No question now, that this was not just an accident. My intention now was to get into the city, go to the office, get my co-worker and future brother-in-law, Chris and head right back to New Jersey. Walking down Sixth Avenue, I had a good view of the burning towers. I listened to the breaking news from radios blaring out of numerous vehicles. I looked down for a just few seconds, picking my way through the large gaping crowd. I cannot ever describe the sound of the radio jock’s voice in that next instant. It was one, not of fear, not of amazement, not even of disbelief when he said, "The World Trade Center just fell over." He didn’t say, "collapsed." I remember that specifically. He said the building had fallen over. I looked up and saw a trail of dust extending away from the one remaining tower – which led me to believe that the first tower had, in-fact "tipped over." I had heard no sound. I had felt no tremble. I don’t think I would have even realized the thing had fallen if the radio hadn’t said so. I had only looked away for about 10 seconds, but that was all the time it took for this building to turn from mighty Babel into nothing.

In the elevator up to my office, I heard that the planes in question were actually hijacked commercial jets. I had simply assumed that the terrorists (no denying that anymore) had somehow gotten hold of a Cessna or something. But no, they had hijacked a plane full of people and suicided them into the side of these buildings. Dread began to gnaw at me when I was told that one of the planes had flown out of Boston. Boston, the place I still call home. The second punch in the stomach came when I heard that another plane had crashed into the Pentagon. The Pentagon? I could only think, "Shit, we’re really at war."

Once upstairs, I finally saw the video replay of the second plane flying into – no flying through – Tower 1. I saw footage of what looked like a third explosion which brought down the same tower. I saw 110 stories of indestructible steel simply crumble in a matter of seconds. I heard reports of people jumping out of the building and I wondered how horrible things must have been inside for them to think that plummeting over 800 feet was somehow a better option. I watched the second tower collapse live on TV. I was so shocked that all I could do was point and say, "Look!" to the people who had left the room.

We didn’t know if the worst was over or yet to come. I was inclined to think that the terrorists were just warming up. I had thought that after one plane, they were done. I had thought that after the second plane, surely now they were done. I heard about the Pentagon and thought, shit, are they done yet? Then the first building fell. Then the second building fell. It seemed like every twenty minutes, something more and more horrible was happening. Who knew what would happen next? My office is 7 blocks from the Empire State Building. If it were to fall towards us, the top would crash through our building.

By now, the bridges and tunnels back to New Jersey were shut down. Not that I would have felt safe going through any tunnel connected to Manhattan anyway. Chris and I left with two co-workers; Judy and Jay and went to a church on the outskirts of Mid-town. We went down to the basement and tried to get in touch with our families to let them know that we were okay. All circuits busy. We listened to the radio as facts and rumors were reported. A plane down near Philadelphia. A plane down near Pittsburgh. An explosion on Capitol Hill. Another plane flying up the Potomac surrounded by Airforce jets. A plane brought down by the military. What was real and what was fake?

After a couple hours we heard that there were ferries leaving from 42nd street over to New Jersey. We walked 30 blocks then stood in line for almost 3 hours as 2 F-16’s continued to fly back and forth overhead. We were in line next to Frank from Nutley, New Jersey. Our conversations went from disbelief, saying, "I just can’t believe it," and "This is so fucked up," to irreverent jokes like "Well, you gotta hand it to the terrorists. They couldn’t have picked a nicer day for us to be outside."

Yes, it felt unreal. Yes, it felt like a movie or a video game. It felt like every cliche in the world. What I didn’t feel was fear, anger, grief, remorse, or anything at all for the people inside those towers. The only genuine emotion I can remember feeling the entire day was annoyance. Annoyance that I had missed seeing the planes crash into the buildings. Annoyance that I had looked away just before the first tower fell. Annoyance that I had had to watch the second tower fall on TV when I could have witnessed it live. The most profound thing I could find to say was simply, "They’re just not there." Seriously, they were there this morning, and now they’re not! When they take pictures of New York, those buildings are in the shot! What do we do with all the old skyline pictures? I mean, what? Is it disrespectful to the dead to keep the old pictures up?

Chris, Frank and I got off the ferry in Weehauken, then walked another 2 miles into Hoboken where people were sitting on park benches looking across the Hudson at the giant cloud of smoke occupying the space where the two largest buildings in the city had once existed. From there it was just a PATH ride to Newark where we swapped business cards and parted ways with Frank. Pulling into the station at South Amboy, Chris and I looked out over the parking lot full of cars – and wondered how many of them would still be parked in the exact same spot tomorrow or even a week from now...

Safe at home, I had the first chance in 8 hours to sit down and watch the news. I got my first clear look at second plane’s impact as it flew into the building and exploded out the other side. I got my first clear image of that first building collapsing in on itself after an apparent third explosion. I got the first clear image of the top of the second building falling, and then bringing the rest of the tower down under it by sheer inertia. Over and over again, they played these images, once at regular speed then in slow motion. On the phone with my mother, I kept interrupting her to gasp and exclaim my disbelief.

The real emotions of the day wouldn’t hit until about an hour later at a local church’s prayer service. I got up mid-way through the service and went outside to call my parents again, because I had forgotten to tell them, "I love you." That’s when I lost it. I cried for the people who had died. I cried for the people who had committed suicide. I cried for the families who were not as fortunate as my own. I cried mostly out of fear. Fear of what would happen tomorrow. Fear that the attacks were not done. Fear that a nuclear weapon would be dropped in the middle of the night. Fear that we were going to war. Fear that I would be drafted. Fear that I would die in combat. Fear that I would die at home. Fear of things I couldn’t even comprehend. I just kept sobbing to my mommy, "I don’t know what’s going to happen." After about five minutes, I realized that I no longer had a connection. More than likely, I had bumped the END button after only a few seconds, sparing my parents from hearing my breakdown. I sat on the steps outside the church until I calmed down.

Back inside, sitting next to my fiancée Lauren, and future in-laws, everything came rushing back again. My head was down in my hands. I sobbed loudly, shaken to my very core. Next to me, I could hear Chris begin to cry. He too heaved with sobs that nobody in the church could ignore. Chris’s father stood up and said a prayer to God to help everybody with their fear. "The terrorists today did more than kill a lot of people," he said. "They drove fear into the hearts of everyone who survived. HOW DARE THEY!" I heard him shout and I cried louder. Lauren had one arm around me and one hand stroking my hair. I became aware of other hands on my back and shoulders. People were laying hands on me and Chris, praying for God’s peace to descend upon us. We cried in that church for a good half-hour, but eventually their prayers were answered.

By 11 o’clock, less than 14 hours had passed since I first heard that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center. Such a paradigm away. I was now sufficiently numb. I didn’t want to think about anything anymore. I had reaffirmed my faith in God this night, yet dread still gnawed at the pit of my stomach. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring save from the fact that those buildings would still be rubble and the dead would still lie silent. For the first time in years, nightmares kept me up most of the night. I dreamt, not about bombs or terrorists or plane crashes, but about more primal childhood fears. Monsters. Zombies. Things that lurk in dark places. Now, as I sit in my apartment almost a week later watching the lingering images of last Tuesday, I am still not sure of what to expect – from the world, from the terrorists, from myself. I can only thank God that my family and I are okay... and pray that some kind of good can come from such utter evil.