The Twin Towers hold a firm place in my heart for many reasons. My dad worked there as an engineer and one of my earliest memories is him taking my older sister and me to work with him. He held me up against the window railing of one of the higher floors, one hundred and something, and we looked out over the city. Picture that seen in The Lion King when Mufasa tells Simba to look out at their kingdom from atop Pride Rock. That was what it felt like – my family at my side, the world at my feet – as if I could touch the sky and never come back down. I was invincible.
And I can remember everything that came after. I remember my dad coming home on September 11, 2001. I had broken my ankle and taken the day off from Kindergarten. My mom practically tied me down in front of the TV so that I didn’t break anything else. But that TV showed us our worst nightmare. I was so confused and I didn’t understand what was happening to my city’s beloved towers – who would be dumb enough to crash into them? But my mother shut the TV off, forbade me to turn it back on, locked herself in our bathroom with her phone, and called anyone and everyone to find out what was going on.
When my dad came home hours later, he was completely covered in ash and building rubble. My mother didn’t even let me hug him hello like I always did. My sister, whose school had closed early, was just as scared as I was. Afterwards, we tried our best to act like everything was okay, but it wasn’t. My dad had lost a lot of his closest friends. Friends who had kids our age. Our neighborhood, our city, our nation was mourning the many family and friends it had lost.
So when the new World Trade Center was being built, I was pretty sour. In my mind, nothing could replace the old one. Nothing. I was also scared my dad would work there again and this time we wouldn’t be so fortunate if the worst did come to pass. I avoided going to the memorial for as long as possible until August 2012 when a friend of ours really wanted to check it out. Surrounded by all the happy-go-lucky tourists and selfie-takers, I felt alone in my sadness as I traced the names on black stone. Obviously, I wasn’t – we all know someone who was directly affected by the attack. I’m sure they understand what I’m saying, though. It’s hard to carry that sadness and let it lessen into acceptance and finally move on to see the present instead of the past.
That was my moment of transition. I began letting go of my unwarranted anger towards a hunk of steel, and I’ve even let my grandma harangue me into planning another visit to the memorial. She’s lived in the city most of her life, but hasn’t stepped foot near the site since 2001. But what I didn’t plan on doing was visiting the One World Trade Center Observatory. I’d seen the view as a little kid and I didn’t need to replace that memory.
But we don’t always get what we want, do we? My sister, with her annoyingly good luck, scored tickets to the One World Observatory Anniversary Party hosted by KTU and Jet Blue. For a girl who’s deathly afraid of heights, and who freaked out when we were up there as kids, she was pretty excited to go. How could I say no? Sure, I grumped and groaned over it, but May 26th came around and I stood in the elevator rocketing upwards in my best sundress with my sister bouncing next to me.
The doors opened and the first thing I saw was blue. The bright blue sky that I seemed to be nestled in with helicopters that looked like children’s toys flying by. The dark swishing blue of the river that was dotted with colorful boats – ferries, yachts, monster speedboats, sailboats, rowboats. The bright neon blue of the complimentary drinks waiters in fancy outfits shoved at us. The navy blue of the pillows on the comfy couches that we sat on as we took in our city.
I wasn’t replacing the memory I had as a child. Not by a long shot. I was refreshing it.
It’s amazing how different things look when age puts things into perspective. As a kid held up by my father’s steady hands, I had looked at the city and seen an amalgamation of unrecognizable buildings and pretty lights all surrounded by water. But as an adult, the view is so much better.
There was the Empire State Building which I always walked by on Thanksgiving when my dad and I would sneak out of the family party. The Chrysler Building which my friend Matt and I unknowingly ended up in when we took the wrong subway exit. The lights and screens of Times Square, just barely visible, where my favorite comic book store is located. The mini-golf course on the piers that I rock at and the venue on the water right next to it where I jammed out to Third Eye Blind last summer. Counting avenues, I could estimate where Baruch College was by finding the huge wall poster of Youtuber Superwoman, which I know is on Park. And New Jersey on my left, which I tried my best to ignore like any good New Yorker.
I wasn’t the 4-year old who didn’t know an apartment building from Rockefeller Center anymore. I was an almost 20-year-old who felt like she was seeing an old friend for the first time in forever.
I was Simba again, looking out at his kingdom with wonder in his eyes and hope for the future. And that was all I really did the entire party. Sure, the food was pretty great – bacon served on a clothesline, spicy tuna on crackers, huge lamb chops, and the tastiest desserts I’ve ever had – but nothing came close to the view. Nothing ever will. With singer Daya performing live behind us (she was spectacular by the way, check out her music!), my sister and I sat sipping drinks and looking out over New York City. We were home.
