Writing It Down Means Holding Onto It

I just yanked out an old notebook to grab a piece of blank paper. I opened to a page…I hadn't realized this was the notebook I'd had with me on 9/11. But it was.

I'd written down the name of the short Latina woman in red who collapsed next to me on a bench that day. As we stared at the horrific sight, she told me that her sister and her client were in the buildings. We tried on my phone to call them over and over. We never reached them. Today, all these years later, I finally checked the list of victims for that last name. There is someone of that name who died that day, but I don't think he is related to this woman. Somehow, I am glad to know this.

On a lighter note, in that same notebook I found a series of notes I'd scribbled for a story I'd done on punk-rock karaoke. Here's a great quote one of the performers said to me:

"You could pretty much take all the musical talent I have…I could crush it up into a little ball, stick it in your eye and you'd still be able to see pretty well."