Nine Eleven

11 September 2001: 1:45PM: On the road between Alltyblaca and Cribyn, just where the road curves and dips into a wooded glen, I am crying. For no reason. This has happened before and will happen a few years later, but today, I am overwhelmed with sorrow and desolation.

When I reach my office at Theatr Felinfach a few minutes later, I head for the Reproduction Unit to collect the programs for that evening’s performance. Roy greets me with “Have you seen what’s happening in New York?” He is watching his TV in his office cubicle. I turn my head and see the Twin Towers as chimney stacks. I know what this is. I have no doubt. The news commentators are speculating. I know what this is.

I still have work to do. During the remainder of the time between my arrival and the performance, I stand in Roy’s office, watching, transfixed and horrified by the thought that anyone could possibly be so evil.

The chairwoman of my Board of Trustees asks if I have family in New York, do I want to call them? I have family in Connecticut and Maine. They don’t work in New York. I have a friend in the Chrysler Building and I don’t think of her then. I think of those people who are dying, about to die, knowing they will die and they phone their families to tell them that they love them. They send messages of love in the last moments of their lives.

That is the memory I hold in my heart about this day ten years ago.

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