We were in the process of moving back to the farm but we were still sleeping at the house in town. We had just gotten back from walking the dog, Terry was in the kitchen giving Jazz her treat, and I went into the living room and turned the TV on to GMA. I saw that regular coverage had been interrupted and I frowned at the smoke coming from the Twin Towers (which even I recognized). I called out to Terry, saying that I thought there must have been an explosion in New York. He came in to the living room and we still had no idea what had happened when a plane, a passenger jet, flew into the shot. We watched, horrified as it hit the other tower.
The first thing I did was e-mail my friend Dennis. He'd been flying back and forth between LA and Boston as some movie details were being worked out. Then I e-mailed my agent, whose offices were within view of the Towers. Both let me know they were okay, in shock, but okay. My son Matt told us that his college roommate was vacationing in New York City. He had no idea if Steve and Erika were safe.
We watched dumbfounded as the towers fell. We heard about the Pentagon and Fight 93. The airwaves were buzzing with other, unconfirmed hijackings and attacks, which thankfully were untrue. The true ones were hard enough to absorb.
I remember going to the grocery store and noticing that the parking lot, and the entire Main Street of our small town, was empty.
I remember being too sad to cry.
I remember being frightened.