 Coping
with the 9.11.01 Aftermath
Accounts of Survivors
World Trade Center Neighbor's Account
by: Brian Steven Gomes
My day began as usual; typically, I woke up five minutes before my alarm
clock. I stumbled, still half asleep, into the kitchen to start boiling a
refreshing, eye- opening pot of coffee. Next, as I slowly awoke to a
steamy shower, I contemplated my days agenda. Since I had no class, my
first task was to go to the nearest bank and withdraw $80.00 for the cost
of getting my fingerprints taken at the State Board, in the Bronx. This was
necessary, I kept playing in my mind excitedly, because I was offered a tutoring
assignment at PS168 in the Bronx, possibly starting as early as September 17th.
As I left 99 John Street, I immediately became aware that it was extremely
dusty and that there was little particles of stuff floating everywhere.
Undaunted, I continued on my mission: first to the bank, then to the nearest
Post Office to get a money order, as per request.
As I continued to walk towards the Federal Post Office, which is, or was,
next to the World Trade Center, I began to notice that something that didn't
seem quite right. It wasn't the sheer volume of people I saw, because I have
gotten use to it (I'm a first-year Grad from western Massachusetts). What struck
me as odd was that most of he people were not going anywhere, they were just
sort of standing around as if not knowing what to do. Then I saw it. The
top of the World Trade Center was on fire.
Still focused on my task, I simply thought it was an office fire, although I
overheard someone say they thought a plane crashed into it. They must be wrong,
I thought, as I weaved through the throngs of people everywhere. When I finally
got to the Post Office and security guard said it was closed, I asked
"WHY?!!?", incredulously.
The officer explained that it was because of what happened at the World Trade
Center. Still living in my own little universe, I was still oblivious to what
really happened.
Well, I thought, that's just great! Now I have to go and find another Post
Office to get my money order. In spite of this unfortunate circumstance, I had
an instant contingency plan: I would hop on the A-train uptown to Washington
Square, eat breakfast at Weinstein, then try and re-locate the Post Office on
6th Ave. that I went to once when I didn't know there was one near where the
World Trade Center used to be.
As I left the Post Office and looked for the most convenient sub-way
entrance, considering the ocean of people I had to swim through, that's when I
first really began to pay attention to what was going on around me. Everyone was
looking up; most were crying hysterically; I heard one woman scream, "OH MY
GOD!! OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!! CAN'T THEY PUT OUT A NET TO SAVE THEM?!!!?" By
this time, my curiosity was overwhelming, so I temporarily forgot about my day's
agenda, my plan, looking for where I could find the nearest sub-way entrance. I
then made a mistake that will haunt me like the spirit of a person who refuses
to believe they're really dead; I made the mistake of stopping and looking
up.
What at first looked like debris, began to take the shape of a bird. But as
it came closer into view, I could make out arms and legs flailing helplessly .
To my complete shock and horror, I then knew it was a person. I don't know why I
stayed there, I should have left -but I didn't, refusing to believe this was
truly happening. Then I saw a second body, a third, a fourth. It was probably
less than a minute when, as if I was sitting in the front row of a low-budget
theater, an incredibly large plane crashed directly into the second Tower. It
all happened in what seemed like slow motion. That dream-like quality shattered
instantly as total chaos erupted. People started pushing and running everywhere,
including my self. I could see people falling in front of me, their eyes locking
on mine as I came closer to them. But it didn't matter to me, I ran straight for
maybe two or three blocks and then turned left and hid in the nearest doorway I
thought was safe.
Once I gathered what composure I could, I went back to my apartment and made
two phone calls. One was to my best friend in Massachusetts, but knowing
he was working at the time, I left a semi-hysterical message on his answering
machine and told him I would call him back later that day.
My second call was to my mother, who lives in Tampa, Florida. She had been
watching the news all along and was asking me if I was alright. I told her that
I wasn't physically hurt, but she insisted that I should, at some point, get
counseling because while the psychological impact hadn't hit me yet it
will eventually. After I promised to take her advice, I gave her my
apartment phone number and my cellular phone number and we've been talking at
least once a day since then.
After talking with my mom, I received a phone call from a close friend
in Massachusetts. She asked if I was okay. As I was telling her of my first-hand
experience, we reminisced how, just two weeks earlier we both were sitting out
on the World Trade Center until Midnight talking to one of the security guards!
All we could say was, "... and now it's gone...and now it's totally, totally,
gone..."
Since that day, I've sought counseling twice, talked to my mom twice, called
friends in Massachusetts twice, watched CNN too much, and am glued to my
portable radio -listening for how soon we are allowed to go back. Now it's a
matter of time...
Staying at Cole's gym has afforded me the opportunity to finally talk to
other John Street residents and some who witnessed it first hand as well, though
not as close as I was.
I have gone through the emotional gamut- from shock, to denial, to
break-down, and now recovery. Ironically, what had triggered my break-down, is
what is aiding my recovery. When I heard a CNN report that children were on the
plane I saw crash, that was when I began to cry and couldn't stop. It was bad
enough there were innocent people involved-but CHILDREN??!!!?
I am an Elementary Education major and want to teach in the public school
system once I graduate. Hearing that news dragged me kicking and screaming from
the lollipop-land of denial into the stark, brutal realm of reality. A couple of
days afterward, however, I was walking down the street from Cole's when I went
past a little man-made recreation park where people were with children who were
laughing and playing. Not knowing if any were aware of what happened, it seemed
their innocence had remained relatively intact.
It is the preservation of childhood innocence that I now hold on to.
- Brian Steven Gomes
- First Year Graduate
- Steinhardt School of Education
- Date of first draft: 9/13/01
In his own words in Email June 20, 2002:
My sister (Linda Gomes) recently informed me that you have expressed an
interest in my account of 911. She further informed me that you have posted my
account onto a website, want to know if you can leave it there, and want a
'follow-up'.
At the time it was written for a dual purpose: for my own self-healing and
for those individuals who were having a harder time dealing with the tragedy. As
I met and spoke with others during the week I lived on a gymnasium floor, I
quickly realized that there were people who were more traumatized than I. It is
true that the eyes are the windows to your soul...
Obviously, I was affected -anyone who has the ANGEL OF DEATH so close to
them, only to be by-passed for those near you cannot remain unscarred.
Until 911, watching people jump out of a burning building was a scene that I
had expected from a Hollywood movie, but the images that will be forever burned
into my mind are not of stuntmen. The images will be of those in the airplane
who had time to contemplate their own death before it eventually happened.
What does come to one's mind, knowing without a doubt that the next few
minutes will be the last? Are there regrets of angry words at a love one over
something trivial? Are there thoughts of what kind of life one's spouse and
children will have afterwards? Does one finally answer the age-old question of
whether or not there is a god (after all, why aren't my prayers not to die being
ignored; why me?).
Honoring the request of my mother, I did go to therapy over a three day
period -sharing my experience with anyone who would listen. It felt good to
'talk about it', but it was about a week after that when I knew that I was
reaching the turning point towards my own recovery. I was sitting in a campus
cafeteria one morning, listening to the news on my walkman, which I only took
off when showering. There was a point during one news update that said there
were some children who had died in the tragedy as well. I never learned if this
was accurate information or not. All I know is that I started crying right there
in the cafeteria and I couldn't stop. What's more, it felt better than all of
the talking I had done because this was purely an emotional release. The talking
part of therapy dealt with the psychological aspect, which is necessary, but it
was the emotional side that was the determining factor.
One aspect of 911 which I have yet to speak on is the experience of being
'homeless' for a total time of about two weeks. Actually, the University used
the term 'displaced'. While I knew this wasn't permanent, I still came away with
a greater sense of what it may be like if I really was permanently homeless.
With so many people sleeping on the sidewalks in New York, after awhile they
become invisible to most people. I learned that in terms of life situations, the
difference between me and a homeless person is about as thick as a sheet of
tissue paper.
It has been a while since I actually thought of my 911 experience and I
actually had forgotten what I wrote. I am pleased that it is still doing some
good. Now that I am thinking about it, there are additional experiences I could
add to the whole picture (like being 'displaced'), but I am not sure how much
interest that would generate.
- Respectfully,
- Brian S. Gomes
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