To think much, spend so much time to think the morning of Sept. 11, perhaps it is inevitable that every airport I visit, each airplane in which I find myself either stained by the events of 2001. This morning, waiting for a flight to Toronto. While I try frantically to finish the lecture that I give in a few hours, a woman comes to sit near the window, like me. She has three children: a daughter in a stroller, two boys under 4 years who settled on the windowsill. The woman is a pro at airports in less than two, she opened the bag of children, and spread the floor a few toys: two books, a Pooh Elmo red a Nintendo, a blanket, etc.. Children are at home in this waiting area near the gate 47 from Dorval Airport. In a few minutes, we will enter all the plane, a Boeing 747 that will lead us in Toronto.
I look at this quiet family, the children well behaved, and I imagine them on the plane over Canada. Overlaps another image: the same children, one mother and me, somewhere along the Hudson River, preparing us to die somewhere in the World Trade Center.
Not that I make the flight anxious. Instead, over time, I become increasingly calm and confident air. I am surprised this morning to pack my bags in less than two, and I spent security checks with an efficiency that is comparable to that of George Clooney in Up in the Air . This is not fear that this happening again. It is, rather, as if I saw us, preparing us for an airliner, as well as those who left Boston a September morning.
Lately, I sometimes dream about the next book, to design her in my sleep subject. I wake up, and I forgot everything. Leaving only the current book, this collection filled with characters some of whom, like me this morning, waiting for their flight in the anonymity of an airport lobby. Contamination, it is this: there can be no question that this tour are those of the World Trade Center. He can currently be no question of an airplane without it that I see allow me to continue to imagine the passengers of four flights on September 11. Perhaps this is because the project'm still whole. Perhaps it is because my reinvention of September 11 is not yet complete.
As for trucks that can no longer, after the death of my brother and my own accident, be innocent, perhaps it is also, finally, that September 11 has confirmed what I already knew: a Once aboard the plane, settled more or less comfortably in those seats, we must make, we give up, and know that no matter what happens, we can do nothing.
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