2001-12-05 - 10:10 p.m.
To Partygirl.
The rest of the world thinks of them constantly. There's a sign in Wakefield Virginia that sends prayers to them. My mother's office in Nashville still has a memorial up to all the InsuranceGuys who were in the World Trade.
And I think about them in Boston every day. Every time I get a cup of coffee. Like I do every morning when I get to any place I work. I think about the security guards I talked to. People I rode the express bus with. People I waited in lines with. People I ate lunch with in the plaza. People I stood reading magazines with at Borders. People I sat in the waiting room of my doctor's office with.
I try. Desperately.
To remember. Each and every one of them.
My therapist tonight wondered if it might be difficult for me to come to terms with this because it's not a process for me. I mean. I'm still trying to lay pictures on tv over the reality I knew when I left NYC in June.
But I think she's wrong.
I think it's fucking hard for everybody.
It's different for everybody. But it's fucking hard for everybody.
I just keep thinking about the receptionist in a Boston insurance company I interviewed with. She had worked in WTC2 over the summer. We latched onto one another. We were the ones who knew what it was like before, but not during and couldn't comprehend the after. But we were in the city that sent the planes.
I feel sometimes like Boston has become the new Dallas. This public shame. We let them. We let them do this.
I don't know.
Which is just it.
In the days immediately following 9/11. I took my Lady of Guadalupe votive outside and set it under the flag on our house. I lit it. And told Our Mother to send her prayers to PartyGirl. And it seemed to help. A little. To look outside when the insomnia hit hard. Again. At 2 a.m. And see that little light still shining.
For PartyGirl.
For all those. People. That I used to watch running for their evening busses.
For all of us.
Because it's still fucking hard. It's different for everybody. And it's different now than it was then. But it's hard.
And we're all still remembering. All of them. Always. And praying.
