Yesterday or the day before, I posted a seemingly contradictory post. Said that Ground Zero is just a construction site, and said that it is sacred ground filled with ashes. Meant both.
It took me two years exactly to get to Ground Zero, and when I saw it I felt nothing. Nothing at all. It’s been harder to look down West End Avenue at what isn’t in the distance than it was to see this hole in the ground with tourists running around trying to put in posters their children made.
Don’t get me wrong. I think that’s nice, if you’re into that sort of thing. I don’t even go to the cemetery to see my parents’ graves. They’re in my heart and soul where it counts. I know I have their approval for they did the same thing.
The Trade Center played a big part in my youth. It was where I got off the subway to go to work at the job I met so many people who are important to me still. I drank too much at the restaurants, and had romantic dinners at Windows on the World.
It was a living place and that’s how I’ll remember it. And I’ll never forget the frigging wind that made the two block walk to work feel like an eternity. Don’t miss the wind; do miss the morning break devotional services (smoked pot) my friends had outside Saint Paul’s. It was our sanctuary; now it’s the worlds. We always were ahead of the curve.