9/11

Four years. Wow. Feels like forty.
Four years ago, I was doing my second show at Signature, Grand Hotel.
I had found a family of friends who I remain very close with to this day. These friends, actually I count among my best. Probably because of the circumstances we went through emotionally.
The day before was a Monday, and we had off. Lynn Filusch and some folks were going white water rafting, and I was invited, but had to work. Sean MacLaughlin and R Scott Thompson had gone to NYC for an audition. They left Sunday night, after the 7PM show. They were to come back to DC on Tuesday, September 11th.
I went to work, came home. Sat on the couch, had a few brewskis, and watched Lucas. Yes, Lucas.
The next day, as the events happened, I watched in disbelief at work. Then the Pentagon got hit. Then there were other "supposed" incidents at the State Department and on the mall. I couldn't get ahold of Matty, or anybody. I was working on Capitol Hill at the time, right across from the Navy Yard. I saw the Marines on the top of the building with machine guns pointed towards the sky...I grew nauseas. The traffic on 295 S looked frozen. The smoke from the Pentagon was visible, as were Apache helicopters and fighter jets. It felt like the end of the world.
I waited for hours, hoping that the traffic would die down. When it finally did, I got a call at work...it was my Mom. It felt so good to hear a comforting voice. She was, of course concerned where I was, and didn't understand the geographical layout of where the Pentagon is in relation to my house and my work. She, I think, just wanted to hear my voice. As I wanted to hear Matty's. The smoke was billowing all over South Arlington, and a co-worker said to me earlier, "I hope that they didn't put chemicals or biological agents in the planes..." Of course, there were MANY doomsday speculations that day. Why not? One felt like...what next?
I got onto 295 S after I felt like all of my responsibilities at work had been fulfilled. By then, 295 was empty. Nobody was on the road. Jeepers Creepers. The creepiest feeling. I saw the Pentagon as I drew closer to Fairlington...saw the smoke. The Apaches. The Jets. It looked like the Sci-Fi flick, Independence Day.
I got home and hugged Matt for like 15 minutes.
At minute 16, I grabbed a beer. I suddenly had a sick feeling in my stomach...I had forgotten something...
I was scared for the whereabouts of Sean and R. Scotty. Eric Schaeffer was up there too.
Soon they were all accounted for...*sigh*
The next night, we had a show again.
Grand Hotel is not exactly the show you want to be doing during a national crisis. Not too happy a show. I yearned to be doing State Fair.
On top of it all, the first night back was a discussion night.
This proved to be exactly what the doctor ordered. All of us, including the audience needed a reason to get away from the TV. For us, the performers, it was also an outlet of creative energy...I recall one part of the show, where the always repressed staff of the Grand Hotel is building to a shrieking climax near the end of the show...the anger flowed out in rivers. It felt so good to get it out.
The talk back after was a healing session for both audience and actors. The audience was thankful for the diversion. As were we. I was thankful that everyone I knew was ok. I was lucky. So many were not. God Bless the victims and their families.