Sleeping With The Enemy

This past week, I read a lot of blog posts about people’s 9/11 stories. It was sad, numbing, and inspiring all at the same time. I was conflicted about whether or not to write mine. For as much as I talk and work in the wonderful world of communications, I really don’t say much about me or about what’s happened to me to since that day. Why? Because the truth is, no one wants to hear my story.

I had just returned from my first trip to Morocco – a month long trip. I had been dating a Moroccan guy for about two years. And we had decided that if were going to take this relationship further, I had to see where he came from.

I left my job at Sony because they wouldn’t allow me to take an extra two weeks of unpaid leave. This was the chance of a lifetime and I took it. I spent 4 weeks in the August heat and the day before I left Morocco I got engaged. His family threw us a surprise party that looked like a wedding from one of Scherazade’s tales.

I came back on September 1.  I was filled with stories and spices and unemployed. On the morning of September 11, I was getting ready to leave the house to go on a couple of job interviews. I was planning on ending the day visiting my family in Queens when I heard on the TV that a small plane had crashed into one of the Towers. I left a message for my folks about some dummy flying too close to the buildings and how even though this happened in the sky it would somehow affect the subway so I would probably be late in getting to their house.

Then it happened, the second plane crashed into the second tower and my TV went to snow. I picked up the phone and my Dad was already on it. And he said, “Kid, this ain’t no accident.” And then he said something in a half-joking tone of voice, “Well tell Issame he can’t hide out here.” I froze. “Dad, what do you mean by that?” He said, “You’re sleeping with the enemy.”

Even though my relationship pre-dates 9/11 by two years, I always start with that date. Not only was it the day my beloved skyline had changed but it changed my relationships with my friends, family, and the man I loved.

Pretty much immediately, the phone calls came in from near and far. “Did Issame know the terrorists? Could he tell us why this was happening? Did he know if another attack was planned and if so, where?” I could not believe that I was fielding calls like this from people I knew.

But it would only get worse. Three days later a small mob of my neighbors gathered on my doorstep. They knew I was home. No one rang the bell. They just sat there and talked. I could hear everything they said because the kitchen window was open and no one made any efforts to whisper. Their words poured through the screen window as they talked about the people of a “suspicious nature” who lived up on the second floor. They talked about how we probably knew something and how they were going to catch us and beat us with bats.

I got a phone call from my landlord a few hours later. He told me that he was concerned that I was being held against my will in my own apartment. That all I had to do was say the word and he’d come in to rescue me. When I told him I was ok he then said, that it had come to his attention that I had a “person of a suspicious nature” living in the apartment with me. He went on to say that he couldn’t allow that person to continue to stay there but that I was more than welcome to continue living there on my own.

We moved two months later in the middle of the night.

I can go on and tell you more stories that happened to us between 2001 and 2008, the year our relationship ended. Which one would you like to hear?

I can talk about racial profiling. I can tell you how his and my name went on a watch list. I can tell you that Issame lost his job at a huge international bank because he had a photo of his mother wearing a hijab on his desk. I can tell you how to hire a civil rights lawyer. I can tell you that he never worked consistently after that again. I can tell you how I worked two jobs and went to graduate school in order to get the better job because I was tired of struggling.   I finally took a job that October, ironically down on Wall Street. 
I struggled emotionally. I never told my friends that I had gotten engaged.  I never had an engagement party. My parents threatened to disown me if I had children with him. And I have not spoken to my brother in several years because of his nasty words and threats. I also carry two big secrets around that I can never tell them.  It's funny how those things don't matter anymore and how those words and feelings got swept after 2008.    

Listen, I'm not complaining.  This past decade has been awesome.  Even when it was at its worse I knew I was experiencing the best that Life had to offer.  I went back to Morocco several times and had amazing adventures. I traveled to Spain and visited the Al Ahambra.  I met incredible people.  Those times were like a dream.  I learned alot about myself and people.  I discovered myself.  I don't regret, nor forget.

Until April 4, 2008 (another poignant date), when I decided to leave that life behind.  At that point, it had been seven years.  The flip-flopping on his part made for an unstable environment and even though there was alot of love there, it just wasn't enough.  I know now that PTSD played a role in the demise of our relationship. I couldn't carry both of us through this life anymore.  Again, who wants to hear that story?

By no means, am I downplaying what’s happened to us as a nation or a city. Nor would I ever disgrace the great men and woman who were lost to us that day. I’m haunted by the number of wounded and dead that continue to rise as those who bravely went down there afterwards succumb to terrible illnesses - people that I know and care for.  But when I think about that day and how it relates to me, I can't help but think about the ripple effected me.  I feel selfish for saying that.  When I told this tsory recently to my mother (it was the first time she heard it).  She said, "Stace, don't do it.  No one cares and no one wants to hear it."

So when I’m asked about 9/11, I say simply - “I’m just like every New Yorker, I'm heartbroken.”