Pages from a day of horror Bellingham Herald
Between chaotic interviews, I tried to get down what I was seeing: "Two guys, young guys, standing on the corner, looking up. One is screaming, 'Oh my God,' like were at a ballgame ... a man w/a towel waving and then they jumped ... two people jumping together. I don't know if they were office mates. They drifted down so slowly."
Some of this doesn't make sense: Why did I think people were jumping rather than falling? Tally marks appear for each person. There are eight. Was that all of them or had I turned away?
The journal had been an anniversary present to my husband. On that day, it served another purpose.
"Times Square, 9:15, people watching the zipper, no one moving at rush hour ... people crying, on cell phones."
Times Square was frozen as people gaped up at the news crawl beneath the Jumbotron flashing a replay of the second plane crashing into the trade center towers.
The subway had shut down after only a few stops and there were no cabs, so I shoved $40 through the window of a beat-up car stopped at a light and asked for a ride downtown. The driver, a young man, waved away the money and said jump in.
