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I'm feeling so low. Still...

I went downtown tonight, met my sweetie, saw a light movie and hung out drinking coffee in the East Village. We drove past firehouses with so many bouquets at their door they could be mistaken for a florist's shop and commented how good it made us feel. Then came time to drop her off for her overnight shift down at the Southern tip of Manhattan.

The East Side highway, the FDR, has been closed below Houston Street lately although I believe they have partially opened the Brooklyn Bridge. Anyhow, I'm getting on the FDR to head North to my home in the Westchester suburbs and there are all these cops.

Dozens of cops, directing the confused traffic at the circle entrance to the highway. The lights on top of the squad cars help the crosstown traffic merge together and officers are in the street with flashlights. Then I realize that New York is under occupation. The cops are our allies, but the enemy is all around us and unseen. It is fear and can't be fought using conventional forces.

I make it past the lights and confusion and I'm crying hot tears on the highway. While I needed to see people and enjoy a night out, I'm reminded how just a couple miles away there's a tomb containing over 5,000 remains of my neighbors.

I pull around the corner of the road in the 20s and the Empire State Building is directly ahead of me, standing solid and defiantly lit in red, white and blue and my tears burn now with anger. The cops have blocked the entire 49th Street exit for the UN with flares and spike strips and the feeling of being under occupation come up again.

I drive further North. Past 96th Street I merge right for the 138th Street bridge to take me to the Bronx and the Thruway. The car bounces along the rutted hill up to the bridge and directly ahead is a billboard with the American flag. Just the flag against a white background.

Suddenly the other billboards on my way past a dark Yankee Stadium seem quite shallow in comparison: Ford trucks, a bank, Apple computers. I drive through the night to the safety of my home and cry again that the world feels so much smaller now.

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I wasn't sure if my motorcycle was in working order. It has stalled on me a few times and I suspect electrical trouble. Without a job, I don't feel like taking it into the shop, so I went for a short ride today to check it out.

I guess I forgot how riding would focus my mind and release my troubles. I drove through town, the main drag to Main Street to Broadway, heading North. I was glad to see White Plains has put back up their July 4th decorations on the lightpoles. After the bottleneck of North White, I catch Route 22 as it winds up past the reservoir. This was a favorite ride to relieve lunchtime stress at my old job and it is popular for bikers of all persuasions.

I take the first two sweeping turns with caution. There are a couple lights ahead and the speed limit is still 30mph. The road across the top of the dam is closed, probably for security I think. I settle into the saddle and begin my run through the gears. The turns are wide and the scenery sunsplashed. I'm in overdive and leaning into each corner, using the extra free horsepower of the long downhill to hit 80mph. Although I'm aware of everything, I can only concentrate on the road ahead. My mind is clear as I turn around a few miles when the road is about to straighten out.

Below the dam is a park. I pull over there for a drink thinking perhaps I will see my kids since their mother is known to play volleyball at this park on weekends. I usually avoid this area for that reason, but now I'm missing my kids. I'm missing human contact. Hell, I'm even missing my ex-wife. No such luck. I would really like to pick up cigarette smoking again...

I drink my coffee, listening to the suburban families bike and rollerblading past and stare into space. I roll out to the Bronx River Parkway and wind up to fifth gear. I want to do something, maybe hit the gym and find a punching bag. Instead I let the engine whine and refuse to let it rest with overdrive.

I have carried no cell phone or watch and enjoyed the freedom of being alone, but now I want to reconnect with my town. I get off at the Civic Center and turn on Tarrytown Road towards White Plains. The skyline reveals itself and is dominated by our largest office building, One South Lexington. It is black glass and larger than anything surrounding itself. After the tragedy, I considered it to be the best target for a hijacked attack. Irrational, I know, but my fears are less now and I was heartened by the small American flag I spied flying from One South Lex's roof as I pointed the bike towards home.

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9/23

Another trip downtown, this time the Williamsburg Bridge approach from Queens. We swing the car onto Delancey and already the cops are everywhere keeping the traffic moving. Most streets are closed south of Canal, so we park on Hester Street in Chinatown and walk through the muggy night.

We grab some noodles for dinner, catching snatches of conversations from the table next to us. There are three men there, with laminated tags around their necks. Although they are not rescue workers, they drop some comment about the condition of one of the bodies found downtown. I'm curious, but when my girlfriend repeats it back to me, my mind is not engaged and I am only hearing a roar in my ears.

Centre Street cuts paralell to Broadway, but runs further East, away from the Trade Center. It passes by the courthouses and civic centers of Manhattan. Solid stone buildings from another era. It doesn't look like modern Manhattan, especially on foot with no traffic. One public building has an impromptu shrine. Fresh bouquets and burning candles are clustered under an official looking tarp. I can't tell who set up this altar and who its for. Of course, there are flyers with faces on them.

There are noises now. The occasional truck rumbles by. We see one heading East with an enormous load of beams. It trails the stench of burning garbage. The sewer grates gurgle, as if the island is trying to breathe through the fog and now the grit. At Foley Square, they have begun covering the grates to the subways below. There are barricades at every intersection and at least two police manning each.

At City Hall, the horizon begins to glow between the buildings and there is a steady hum. Dozens of utility trucks are parked by the manholes and there's activity underground. People are walking Southwest with us. Couples. Families. Drawn to the spectacle like moths to a flame. The air is thick and our feet crunch on the sandy streets.

Broadway is cut off, so we must backtrack a half dozen times to view across the street. Mostly all we see are trucks laboring under floodlamps. There are glimpses of wreckage hanging from the sides of buildings and the sounds of heavy equipment. Everything is hazy, including the expressions of the people wandering aimlessly.

Despite two rain storms and washing, the dust is everywhere. It coats the store windows and I read, inscribed by fingers, messages like 'God bless you'. Some locked stores must have had their doors open on the 11th. I see shoes in their display covered in white chalk. The windows on the upper floors of the dark buildings are opaque. They resemble carved statues more than buildings now.

We walk through the canyons of Wall Street and now there are more National Guards than anything else. Most of them and the State Troopers aren't from here and have a look of bewilderment and innocence to them. Seeing all the activity, I feel better somehow.

I think back to when I was a kid. I loved comic books, especially super heros. Being more of a DC man than Marvel, I grew up on Superman, Green Lantern and Batman. They all had their villians who pulled off more and more outrageous crimes against the citizens of earth, Metropolis or Gotham, but their deeds were always for monetary gain or vengence against our protectors. Never had my childhood heros had to deal with an evil as heartless as this.

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