THE QUIETEST CLOUD
An Essay on September 11, 2001
By P.R.Parker

     Oh yes, we did start statewide testing that day; our schedules would be scrambled for the morning. I had just started a long term assignment in my old high school. I was in the music department that year, but I wasn't daunted because music is not my certified field. I would be teaching beginning keyboard and music appreciation, no big deal there since I studied music in high school and later in college. For today I would spend time gathering materials for my first classes, and if it could be believed, a fun task for me.

     When I arrived at school things went as usual: sign in, get stuff out of my message box, get a copy of this morning's paper, sit down and enjoy coffee before heading to class. I was to co-supervise testing with another teacher, so when the 7:15 bell rang, she told me to take a nice break, enjoy my coffee and paper, then take over for her in about an hour.

     I had my coffee and scanned the morning paper, oblivious to the many comings and goings in the faculty room. I think it was Mrs. Collins, one of our Spanish teachers, who came in and said a plane hit the World Trade Center.

My mind did flip flops as I envisioned a similar disaster which happened years before I was born. Didn't a jet crash into the Empire State Building back in the 1940's?
     Many questions and concerns swirled through my mind as I conjured images of that sixty-year old disaster. I recalled seeing photos of the jet lodged in the building. That remembrance had me thinking, "This is bad. I hope not too many people got hurt."

     Within the next few minutes I would be proven wrong.

     Another plane crashed into the WTC, then another slammed into the Pentagon. What is going on? The first thing that came to my mind was "terrorist attack of the worst kind".
     Oh no, those poor souls on the planes and in the buildings didn't stand a chance. As my break ended, I headed for the classroom, knowing my co-teacher had yet to hear the news. I paused a while in the main office conference room and watched the TV. I saw the smoke and flames rising from the Pentagon.

     As I tried to fathom what came next, I reported for duty as usual. My co-teacher went to take her break, but I told her to watch the news: something awful has happened. The kids had yet to know; they continued taking their ISTEP tests. No, don't tell them yet, let them concentrate on the task at hand. I don't think a half-hour passed when my co-worker returned and said, "Did you see what happened? Does this mean war?"

     Our department head came in and told the kids what happened. Some looked shocked; others were very nonchalant about the whole thing. I was hurting because I have two cousins who live in the D.C. area. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I started to cry. My department head understood and asked, "Do you need to call home?"

     When I called my mom, there was no word on whether my cousins were anywhere near the Pentagon. I guess I'll have to pull myself together and wait for news, whatever it would be.

     Throughout the day I was like a zombie. How can this happen? When I returned to my classroom during my break, I immediately got on the computer and looked up news sites. I saw it all: The planes hitting the WTC towers and the Pentagon, the towers falling, the fire and smoke, the sheer chaos. I went to one of my favorite fan forums and read these words that started the thread: "Does this mean war?"

     Then the inevitable: Parents coming to school to get their kids, the principal coming on the P.A. telling us more news, the shock and outrage, the resultant violence and threats toward our Arab-American and Muslim brothers and sisters.
     The doctor who treated my mom's hand years ago was one of many receiving threatening phone calls. Many businesses owned by Middle Easterners were vandalized. I knew the outrage would manifest itself into something like this.

     And we still have not healed...

     Airports closed, planes grounded, the whole country placed on high alert, the uncertainty of life and we know it torn to shreds because of the cowardly, senseless acts of a handful of men. A day that started so routinely, so run-in-the-mill, was soon transformed into a day of death and destruction.

     On the way home I took time to notice how clear and blue the sky was, how the trees began to turn, the birds flying overhead. That was all that was flying that day. For the birds and everything else in the natural world, life still went on. I suppose we will, too, but when?

    That night, after I watched blanket coverage of the attacks on TV, I noticed something else: how quiet it was.
     I live in a flight pattern so I'm used to hearing planes roar overhead late at night. No planes tonight. Nothing to disturb an otherwise peaceful evening, at least where I was.

     However, in New York City, D.C., and Pennsylvania, it was anything but quiet and peaceful. Prayer after prayer was offered for comfort in the face of catastrophe.

     I found it hard to sleep that night. Nothing would ever be the same again. It happened to us; it happened in the blink of an eye. Everything was so horribly transformed.

     Hundreds of miles away from the chaos and destruction, from the dead and dying, in my house, in my bed, I just couldn't get over the silence, the eerie stillness. I could hear nothing but my breathing and the beating of my heart.

     This silence. I still can't get over the silence...

CopyrightŠ2003 by P.R.Parker