Today, Of Course

Night before last (meaning Monday night, the 9th), I watched Showtime’s airing of Reflections from Ground Zero, a series of nine short films produced by graduate students from NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. I’m not sure whether it was any of the films themselves, or rather the generally haunting remembrances, or my past life at NYU, or my more personal and present requirement to address the date in a suitably professorial manner (at a faculty-student luncheon at which I’m to appear on an official panel) — whatever the cause, night before last (meaning, as I write pre-sleep, last night) I dreamed of the World Trade Center, over and over.

Dreamed of watching it come down, powerless on the wrong side of the country and on the wrong side of the television screen. Dreamed of searching for a way off of the 104th floor. Dreamed of debris, and panic, and evacuations.

Today is a day I’d rather not acknowledge — rather not, in fact, experience. Rather ignore from a safe spot, with the covers pulled securely over my head. I don’t suppose, though, that any of us have that luxury any more, and that the luxury of covers-over-head is part of what got us into this mess in the first place.

I don’t have anything suitably professorial to greet the day with, no guidance for my students, or even, at a much baser level, for myself.

What I do have is a need to reach out. A quick message, then, for the friends I left in New York, now a shocking four years ago: I miss you more today than ever.


  1. Indeed. Sorry, been off in my own web-absence for a bit. But it’s good to come back to some PO updates.

    And I hope the bad dreams have passed.

  2. I cannot believe it’s been four years since you bid us all a fond “eat my shorts, Krabopple!” and fled for the left coast. Shocking indeed.

    I too felt the need for my friends –not just any friends; New York City friends– this September 11 as opposed to last year. Perhaps it was because last year I was worried about whether my family and friends were alive, or perhaps it was because I was so overwhelmed with the palpable grief of All of It, sitting on my couch and watching the names of people crawl across the bottom of MSNBC, fearing I would see the name of my neighbor (a flight attendant with Delta who was not assigned to her usual flight that day, but whose friend, Frank, a pilot with Delta, was) or someone else I knew. This year, I felt most acutely the lack of my NYU friends, feeling –as I did last year too– that those of us who have moved out of the city have abandoned our former home, and that was a response I thought would begin to dissipate by now. But not yet.

    So reach out, KF, and know we’re reaching back.

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