I was riding the 7 train from Astoria, Queens, to my job at the big Citigroup tower in Long Island City. It was after the first plane hit and, with the 7 being an outdoor subway line with a great view of the Manhattan skyline, we in the first car could see the gaping hole and smoke billowing. I assumed it was an accident. When I got to work I said dismissively to colleagues, “That must be the dumbest pilot ever.” We went up to the top floor of the 40-something floor building to watch. Not too long after, the second plane hit and we knew it was no accident. They evacuated the building and sent us all home. Riding the 7 train back and all the passengers shocked and exchanging what they’d hears. Someone said there were planes headed for DC. The 7 stopped at Queens Plaza. End of service, out of abundance of caution for NYC subways. We were all standing on the platform looking at the towers burning. Then we saw the first one collapse. Straight down in a cloud of smoke.
For me, native New Yorker, the skyscrapers are like our heart. Someone cut our heart out. I thought nothing would ever be the same. Months later I felt so panicky on subways, thinking something awful was bound to happen again. The way things snapped back to near normalcy just a few years later was something I never anticipated. Neither did I foresee the way this event would be used to justify an illegal invasion if Iraq just a few years later. I felt and still feel disgusted by how this tragedy has been exploited. But I guess that’s politics.