Teaching Nine Eleven
Yesterday the Russian Hockey team took a dive bomb and were pulled from the wreckage, still strapped in their seats, waiting to see God. Today, blue carpet and black chairs point towards oversized CNN Headlines: “TEACHING 9/11.” I’ve already scoped the room for brown people, identified two. Headgear? Male? Female? It’s a ritual now. Ten years ago, almost, waiting for United, a turbaned stranger triggered a facial tic. I wasn’t the only one looking. Today, the plane’s brakes screech and groan, scratch the runway, drown out my whispered prayers and chanted mantras to keep the tic from taking over. Today, when landing, we tip left to right, leaning sideways, seatbelts straining to keep us in our seats. We wait for God, murmur sighs and gasps of relief when God overlooks us, this time. There’s no need to teach Nine Eleven. We’ve already learned.
September 9, 2011