I support the 2996 project but for personal reasons can’t be part of it.
Also support Shayna’s my musical highway project. This week the guest is Major Dad who can talk about a a friend who worked for Cantor/Fitzgerald. The founder is from my part of Long Island. Bob Speisman who is from my old Queens neighborhood died on a plane. Knew about a hundred people who worked in the Towers. Fortunately they all survived. There is more about 9/11 following the <more Will have a stupid but funny to me anecdote about an idiotic thing I did that week on Sunday night
1979–sex and drug alert
We sat in the Kiev for hours slowly finishing our split pea soup. At night the Kiev, on Second Ave near St Marks, was a place people came to after the after-hours and parties. Everybody we knew would end up there, or the Empire Diner, where sometimes Tom Waits would get up from his table and play the piano.
He ordered cheese blintzes knowing that I would pretend to hate them. Nobody made blintzes like Bubbe* Ceila had.
I pretended to hate so many foods there was just good soup, salads, fruits eggs, homemade peanut butter and whole wheat bread left.
“Here,” he said, “there’s something that I want to give you.”
“Wait until we get home.”
“But I want to….”
“Wait. You have absolutely no impulse control.” I sometimes thought that a great trait.
When we left the restaurant, it began to rain, suddenly and summer heavy. We put our arms around each other, he stopped under a grating, and began to kiss me as fiercely as the rain.
He had lavender eyes. I had never met a man with Elizabeth Taylor eyes before, and now I was married to one. Sometimes I thought that my fascination with his looks was superfical and shallow. Most of the time it was worth everything.
The winds picked up as we ran home engulfed in each others arms. Many of the “Missing: Etan Patz” flyers flew from the trees and street lamps.
By the time we got to the small loft on The Bowery near CBGB’s, the rain had stopped but our clothes were so soaked, it was as if we had taken a shower.
I don’t know how we got our clothes off each other. We just did, and as we stood over the kitchen sink, he entered me. I told him to stop but didn’t really mean it. He kissed my whole body, and whispered into my ear how unbelievably soft my skin was. I was ready again.
When we finally finished, could talk and were sharing a cigarette, I asked him what he wanted to give me. He took something out of his jeans and I saw the familiar blue box I had known often in another life. I knew immediately that whatever was in it, wasn’t from Tiffany’s.
When I opened the box, the ring looked like a three carat diamond and a platinium band.
“We’ve been married four years,” I laughed, “I don’t need an engagement ring now.”
“You deserve one. I took you from so much. Lenny, your family, I had no right….”
“Stop it. I was going to leave Lenny. I don’t need diamonds, I need you.”
“Give them time. It’s only been five years. They hold grudges, but someday…”
Something was ruined. I took a shower. He went into the bedroom.
When I walked in, he had tied a scarf around his arm, and was filling a syringe.
“You stopped, I thought.”
“Annie, the only thing half as good is you.”
“Thats an incredible compliment,”
I knew that I should stop him, but how?
I got dressed and walked north and west to the club where the wine sucked, but I knew everybody, and the music was sometimes amazing. The juke box always was, and I could find somebody special to talk to, and/or flirt with.
I came home in a better mood, but he was lying on the bedroom floor. His Elizabeth Taylor eyes were open and looked shocked.
This summer of constant rain, half a lifetime later, I think of him too often. I have been married and divorced three times more. Four divorces, and one death, his. Five by 50. I might not have Elizabeth Taylor eyes, but I have something in common with her.
I walk up to the attic and look at all the steel boxes. Four are labeled “Jeremy.” I open the Tiffany box for the first time since that day. The ring is so rusty I am scared to hold it
*Bubbe is Yiddish for grandma
I am just beginning to write short fiction, and love it. It helps with my book. Though the story is fiction, many of the details….It both loosens my memories and writing, and helps me remember many wonderful and horrible events.
Doesn’t matter what is true and what is fiction, in a story clearly labeled fiction. Doesn’t matter if you approve of the characters or not. It’s fiction.
I have added some 9/11 stuff. Will have a more appropriate post on 9/11 itself.
I put in a page about how 9/11 affected New Yorkers who were living here then.
Sadly, it did affect us more. Can’t hear a manhole cover explode without that one second of panic. And in real life I never ever talk about 9/11. Nobody that I know does. Sometimes it does feel like a made for TV move I was an extra in. Sometimes it feels all too real.
While I have absolutely no fear of flying, I would tell people that when they left their bags unattended, they were taking a big risk. They would laugh at me. Damn I’m glad the TSA stepped in. There’s nothing funny about leaving unattended bags
There’s nothing funny about terrorist warnings and color coded alerts. Do I believe them? I try not to. But I have to say that email jokes from bloggers about color coded terrorist alerts is beyond sick, and never funny to a person who lived in Manhattan then
One article is about the horror that Ground Zero workers face. Many were true Blue.
Nothing this admin has done has been done with good will and grace.
Now they’re trying to get Repubs who strayed after Katrina back by blaming 9/11 on Bill. Why not? He’s been blamed for everything since 92. But he didn’t sit on an August, 2001 memo that could have changed everything.
Bill Clinton tried more than any other president in my lifetime to get this country on the right track. He was stopped at every juncture by idiot Republicans.
Until after 9/11 I never voted straight Democratic–well I did vote for Bloomberg the first time because I knew he could do what Mark Green couldn’t do—help get NY back on its feet. This past election I voted for Ferrar.
It’s past time to get dirty rotten Repubs out of office. Vote straight Democratic. We need to know what really happened, and why a bushie could say to a brownie “great job,” when it was so obvious…..
I hate politics but the Repubs, not us have made this into a blame game, and it’s past time to put the blame where it belongs. And the radical right shouldn’t be running this country. It is a country where all citizens of all races, religions, and ethnic groups should feel equal
I didn’t mean to go into anti Repub tirade. 9/11 is my Achilles Heel. How can it not be? I was here then and not going to rehash my story as I’m not looking for a sympathy. I will never fully heal if I remain in New York, because a small group of 9/11 families keeps it front and center in the news all year round. They’re still fighting over placement of names in the memorial.
Sometimes it feels as if they own this city, and the rest of us are supposed to bow to their whims, their healing. Well, they have had five years—none of them will ever hurt financially. They have been given everything. Would have been so easy easy to have had group counseling for everybody who needed it.
That’s all I ever wanted. A chance to meet people who lost family members around the time of 9/11 but not in it, because it felt as if I didn’t deserve to grieve for my own mother
I am mostly healed now. But I know that I can’t live in a city where the 9/11 families are front and center in the news all year round. Am linking to two pages. One is something that I wrote but lack the nerve to put in as a post, and one are articles from The New York Times
Am not looking for sympathy or pity comments. Everything that I wrote can be easily fact checked—plus much more that I didn’t put in. The articles say much–and show how much money the “lowest” workers families were given. Money can’t buy these particular families anything, and it doesn’t bring back a person, but the rest of America and the world, including any possible terrorists, should know that while New York has never looked better, it’s a shell.
I called FEMA and every federal, city and state agency I could think of offering to set up a pilot program that would help all New Yorkers. Never heard back from any. Don’t blame the city at all. RudyG, who I personally don’t like and Bloomberg did everything they possibly could.
But they forgot to factor in the people who lived here then and had their psyches harmed perhaps permanently. Always thought if such programs had been implemented, they would have known more about how to handle Katrina in a positive way.
Please remember the 9/11 families are not the only “victims.”
But what do I know?
Am taking a four week blogging break beginning Tuesday 9/12. Have lined up many great
bloggerswriters and will occasionally fill in with short fiction.