Chicken Soup for the Soul of America by Jack Canfield Read Free Book Online Page B

go. Those who came in from outside of the city were stuck, and even those from within the city were without public transportation. Outside, the streets were filled with everyone from the surrounding buildings. Traffic was stopped. Smoke filled the air. And the sirens blared.
    So I started walking, along with most of the other residents of Manhattan. During my four-mile walk, I noticed the different tones emerging from downtown to midtown and finally to uptown. The sea of people for the first mile might be indescribable. The mood was quiet, actually. Some people were speaking softly to each other, most were on their cell phones, and then they lined up at pay phones once the cells were no longer working. It seemed like most of the callers were telling family and friends that they were okay. My calls were to people who were not downtown—trying to find people calmer than me to tell me what to do next.
    At midtown, people were gathered around stores and parked cars that had news radio shows playing loudly. The phone calls took on a different tone: People were searching for friends and family. From block to block I heard, “I don’t know which building he works in,” “I don’t know if she went to work today,” “I can’t find him.” And still, “I don’t know where to go” and “I can’t get home.” It seemed to me that people were walking more quickly past popular buildings, not wanting to be near a potential target. Amazing, really, how quickly your mind-set can shift. I saw types of emergency vehicles that I had never seen before. All of them had sirens, and all the sirens blared.
    Uptown, there were far fewer people. Anyone now on pay phones was yelling at operators, trying to find loved ones, able to get fewer and fewer dial tones. Mostly, the people on the streets were parents picking up their kids from schools that had decided to close for the day. The conversations now were mothers trying to answer the unanswerable questions of their young children. “Why aren’t I in school?” “Did people die?” “What happened?” And even uptown, “Why are there so many sirens?”
    I’m in my apartment, with my roommates, watching the same news coverage as all of you. We have found most of the people we were most worried about and probably can’t fathom the hundreds of people we should be worrying about—all of you, your friends and family, parents of schoolchildren, spouses of coworkers, people who may have been on those airplanes. We appreciate that so many of you have called (or tried to call) here. I’ll send this message as soon as I can, but our phone service is sporadic and outgoing calls have been difficult. For those of you we haven’t been able to call back, know that we’re okay—just can’t get a dial tone.
    More than anything, I hope this message finds you safe and that those closest to you are well.
    Love,
Meredith
    September 12, 2001
The Next Day
    The news coverage is endless, and the stories are many, but writing to all of you is helping me to process and to stay connected to everyone.
    The volunteer efforts of New Yorkers have been astounding. Red Cross centers have actually had to turn people away, asking them to come back later or tomorrow, pleading with them not to forget that in two weeks this will still be a tragedy that needs their attention.
    My friends and I started walking towards Red Cross at 3:00 yesterday afternoon, not yet prepared to take public transportation (only buses were running). We picked up other friends along the way, teachers who had been in their classrooms all day and had only heard bits and pieces of what was going on. We told them to walk with us, and we’d talk on the way. We returned home five and one-half hours later, not having been able to give blood—they couldn’t possibly process all of the donors that were lined up. We were quickly