It was a textbook September day. Ever-changing, lazy clouds brushed across a brilliant, perfect blue sky that offered no hint of rain. I was driving to Houlton to attend a staff meeting, and listening to a Stephen King book on CD. The day was far too glorious to entertain a dark Stephen King tale, and so, despite my King adoration, I reached down and removed the CD, and the sounds of 96.1 FM radio filled the car.
I realized immediately that I was listening to a live feed from CNN and the announcer spoke rapidly, attempting unsuccessfully to mask the panic in his voice. I could not wrap my mind around it: two airline jets had crashed into the World Trade Center. I thought I was listening to a remake of the Orson Welles broadcast of long ago; a false report of alien invasion that literally set the world and its people into a tailspin.
I gripped the wheel, all thoughts of the meeting in Houlton replaced with disbelief and grave concern. I drove on slowly, my eyes searching the heavens for airplanes or bombs or both. Was this the end of the world? Was this the rapture? When the announcer reported that a third jet had just slammed into the Pentagon, I pulled the car to the side of the road and got out as quickly as I could. I walked around the car several times, trying to calm myself down.
Finally, I was able to get back behind the wheel and call Dale, Lisa, and my office. Had they heard the news? Were they listening to the radio? What were the teachers telling our children? I continued on to Houlton, where my co-workers and I gathered in the conference room, our disbelieving eyes focused on the building television screen. We sat in silence; barely breathing as we watched the Twin Towers of New York City crumble before us like weary sandcastles.
Firemen, policemen, paramedics, office workers, airline passengers and countless others were slain needlessly on that innocent autumn day; September 11, 2001. The fourth jet lay scattered in a remote field in Pennsylvania; forced to the ground by the brave efforts of unsung heroes, refusing to succumb to the cowardice demands of terrorists.
I will always remember that morning and that long drive to Houlton. Every once in a while, I find myself scanning the sky for a wayward plane or a cloud of smoke.
The heart of America was fatally wounded on that day. Despite political tug of war, conspiracy theories, and finger pointing, the human spirit was energized. Warriors of war and public servants are reminded daily of their courage. Long gone are the days of Viet Nam veterans being harassed, tormented, and shunned; we now stand in line to show our appreciation for service and valor.
On that day, September 11, 2001, American soil became a battlefield and the bitter taste of reality brought us to our knees. We can never be the same.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette @maine.rr.com.
