America Essay Pt III A House Divided

With my cell phone charged I walked back to the Blazer to get a good night’s sleep. As I went to get inside I noticed something lying on the ground by the car door. It was a medium sized knife with a shiny black handle and a folding blade. I picked it up and inspected it. It felt at home in my hand. I folded in the blade then had a helluva time trying to figure out how to get it out again.

I pondered it for a moment. What was its history and how did it come to be lying on the ground here by this welcome center? What kind of person carries such a thing in this day and age? Whas it used in some kind of crime? Could I become a suspect by having it?

I threw the knife into the glove box and crawled into the back of the Blazer. My bed consisted of a foam rubber egg crate covered with an old comforter. I slept surrounded by suitcases, road maps and travel gear. Sleeping in the enclosed space was like being in a protective little womb. With the rubber of the spare tire a few inches from my face I slept peacefully.

In the morning I was awakened by a beam of sunlight coming in through the car window. It was a perfect day. Clear skies as far as the eye could see. I always awoke eager to feel the road beneath my wheels. As soon as I woke up I jumped into the driver’s seat, started the car, and began backing out of the parking lot.

When the car started the radio automatically came on and was tuned to the local NPR station that I was listening to the previous evening. The female voice of the news reporter was filled with tension as she described some events that I couldn’t quite make sense of in my half-awake state. Some planes had flown into buildings, the north tower of the World Trade Center had collapsed.

I groggily assumed it must be some kind of War Of The Worlds radio drama. Public Radio was full of odd things like that. Within a few seconds it began to dawn on me that this was all real. Still my mind could not grasp the events being described. How could a Trade Tower fall? It was impossible!

I got on my cell phone and tried to call Heather and Samantha to ask what the hell was going on, but the phones would not connect. Not comprehending that there was a national emergency and the phones lines where overwhelmed, I cursed Sprint for their half-assed service. I jumped out of the car and tried again from a phone booth. The pay phone seemed to be broken as well. Angry at modern technology I slammed the receiver down and raced back to the car and sat listening to NPR, trying to comprehend what was taking place.

I tried to think clearly and put together the pieces; we were under terrorist attack, two planes hit the trade towers, another hit a government building in Washington, the North Tower had collapsed, it was feared as many as ten thousand were dead. No one knew what might happen next.

When a witness began describing people jumping to their deaths from the upper floors of the Towers I was overcome with nausea. That image finally made it sink into my thick skull what a nightmare this really was.

I staggered into the welcome center in a daze. A group of people sat watching a TV. I sat down and watched the horrible images we are all-too-familiar with now. The North Tower crumbled, floor after floor dissolving into a puff of ash as the top of the building fell downward crushing everything below.

Everyone in the room was quiet and frightened, but I was aghast, stunned, still unbelieving. At the time I worked as a web designer
a few yards from the Towers. Most days over lunch I would spend a few minutes reading magazine in the Border’s Bookstore that was on the ground floor of the Trade Center. I looked at those towers every day. It was like telling me a mountain had crumbled. It just seemed impossible.

“I work right there,” I said to the silent room with a slow, shaken voice.

The towers were not great looking buildings aesthetically. Their 1970’s minimalist design was gray and boring to the eye. The only hints of elegance were the pinstriped bars that ran up the façade of the lower levels before merging into a pitchfork design and then fading away.

The most impressive thing about the towers was just how damned big the things were. If you arched your neck up to look at them, you really couldn’t even take them in. They were like some kind of mirage. Their mere existence as a feat of human architecture was both humbling and inspirational. To take them down with an act of terrorism was truly the height of anti-social behavior.

As we watched this grand-scale carnage on the TV, I kept thinking of a little church that was snuggled in beside the towers. It was an old church with an ancient graveyard hidden by a grove of bushy trees. It was so old that one of the founding fathers used to attend the church.

Over my lunch hour the graveyard provided a perfect escape from the chaos of the financial district. Only a few people seemed to know about it, even though it was there for all to see and you could walk right in and find a quiet bench among the weathered tombstones. Once inside, the lush greenery shielded one from the noise that roared from all directions, transforming it into a distant purr.

The churchyard was a little haven of peace and solitude where the mind could wander away to think of greater thoughts, far from numbers, dollar signs, and in my case, creating new ways to hock VCRs and microwave ovens over the internet. I could only assume that sitting right beside the towers as it did, that the church had been destroyed.

“I’m sorry but everyone has to leave,” the little old lady who managed the welcome center explained apologetically. “The governor’s office just called and said we have to close down.”

Apparently every public building in the state was closing down, just in case the terrorist’s next target might be a welcome center in Arkansas. You can’t be too careful.

I stumbled out to the Blazer and drove off. For some reason I assumed the Palestinians were behind the attack. Although I always supported their cause, now I cursed them.

“Fuck them! Fuck them!” I said out loud.

Before 9/11 few of us had every heard of Osama Bin Laden or Al Queda. Most people are still unaware of The Moslem Brotherhood, the organization funded by the Saudis and Ronald Reagan, and who were the roots Al Queda and worldwide terrorism.

I hated the terrorists for making me hate. It wasn’t my way. But I did hate them.

I had no illusions about America. We have been sowing the seeds of bad karma around the world since the first Puritans stepped foot on Plymouth Rock. God knows there were days when I hated America myself. I can only imagine how people in other countries see us.

Although I could see both sides of the picture, killing thousands of innocent people was going far too far. Plus they brought it right to my neighborhood. I had no way of knowing if my friends had been killed, or if I would still have a job. Once you bring it to my block, it’s no longer political anymore, it is the laws of the jungle, it is survival, it is unavoidably personal.

As I drove I stayed on the speed dial trying to reach friends who might have been in danger. After dozens of unsuccessful calls I got through to Samantha. She was safe in her 8th floor apartment on 21st street. She and her roommate were watching the historic events unfold from her bedroom window. In her excitement she almost sounded gleeful.

“I was taking a picture of Traci in front of the windows with the tower burning in back, and we turned around and suddenly it was gone!” she said breathlessly. “All you can hear are sirens everywhere. It’s crazy.”

Throughout the remainder of my journey I felt as if I should be in New York with my friends and neighbors.

“Do you think I should come back,” I asked.

“No. Keep going with your trip,” she said sympathetically. “Even if you wanted to come back you couldn’t. All the bridges and tunnels are closed. You couldn’t get into the city.”

Grateful that at least one of my loved ones was safe, I drove listening to the radio until the nausea overwhelmed me and I flicked it off, only to turn it back on again a few minutes later once I had regained my strength.

I called my father who wasn’t aware that I was traveling across the country.

“Oh Caeser, it’s you. How ya doing?” he asked happily.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m OK,” I said.

“What,” he replied somewhat confused.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m OK,” I repeated

“Oh, OK,” he said cheerfully, “Talk to you later.”

At the time I didn’t realize he was blissfully unaware of the events in New York City. When he finally caught on he panicked. Meanwhile I carried on with my journey assuming his mind was at ease.

I drove on, heading west. My mind was in a fog, my heart deep in mourning. All afternoon I could not reach Heather, who was staying at my place to take care of my cat.

I stopped in Little Rock, the home of Bill Clinton. What a sordid place it was. To look at this urban swamp one is not surprised that it is infested with the backbiting snakes that teamed up with the Republicans to create the pathetic dramas of the Clinton scandals.

For good measure I cursed Kenneth Starr and the Republican hypocrites for wasting years of the country’s time and resources for their own political benefit. It was an ugly case of politicians placing their own self-interests above the needs of the country they were elected to serve. And all over a couple blow jobs in the oval office.

I recalled the parade of Republican senators screaming bloody murder on the evening news when Clinton bombed a terrorist camp in Afghanistan Soon these very same hypocrites would be waving the flag and accusing Democrats of being soft on national security. We can only guess whether 9/11 would have happened if Whitewater and Monica Lewinski were not stealing the president’s time.

With no desire to explore Little Rock further I got back on the highway and drove towards the Oklahoma border. Within a few hours it was clear the America I set out to see was gone. On this expedition I would be exploring a brave new America that was just emerging.

Everywhere I looked flags were being hung mournfully over porch railings and at half-mast on flagpoles. Every restaurant marquee, from Kentucky Fried Chicken to the finest steakhouse, took down their weekly specials and put up “God bless America.”

Normally patriotism would make me feel uncomfortable. Usually flag-waving meant some politician was trying to brainwash the simpler folks until supporting some hair-brained scheme to take over a third world country or cut taxes for the rich.

But given the day’s events I couldn’t help being moved by these sentimental displays of national unity. These events made me consider what I loved about America; the freedom to believe or not believe in religion, the freedom to speak out against corruption by those in power, the fact that in New York City I can live among people of every race, every color, every creed, and we all get along pretty well most of the time.

I thought back on my vision a few weeks earlier. Because of the pondering I did in the wake of that vision, I was not as surprised as most Americans by the changes that the country would soon undergo.

But what I did not foresee was how the politicians would exploit this wave of patriotism for their own benefit. I should have, but I didn’t foresee how it would unleash a new era of McCarthyism, or how the public would be manipulated by fear, or how the corporations and their Republican stooges would use this opportunity to undo some of those pesky civil rights that stood in the way of complete social control. I didn’t foresee how they would exploit the good will of small town Christians in order to undertake the greatest grab of wealth and power ever seen. And all of this on behalf of those same millionaires and billionaires who already had so much wealth and power that it was unimaginable to the common man.

In the end the public was caught in a crossfire between the police and the thieves. And the public was getting screwed on both ends.
But then again, Republicans always prospered when they had a bogeyman to scare the public with. Whether it’s the communists or the terrorists, they thrive on scaring the hell out of people, then convincing them that only they can protect them.

But communists and terrorists will come and go, of late they have found an even greater bogeyman. One that will not go away until they assume complete and total control. Of course I am referring to liberals and democrats. Thanks to a highly coordinated media effort over many years, they have created a giant rift within American culture.

Thanks to their work they have managed to make many Americans hate their fellow countrymen. These days if you try to debate a point with a Republican, the well thought out reply you often receive is “shut up you fucking idiot.”

Anne Coulter recently went on Fox News and declared that residents of New York City are not Americans. The right wing hate propaganda has brought a stew to boil, and in it you find all of our worst instincts. In it you will find racism, sexism, religious intolerance, and prejudice of every kind. They direct their hate at liberals, Democrats, Californians, New Yorkers, New Englanders, intellectuals, Hollywood celebrities, environmentalists, feminists, college graduates, you-name-it, they hate it. Their ability to hate seems a bottomless pit that pulls the country apart. And to what end?

The only answer I can come up with is that its only purpose is to allow those in power to consolidate their dominance. If anyone knows another answer please send me a letter. Throw a rock out your window so hard that it will come in my window and hit me on the head while I sit passively watching Law & Order reruns.

On June 16, 1858 Lincoln said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” Soon a country that was more unified than ever-before, would again be divided. But that was still in the future.

As I crossed the border into Oklahoma the radio was explaining that all air traffic had been suspended, and the president was hidden away in some unknown location. The estimates of the dead had fallen to the six thousand-range. Strange names such as Osama and Al Queda were being heard in the media.

It was getting well into the afternoon and I still hadn’t been able to reach Heather. I thought she was safe, but it was hard to say. A few weeks before, she was working at American Express whose office was in the towers. Recently she was sent to an office in New Jersey while they renovated the New York Offices. The only catch was that her subway to Jersey went right under the Trade Center.

As I drove I tried to think of other things but it was hopeless. Driving the highways of Oklahoma I looked out on the great expanse of the flatlands. In that open space my mind raced. My thoughts were filled with violence. I had always believed in peace. But in a flash I had been turned into a man who could only think of war and revenge.

When I arrived in Oklahoma City afternoon was beginning to wane. Being that Oklahoma City is the only other American city to have experienced a terrorist attack, they weren’t messing around. They had shut down the whole place. The entire downtown area was blocked off.

I found a little park on the outskirts of the city that had a nice little gazebo in the middle with a few wooden benched inside. I laid down on one and was able to get a short nap.

When I awoke I was finally able to get Heather on the phone. She was stranded in Manhattan, sitting on the doorstep of one of her many suitors. The subways lines were all down so she couldn’t get back to Brooklyn. By evening it was snowing white debris and ash all over the city.

Heather was at a vocal lesson that morning when it all came down. She no longer had a job. The effects of the attack were spreading far and wide.

That night I drove to the edge of the Texas panhandle before pulling over for the night. I got a five-dollar shower at a travel center. The hot water helped wash away the day’s stress.

I lay down to sleep in the travel center parking lot. The sounds of travelers closing their car doors and walking past my car stayed with me through the night. My windows were tinted so that even when someone past by the car a few inches away I remained hidden.

This part of the country is barren, harsh. It affects one’s spirit. My mind was so exhausted that I could no longer think about the day’s events. I quickly masturbated, not for sexual pleasure, but to help sleep to come before my mind became agitated again. As I faded off to sleep I surveyed my friends trying to take account of who was safe and who was in question.

The day of September 11, 2001 had come and gone.