Despite the promise of a fulfilling evening ahead of me, I do remember I would have much preferred not to go. In fact, since way before I got these blasted tickets I'd been not too psyched about a number of things and been rather depressed.
Returning from the show that night around midnight on September 11, very frustrated and melancholy, I made a promise to myself. The promise was that the next day, as soon as I could, at the very first opportunity, I would sever all ties with Darren and start to be a happy person again. As I tucked myself into bed that evening, I made a plan to email him with the news before he'd even had his damn coffee. It would be harsh, but it was entirely overdue and I'd lost all patience at that point anyway.
Eight hours later and I am at work (Correction: our work, Darren and I were at the same organization). I believe I was writing down some points that I planned to include in the email. I remember I'd gotten there pretty early that morning, right around 8:15 am so no one was really around. My coworker Karen was already at work with me. She had gotten into the habit of getting to the Center early at the start of the week so she could go home to Alexandria, VA before 4pm. Karen was nearly 8 months pregnant at the time. I continued to draft my email, happiness ever increasing, until my friend Charlie chimed in over AIM to tell me to immediately go find a television.
And the rest is history.
I left the Wilson Center at 10:45 with Karen. I had a solid plan to walk north for nearly two miles to my apartment in Adams Morgan on Belmont Road, NW. Later, she could find a way for her husband to pick her up. It didn't matter, really. According to Karen, we just needed to get out of our office and out of downtown which was less than 1/3 mile from the White House.
Am I a heartless wench because I didn't check on Darren before I left work with her that day? Perhaps I am. No, I am. But considering the circumstances going on in the world at the very moment, I could have cared less. I still am glad I made the call to guide a very pregnant woman a couple miles to a safe place on Sept. 11. With every anniversary of 9/11, Karen, without fail, emails me to say thank you again and includes photos of her awesome kiddos. My efforts that day have been a gift that continues giving.
Later that night, even despite the fact that Darren grew up in New York City, and was really devastated by the terrible events of the day, I kept my promise to myself. I kind of hate myself for being so self-serving and cold, but it really had to be done. The idea of not breaking up with him and having to console him over the tragedy for a number of indeterminable weeks was simply too much. In retrospect, he probably appreciated it. At least, that's how I spin it.
Here's to being six.
No comments:
Post a Comment