When the ferry docked in Staten Island everyone stood up to get out. Most of us were waiting patiently but I saw a young businessman pushing to get to the front, I made eye contact with him and gave him the , "you know what you are doing is stupid" look. He stopped and looked down in what I imagine was embarrassment. The time for running and escaping was over, now begun the part where we all try to figure out how to get home, how to process what just happened and somehow get back to life.
As I was walking away from the terminal and up a nearby hill my phone rang again, it was my father. I told him I was in Staten Island by the ferry station, he told me to wait there and my mother and he would come pick me up. He also told me that both towers were now collapsed and looked over to where they should have been and all that was there was a billowing dark gray cloud of smoke. The smoke was incessant and later I would watch the open wound smoke for over a month. That was it, no more escapes, no more rescues, the damage was done and there would be no new survivors.
I stopped by a nearby luncheonette, the Gavel Grill, to grab some water and sit down. I decided it was a good chance to grab something to eat and recharge. The luncheonette had a TV and everyone there was glued trying to find out what was going on, how big of an event it was, what rumors were true and which weren't (turns out it was too early to tell). The news told us how all the roads heading into town were packed and not moving. I doubted my parents could reach me, instead of sitting around idly I would focus on closing the gap. I overheard a group of people talking about a car rental place down the block and introduced myself and told them I would like to check it out. I and another guy, whose name I don't remember, started walking to the Enterprise Rent-a-car on Bay St. I broke out a pair of cigars I picked up before stopping at the luncheonette. We talked, shared stories and sympathies. The attendant at the rental car lot said he had no cars to loan out and was expecting cars to come over from Manhattan that morning but that was probably not going to happen now because of recent events. He told us of a bus a few blocks away that goes over the Bayonne bridge. My new friend and I finished our cigars and decided to part ways as I would try the bus and he would go back to his friends at the luncheonette. When I got close to the bus stop, I had to ask a cop who was directing traffic were the actual stop was, he was busy but was very helpful. Cops are some pretty amazing people with a few exceptions (none who I met that day). While waiting for the bus I got a call from a friend, I explained that I was ok, I was on Staten Island, and that I was having a pretty shitty day, I would have to call them back later.
The bus arrived and I explained to the bus driver that I would like to get to New Jersey, please and thank you. The bridge was closed but he would drop me off as close his could. I took the seat closest to him and tried to act as normal as possible. I mostly succeeded but I may have asked, "are we there yet" once or twice.
The bridge was truly closed, not a moving car in sight which is definitely strange for 11am on a Tuesday morning in NYC. I talked to the officer in the cop car blocking the entrance, he said the bridge was closed to car traffic because of terrorist concerns but I could walk across if I wanted to. Adios Staten Island. You don't get a good sense of distance and the length of things until you're on foot. It took some time but I made it midway and that's when I heard a jet, with the new ideas firmly in the forefront of mind of jets being guided missiles and the bridge being a target, I realized that I was very much in the middle of a bulls-eye and there was no way I was running to either shore in time. If I looked up to see a plane bearing down on me I would have to jump over the side and hope for the best. A quick glance over railing told me I would need a lot of hope. Damn. Luckily the noise I heard was two F-15s flying low over the water, the cavalry had arrived.
When I made it over the bridge I headed over to the Bayonne Diner to set up camp. I called my parents and I let them I know I was back in the Garden State and they told me they were stuck in traffic but they would try to get to Bayonne. There's a family friend that lives in Bayonne and my parents would contact the friend to swing by the diner and bring me to their house to rest.
After some shut-eye in a recliner, the new plan was to take the new Light Rail up to Hoboken. So I bought my ticket and off to Hoboken I went. I learned a) they weren't collecting tickets that day b) at the time, the train didn't go as far north as Hoboken. I was able to tag along with a group of people who were also walking to Hoboken and, unlike me, knew the way.
Arriving at the Hoboken Train Station around 5:30, there was a line of suit-clad people covered in ash waiting in line to spray down with a fire hose; I'm glad I was already gone from the area by the time the ash cloud showed up. Looking at the big board, I found the next trip home, bought my ticket, told my parents when to pick me up, and got on the train.
My parents picked me up at my train stop after driving all over the place all day long. We went back to the house, they ordered pizza while I changed out of my work clothes and took a nap. The pizza came, I ate and then went back to sleep for the next few days.
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