Sitting among the many books on the many shelves of my dining room is a trade paperback collection of stories, vignettes and pinups created in the weeks and months following the terrorist attacks on New York, Washington DC and Pennsylvania on September 11, 2001.
The book features many luminaries of the comic book field--Alex Ross, Neil Gaiman, Will Eisner, Stan Lee, Neal Adams and numerous others--telling tales of that day from different angles. Some are funny, others allegorical. Most are somber, meditative or respectful.
Some of the stories are about the victims. Others are about the brave men and women who rushed to their aid--the firemen, policemen, paramedics and clergy. Still others are about eyewitnesses who looked out a window or up to the sky only to see horror unfolding before them.
The one that always gets to me, though--the one that I always flip right to whenever I pick up the book (as usually happens on this, the anniversary date of the attacks), the one that always makes me cry--is a single page painted by popular cover artist Brian Stelfreeze.
It doesn't depict airplanes or buildings or first responders or super heroes attempting to make sense of the senseless. Instead, it shows a young woman sitting on a bed, legs pulled toward her. On the bed with her are a box of tissues (she's obviously been crying), a TV remote, a corded telephone and a stuffed panda.
Her left hand is holding one of the tissues. Her right hand is smoothing the pillowcase on the side of the bed where her someone should be, but isn't--and never will be again.
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This is a moving remembrance of that incredible day, one that I'm glad you found words for. I still recall that morning, getting ready to go to work at CLC and flipping on the TV. I always liked to get the news. I saw what I thought was an ad for a movie: a plane flying into a building. Bur rhis was real--surreal and heartbreaking and a part of our lives forever.
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