Each November when I was younger, my mom would tell me about her experiences in 1963 on the day of President Kennedy’s assassination. She kept newspapers from the day, and told me it was the kind of event that caused an imprint on your brain.
When something like that happens, you always remember where you were and who was with you.
Fifteen years ago, on the morning of September 11, 2001, I had an appointment to have some car repairs completed at 8:00 AM. My plan was to have the work done early that morning so I could make it to work by 10:00.
I sat in the lobby of Warren Tire in Waterford, NY, listening to the radio while working on the daily newspaper crossword puzzle. Dwayne was behind the counter, answering the phones and asking me more than once if I wanted a cup of coffee. Just before 9:00, the radio station interrupted the music with a special news report.
Dwayne and I looked at each other in wonder. Almost in unison, we said, “Did he just say a plane hit the World Trade Center?”
Dwayne dove for the television remote. We watched in horror as the picture came up. I reached for my phone to call my student intern. Just as she said hello, Dwayne and I watched the second plane slam into the South Tower.
I don’t remember much of the phone call. I don’t remember when I started crying. I don’t remember the other mechanics coming into the waiting area to watch the television.
I do remember at one point realizing that Dwayne was standing next to me, with his arm around me, holding me as I sobbed. He kept handing me tissues as the tears ran down my cheeks, apologizing if some of them had his greasy fingerprints on them. I might have told him that was the least of my worries.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. In the nursing home where I worked, every common room television was tuned to coverage of the unfolding tragedy. Residents and staff sat and stood around in horror. Very little work was done.
My sister and nephews came to work that night to give me a ride back to my car. As we drove, I stared at the clear blue sky amazed at how strange it was to not see any planes or contrails overhead. The silence in my neighborhood felt oppressive. It was a gorgeous late summer evening but instead of hearing children laughing and playing, there was stillness.
Like most of my friends, I moved through the next week in a daze. I checked in with others to see how they were coping. I went to work every day, but often came home to realize I couldn’t remember anything I had done that day. I watched the news occasionally until it became too much and I started crying again.
In early October, my car was due for an oil change. I went back to Warren Tire. Dwayne was behind the counter, once again. This time we greeted each other as friends. Dwayne wasn’t just the man who answered the phone. He was the one who gave me a hug while we watched a tragedy unfold. We both knew people who had died that day. We both had friends and family who were still suffering.
Our bond remained for the next year. Each time I stopped in, Dwayne and I would catch up on how we were coping, how our friends were doing. President Kennedy’s assassination was my mother’s imprinted event but September 11, 2001 was mine.
A couple years later, Dwayne moved to a new job. Then I found a new job and a new mechanic near my new worksite. Life moved on as it often does.
But every year on September 11, I always remember Dwayne. I wonder how he is doing, where he is now, and how life is treating him. And I always say a prayer of thanks for the comfort he gave me on a Tuesday morning in 2001 on the day the world changed.