Day of the Lords

I remember this morning, seven long, world changing years ago. They keep saying never forget, but sometimes I don't want to remember.

I wrote a long story recollecting my night leading up to that horribly tragic morning.

I remember walking in to the lobby, my shirt un-tucked and my jacket thrown over my shoulder. My future brother-in-law Michael was standing next to me, we looked into the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by hundreds of people blissfully sleeping. We, along with all the slumbering people in the rooms above us, were unaware of what had just occurred.

It was September 10th 2001, and it was the second day of Michael and Bridgette’s engagement. The day was just like any other September day in Sacramento, there was no odd feeling hanging over anybody, no looming sense of danger. It was one of those days were I felt on top of the world. All of my friends, together, everybody got along with every one. It was a day that I look back at now and feel sadness, this time for marked the passing of our childhood.

The entire night was uneventful, everything went exactly as it did in the past, people got drunk, people laughed, people ate, boyfriends and girlfriends met each other in romantically decorated rooms for fifteen minutes of awkward teenage passion, hoping that no one would notice they’ve been missing for twenty-minutes. This was the same party I’ve been to three thousand times in my life. There was nothing special about it except it marked the fact that my best friend, Michael, was getting married. Mitch had already been married for three months and I have to admit, that it was hard to get used to the fact my best friend, the kid I grew up with, the guy who I would call to inform him of something so trivial as eating macaroni and cheese, was married and had *GASP* responsibilities.

After the party had wrapped up, the plan was for all the guys to go to Denny’s and get some food in our alcohol filled stomachs (Yes, we were all underage at this time, but that’s another story). I’ve experience numerous Denny’s after-party trips in my life, but this was in probably my all time favorite. The most memorable event of the trip was Vinny Fat Boyo’s falling asleep at the table. Now, if you ever fallen asleep around a bunch of young males, you know that you are fair game to any hi-jinx that may happen. Well, the kid had fallen asleep, which was the green light for me to pick up the slightly dirty fork in front of me and gently (violently) stab him in the forehead.

“Huh? What!” He exclaimed. All the while we laughed our little hearts out at the kid’s poor misfortune of being the only one to fall asleep.

The jokes continued, stories of this new show called Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Bobby, White George and I were the only ones who had seen this new hysterically bizarre show and we felt like the only three people in the world who had seen the show.

We returned back to the hotel after the once pitch black night sky had started to give way to the new morning sun, it was that time of the morning when the sun isn’t high enough to see it yet everything is illuminated by a grey haze.

The rest of the night was spent with Michael and his then fiancée, Bridgette. We talked about all the possibilities that the future held for us, we talked about all the trips we would take as couples, and how Lila’s and my kids will be friends will be friends with their kids and how we would celebrate the holidays together.

We walked out of the room at about 7:30am on that foggy Tuesday morning. The skies still grey. I felt as if we were walking in The Lost Forest from A Link to the Past.

“I’m really happy you’re getting married,” I said to him.
   
“Well,” he said and then looked down at his feet “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.”

I knew what he meant.

We walked in to the lobby and looked at the televisions mounted in the wall right next to the automatic door. Michael and I stopped dead in our tracks and read the words that were scrolling by. Plane Crashes into WTC.

Our faces, which were already drained of any color from the party, had turned green and white. “The pilot must’ve been drunk or something” I out loud, mostly to assure myself that it wasn’t an attack.

“Yeah,” Michael said with a slight laugh “It has to be.”

We asked a few people around what was going on and they were in just as much shock as we were. You could sense a mass panic was about to ensue. We stood there, our eyes glued to the screen, not sure what to make of everything. Then it happened.
I remember standing there thinking to myself that this is it, this is going to be war, after seeing the second plane fly into the building we knew that would be it.

Our bodies had no muscle control. The only thing we could do is sit and stare, slack-jawed at the televisions thinking this can’t be happening. But it was. We both knew this was the end of things as they were. Nothing would ever be the same.

We decided to go back to the room to try to get our heads straight and make sense of what had just happened. We walked back the room in complete silence, it felt as if the closest member of our family had just died and we did know what to say to each other. I mean what could we say? There’s nothing that could possibly said to make things seem even remotely better.

 It seemed like I was carrying a ten-gallon jug of water on my back as I climbed the stairs. Michael pulled out his room key and slid it in to the slot, mechanical whirring ensures us that the key still works and that at least something still works in the world. As we walk in to the room I see Mike Nene’s, Cooks and Paul Shaqz.

“Did you see what happened?” Paul asked us.

“Yeah, we’ve been watching the whole thing downstairs in the lobby” I said.

“You know whose fault this is?” Michael said. “Governor Grey Davis!” which proceeded to the hilarious Grey Davis dance, and despite using as many words I could possibly think of using, could never be described in writing.

“Once again,” the local Sacramento news reporter said as she feebly tried to hold back her tears “The World Trade Center towers one and two… have collapsed after two hijacked planes flew in to them. I’m sorry…” she says and uncontrollable stream of tears stroll down her face. The hot-shot-blond-haired-blue-eyed anchor comes in to take her place.

I reached for my cell phone and started calling friends and family. The first person I called was Mitch

“Baker!” He exclaims.

“Where the fuck are you?” I ask him.

“We’re on our way home”

“You mean the bridge isn’t closed you everything is clear? You heard what happened, right?”

“Yeah, I heard Ma freaked out and wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as we could, we’re about twenty minutes from home. Where are you?”

“I’m still in Sacramento. I suppose I’ll be leaving soon I’ll call you as soon as I get home.”

Things were never the same.