20 years. I remember so well going through the metal detector at the federal court build in Indianapolis. The security guy telling me that the world trade center was hit by a plane and we assured each other it was a fluke. A mistake. Then, upstairs to my office and then into a judge’s chambers to watch the second plane hit and the buildings collapse on tv.
I remember trying to wrap my head around the unimaginable in the midst of distress, chaos, sorrow and worry. But a tender memory from that time, in the days and weeks afterwards, midwest friends, neighbors, colleagues and acquaintances, remembered I was from there and asked how I was and how my family and friends were. I had lived in Indiana since 1989, and it was never that easy being from New York. People could be downright mean at times, talking about where I came from as if it was the pit of hell. Not everyone but enough to make David and I shy about that ‘where are you from’ question. During the days and weeks after 9/11, everyone became a New Yorker. Suddenly, I was just like them because they were just like me. I hadn’t expected that and I felt for almost the first time there, that I had community.