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    Exactly one hundred and two years after my grandfather sailed to Canada, I too was traveling over the water, on a ferry. It was September 11, 2001, and I was being evacuated from downtown Manhattan.

    It was such a beautiful Tuesday. Not a cloud in that sunny blue sky. And so warm. I wore slacks and a pink and black sleeveless sweater to work, no need for a jacket, yet. Tuesday, and the farmer’s market would be set up across the street. Across the street. How many times did I walk across the street. Listening to concerts. Shopping in the stores. Meeting my sister for lunch. That romantic dinner, on a snowy December night. And so many meetings. All, across the street. 

    That month it was two years since my sister passed away. I called Mom and asked if she needed anything from the market across the street– just tomatoes. Why had I already slipped on my high heels? Now, I’ll have to change back to sneakers before I sneak over to the market. One quick check of my emails before I dash… 

     The lights went out for a moment and the building felt as though it dropped and then rose up again. I thought it was an earthquake. My co-worker’s office faced across the street, but he had his back to the window and could not see it. He told me not to worry, that it was probably a sonic boom. As he spoke, I stared out his window. He turned around and looked. Across the street, red flames from the mouth of hell were pouring out of the windows. We took an elevator to the lobby and waited. Some stood outside talking, oblivious to the bits of metal that drifted down to the ground. Some in the lobby planned to go back upstairs to their offices. And then someone shouted, “Run!” There was chaos as we tried to get through the few revolving doors. Shoes were left behind, in the scramble to get out. My co-worker and I stood on Broadway as a fighter plane zoomed very low, over our heads. My 6’ 2” companion dropped to his knees. I didn’t, and with gallows humor said, “I hope it’s one of our’s.”  

     People were streaming in every direction on Broadway. I couldn’t get my bus. The trains were shut down. I thought of walking across the bridge, but it was far away and with all the confusion, wasn’t sure it was safe. I stayed with my co-worker. We ran with a group from Broadway to the ferries. I asked him to hold my hand. I thought I would be separated from him and trampled. We ran over grating, and I worried about catching the high heel of my shoe. Strange how the mind works in the midst of terror. As a group, we made our way to a pier. It got overcrowded and started to sway. We were ordered to back up. Then the ferries pulled in and we were back on the pier. The crowds were thick as they rushed to get aboard the boats. I couldn’t find a way on. Someone leaned over the rail of a ferry and pulled me up and on to the boat. I don’t know how he did it. I didn’t get a chance to thank him. My one thought as I was being lifted up was that I would loose my shoes, and why didn’t I leave my sneakers on that morning. 

    As we sailed, the sound of wailing filled the air. It was all that you could hear. It drifted across the water. People holding each other and crying. Some had dropped to the floor and were being cradled in the arms of strangers. They all had loved ones who worked across the street. I never experienced such massive heartbreak, it was all encompassing. My companions and I were fortunate, not having anyone left behind, across the street. They all lived in New Jersey and were going home. I lived in Brooklyn and was deciding what to do. A couple of them invited me to their homes. I decided to use the hotel reservation I had booked for a manager. I knew he would not be flying in to use it. 

    Someone shouted, “Look!” Out over the water we could see the other tower fall. My mind could not comprehend that there were people in it. I couldn’t allow myself to accept that. Many ran to one side of the boat and it almost capsized. My mind was numb. I remember thinking, I escaped the attack and now I will drown. I couldn’t swim. I spent the night in New Jersey. The next day the bridges reopened and I was able to travel home. Family and friends greeted me. I was in good shape. The next day I went out to lunch and shopped. I was fine. Friday, it hit me. I couldn’t get out of bed til noon. I felt as though all the nerves in my body were shaking. That night I finally watched what had happened and what it looked like across the street. I fell apart and sobbed for hours. 

     My company, wisely, moved us out of downtown for sixteen months.  We returned to our home at One Liberty Plaza, staying until 2017, when we relocated across the street to 4 World Trade Center.  After the attack, I would not have believed that I would work on the 54th floor of the World Trade Center, and actually enjoy it.