couldn’t help but say.
Claire nodded sadly. Then she turned to me and put her hand lightly on my leg. “I know,” she said. “But maybe we won’t. Maybe there’s a way to keep us in this moment. Not the sad part. But the coming together part.”
I had to tell her, “It’s not going to last.”
“No,” she said, taking my hand now. “But what if it did? Because if you step back from it—think about it—the past couple of weeks have been remarkable. I mean, what if September 11th, 2001, ends up being one of the most inspiring days in human history?”
“You’re insane,” I said.
“No—let me finish. I’m not saying it wasn’t unfathomably tragic. It’s awful. Completely horrific. It keeps me up and leaves me feeling totally inadequate to face it. But if you think about how everyone reacted—if you read the paper about everything that happened in reaction to the tragedy—you can almost find the beauty of it. The terrorists—those nineteen people, with hundreds or maybe thousands behind them—did the worst thing that you can possibly imagine. But tens of millions of people did the right thing. Not just the people who helped at Ground Zero and all the firefighters and police officers andfirst-aid workers. Not even the people in the city who took people in or helped them out or prayed. Or the people around the world who took in stranded travelers and also prayed and acted nicer to the people around them because everyone in that moment felt so vulnerable. Even more than that. I think that if you were somehow able to measure the weight of human kindness, it would have weighed more on 9/11 than it ever had. On 9/11, all the hatred and murder could not compare with the weight of love, of bravery, of caring. I have to believe that. I honestly believe that. I think we saw the way humanity works on that day, and while some of it was horrifying, so much of it was good.”
“That’s totally fucked up,” I said.
Claire squeezed my hand. “Maybe it is,” she said. “But maybe it isn’t. Didn’t you feel it on that day? It was like everyone suddenly knew what mattered. Money didn’t matter. Politics didn’t matter. Tabloid news didn’t matter. No—compassion mattered. Calm mattered. Respect mattered. Did it really take something of this magnitude to make us realize this? Yeah, I guess so.”
I wanted to believe her. But I wasn’t sure I could. Because, ultimately, isn’t your belief in human nature a perfect reflection of your own nature? If I expected the best from people, wouldn’t I have to expect the best from myself?
“Usually I’m the fucked-up one,” I said.
“There’s more than enough of it to go around,” Claire assured me.
A family of six passed by, looking like they had gotten up seven hours early for the first Circle Line tour. The youngest boy—he couldn’t have been more than six—had Mickey Mouse ears on.
“You should talk to your friend Peter,” I said. “I’m sure he can tell you stories about me.”
“Why?” It was clear from her face that she had no idea.
“We were supposed to go out on 9/11,” I explained. “But we rescheduled for later in the week. It didn’t go well. I was a mess.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“It was. That bad.”
Usually I could compartmentalize a bad date into a two-minute anecdote and eventually forget it had ever happened. But this one was haunting me more. Not because I felt Peter and I should’ve hit it off—even under regular circumstances, I don’t think it would have gotten that far. But I guess I regretted it had been such a clusterfuck.
“Have you talked to him since?” she asked.
“We’ve emailed a couple of times. None of his emails have started with ‘Dear Antichrist,’ so I guess that’s a good sign.”
“I haven’t noticed your name carved in his arm, either.”
“Another good sign.”
I was about to ask her if she was seeing someone when there was a noise from behind us. Nothing
Claire nodded sadly. Then she turned to me and put her hand lightly on my leg. “I know,” she said. “But maybe we won’t. Maybe there’s a way to keep us in this moment. Not the sad part. But the coming together part.”
I had to tell her, “It’s not going to last.”
“No,” she said, taking my hand now. “But what if it did? Because if you step back from it—think about it—the past couple of weeks have been remarkable. I mean, what if September 11th, 2001, ends up being one of the most inspiring days in human history?”
“You’re insane,” I said.
“No—let me finish. I’m not saying it wasn’t unfathomably tragic. It’s awful. Completely horrific. It keeps me up and leaves me feeling totally inadequate to face it. But if you think about how everyone reacted—if you read the paper about everything that happened in reaction to the tragedy—you can almost find the beauty of it. The terrorists—those nineteen people, with hundreds or maybe thousands behind them—did the worst thing that you can possibly imagine. But tens of millions of people did the right thing. Not just the people who helped at Ground Zero and all the firefighters and police officers andfirst-aid workers. Not even the people in the city who took people in or helped them out or prayed. Or the people around the world who took in stranded travelers and also prayed and acted nicer to the people around them because everyone in that moment felt so vulnerable. Even more than that. I think that if you were somehow able to measure the weight of human kindness, it would have weighed more on 9/11 than it ever had. On 9/11, all the hatred and murder could not compare with the weight of love, of bravery, of caring. I have to believe that. I honestly believe that. I think we saw the way humanity works on that day, and while some of it was horrifying, so much of it was good.”
“That’s totally fucked up,” I said.
Claire squeezed my hand. “Maybe it is,” she said. “But maybe it isn’t. Didn’t you feel it on that day? It was like everyone suddenly knew what mattered. Money didn’t matter. Politics didn’t matter. Tabloid news didn’t matter. No—compassion mattered. Calm mattered. Respect mattered. Did it really take something of this magnitude to make us realize this? Yeah, I guess so.”
I wanted to believe her. But I wasn’t sure I could. Because, ultimately, isn’t your belief in human nature a perfect reflection of your own nature? If I expected the best from people, wouldn’t I have to expect the best from myself?
“Usually I’m the fucked-up one,” I said.
“There’s more than enough of it to go around,” Claire assured me.
A family of six passed by, looking like they had gotten up seven hours early for the first Circle Line tour. The youngest boy—he couldn’t have been more than six—had Mickey Mouse ears on.
“You should talk to your friend Peter,” I said. “I’m sure he can tell you stories about me.”
“Why?” It was clear from her face that she had no idea.
“We were supposed to go out on 9/11,” I explained. “But we rescheduled for later in the week. It didn’t go well. I was a mess.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
“It was. That bad.”
Usually I could compartmentalize a bad date into a two-minute anecdote and eventually forget it had ever happened. But this one was haunting me more. Not because I felt Peter and I should’ve hit it off—even under regular circumstances, I don’t think it would have gotten that far. But I guess I regretted it had been such a clusterfuck.
“Have you talked to him since?” she asked.
“We’ve emailed a couple of times. None of his emails have started with ‘Dear Antichrist,’ so I guess that’s a good sign.”
“I haven’t noticed your name carved in his arm, either.”
“Another good sign.”
I was about to ask her if she was seeing someone when there was a noise from behind us. Nothing
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