure as to whether I wanted to write about the day's significance for me. I try not to think about it too much and at the same time, I try hard not to forget.

It was easier when I was in NYC...easier when I could spend the night with people I was with that day, or just people who were there too. I do not mean to suggest that it wasn't an insanely emotional day for the entire country. I just don't think that anyone who was not in New York, or DC or near that field in Pennsylvania can possibly ever imagine what that day was for those of us that were. Just as I can not imagine what that day was for those who lost mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and uncles and aunts and sons and daughters and best friends and co-workers. Just as I can not understand what it was like to be in New Orleans during Katrina.

On 9/11 this year, my brain whirled as I thought about all the things that have come after and all the things that are coming. I've written about the moments before. But I've never written about the moments during and the moments after. And that smell...that smell of BURNT - it brought me right back there.

I have never posted about the sound of K's voice on the other end of the phone when I finally got through after the second plane hit. "Get down here now," she said through sobs. "Walk out to the river and just keep walking. Don't stop until you get to my house." I listened. I walked and walked as my feet bled in my brand new flats, eternally grateful that I had chosen that day to wear flats instead of my normal 3 1/2" heels. The only time I stopped was when I heard the sound of planes overhead. At that moment, in New York City, you could hear a pin drop. There were hundreds of others around me - we all froze and just looked up, holding our breath, until we realized that they were US Air Force.

I have never posted about the sound of my mother's voice when I finally got through to her, or the sound of my sister who, at 21 years old, had just moved to NYC 2 months earlier after graduating from college. I told her to come down to K's. When she got there, she shared the story of the cab driver she had begged to take her. "If you'll let me call my wife to let her know I'm OK, then I'll take you to the West Village."

I have never posted about the line we waited in at St. Vincent's to donate blood. We stood among hundreds, possibly thousands, for over two hours but the line didn't move. The line didn't move because only living people need blood transfusions. They finally came out and told us all to go home.

I have never posted about the way we fell asleep, all piled on top of one another on K's bed, listening to the same information spouted on the news over and over again, waiting to understand what was going on.

I have never posted about walking through barricades on my way to work the next morning at 14th Street. There was a batallion around lower Manhattan. It was in that moment that I realized that we were truly under attack.

I have never posted about the way that I just up and left my office in the middle of the day because I was so overwhelmed and the emotions came so quickly and so hard that I couldn't possibly think about putting together investor packets for a Broadway show.

I have never posted about that one night that I stayed in my apartment alone. It was the only night I stayed there for weeks because I had nightmares all night. I needed to be with people at all times. I didn't care if I had to sleep on floors. As long as I was with someone else.

I have never posted about the burnt smell of the air that came in the days that followed. All of a sudden, the air just smelled...burnt.

Or the rain that came on Friday morning - and my own tears matching those of the sky as I watched them dig as hard as they possibly could through the rain.

I have never posted about the missing signs that wallpapered the city. The flowers on every corner. The desperation that oozed from the walls. The way you actually stopped and looked and hoped and prayed like you never had before that perhaps you would bump into that stranger on the street.

I have never posted about the way people looked at each other for a long time after that. The city was different. It was quieter. Everyone was connected in a way they'd never been before...without words, without introductions. Just with compassion.

I have never posted about the vigils in Union Square. Thousands gathered looking for a place to understand what they were feeling. We all felt lost - but at least we felt lost together.

I have never posted about the horrific fear I had of getting on the subway again. How I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other - not on where I was going. Because if I thought about that too hard, then I turned around and went home. Just one step at a time, until I found myself on the train practically holding my breath until I was above ground again.

I have never posted these things because I am not a good enough writer to be able to possibly depict what that day was. Or perhaps I just don't want to. It might just be that it's hard enough to bring back these memories, never mind the emotions that go with them. I don't want to forget, but I'm not so sure that I can let myself fully and completely remember enough to write about it. Except that, in that moment, we were all equal. Everyone in all of New York City. We were all just people - no color, no class, no religion. We were people who needed each other.

And that smell - the smell of burnt - had me back there, reliving these moments like a film where the images flash before your eyes...it's all there. A single smell and I was transported there instantly.

Posted byMeesh-elle my Belle at 12:31 PM 1 comments  

Labels: , ,

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)