Sal's 9/11 Story

Sal* is the first person I met in the US. I arrived on the eve of the 10 year anniversary of 9/11 and the city was on high alert. Again. As if the milestone would bring new horrors. It didn't. But the vibe was there, and the 911 stories pored forth during my two week visit.

I had missed my connecting flight from LAX due to the two hours it look to get through the US customs. As I said, you could feel the tension in the air as soon as you arrived in the country. Like a bell curve steadily rising.

A phone call to my cousin Beverly announced I would be arriving at 10pm instead of 8pm. She was calm and unperturbed, qualities I would grow to admire in her. She's had quite a life.

When I exited JFK airport I looked around to see a familiar facebook face. (Our large Italian immigrant-enhanced family spans four continents and we had found each other over the past four years via facebook.) Instead I saw Sal holding a hand-written sign with 'Rao' scrawled in pink highlighter on it.

"Hey, how are you doing?" I enthused. "Hey, I'm good. How are you?" he smiled back. I didn't know whether to kiss him hello, but he didn't make a gesture so I held back. "This way," he pointed.

We headed outside to the car park. My first breath of anxious, fresh New York air.
"So how are we related?" I questioned. I didn't remember a Sal being on my facebook list.

"We're not. Beverly booked my car service," he replied. I didn't quite register, I didn't exactly know what a car service was. We reached the car. Put my meagre luggage in the boot (or trunk) and suddenly I was in the back of a Cadillac heading for Long Island.

So I'm in the US for the first time. It's around 10:20pm. Dark freeways. Trees outside. Um, it looks a lot like home. I'm talking in English. But the guy I'm talking to sounds like people in the movies or TV! And he has a Brooklyn accent. I'm in a friggin' movie!!!

Conversation flows freely. The trip was long. Airplane food is awful. Look at the traffic outside. What's it like in Australia? Time differences. Seasonal opposites. We're both from Italian backgrounds. I didn't plan to be here at this time.

"You know, I'm a 9/11-survivor," he informs. My blood runs cold, and I ask the inevitable.

Sal was in the foyer of the first tower when the plane hit. He worked for a bank and was meeting some colleagues downstairs on that Tuesday morning. It wasn't a bomb-like noise, more like a dull thud.

They were re-assured that everything was OK and to go about their regular business. Nothing to worry about.

Then the smashing sounds started. Bodies and debris from above. Sal walked out of the building and looked up to see the plane hit the second tower. This is the point when he realised something not quite right is going on. All our reactions where WTF on that day. Did that really happen? How could it?

Sal is now truly outside of the "everything is OK" lie. He's out on the street. People are looking up in disbelief. Paralysed. Once flight-mode kicks in so does the adrenaline-fuelled survival instinct.

People are organising themselves into groups to head away from the disaster scene. Americans are good team players. Sal is astounded by the amount of people buying up disposable cameras at a nearby store to take shots of the wounded towers. A colleague who escaped the initial impact is rushing back into the heart of the WTC with a disposable camera.

"I said to him 'What are you doing? Let's get outta here. Forget about the photos.' And he said "No, I gotta get the shots." Well he didn't make it out alive. I never told his family. They don't need to know that. I told them he was at work."

It took Sal the whole day to walk back to his home in Brooklyn. His wife and kids rejoiced at the sight of him. "You know the first thing I said when I got home? 'No more diets!'" He gestures with his hands. "Life is too short! As you can see I've put on a few pounds since then," patting his belly. "Then my kids baked me a cake to say welcome home the next day, it was great."

Sal was laid off from his job a few months later. He's been running a car service ever since. He misses his old job and hasn't been able to get back into the banking game ever since.

He doesn't usually do the driving, his job is to book the drivers. Because this booking was at such late notice he decided to do it himself, and he's glad because he got to meet me.

The pleasure was all mine, Sal. All mine.

*Not his real name to protect his story.