Alabaster Cities Dimmed with Human Tears
My soul wrestled with itself, leaving me to feel uneasy about the decisions I make. What would I have done, really?
By Robert Bautner
Tuesday September 11th 2001. I prepared to go to work. I turned on the radio in my headset and turned on talk radio. I started my truck and made sure my equipment was in working order. My wife and kid were in the house eating breakfast and preparing for their day. Some were preparing to go to school, others to the babysitter. It was a relatively calm morning. The air had a September cool; the morning was relatively still. I went about my routine.
In the days and weeks that followed, stories emerged. Some were hair raising, some were sad. Some were left unanswered. Some may have ignored pairing with their unsettling senses to go to work that morning. Others were forced into delays. And yet others paired with their senses, delaying their arrival. It was just short of Russian roulette.
An interrupt on my listening channel announced that an airplane hit the North tower of the world trade center. A few minutes later the South Tower. I decided to share this information with the children, turning on the television. I said to the kids, “Look what’s happening in New York this morning.” All of us stood staring in disbelief. The older kids had a better grasp of the moment than the younger ones. They went off to school. I went off to work.
Over the next few days and weeks, I found myself merging into a number of hair raising stories. Stories that left me in awe and without any comparable connections to my life thousands of miles away. I pondered the meaning of it all after hearing each story. I wondered if the reason some survived was dumb luck, or was it something greater that guided them the second time around? Would I have been so fortunate as to listen and pair with any form of my consciousness to survive or would I have ignored my consciousness guiding me to an escape or any other pending possibilities?
Russian Roulette…Mommy Pulled the Trigger
I listened closely, placing myself in each of the stories as they unfolded, my stomach turned. It was as if I was the person experiencing the story myself. I couldn’t help but experience or imagine myself feeling what they felt, smelling what they smelt, hearing what they heard and witnessing what they saw. My stomach weighed with turmoil, a sickening feeling followed hearing about those who jumped, it was an out of control feeling that left me feeling uneasy. The descriptiveness of the story left imagery that was too disturbing for me. I’ve been in a free fall before, I know what that feels like, I had to change my thoughts. I didn’t want to go there again. I was left in an endless loop of unsettling and disturbing feelings.
I pondered and contemplated each of the stories, asking myself, would I have made the same physical and emotional decisions under such stress? I concluded to the best of my ability, based on decisions and conclusions I had made to date in my life, I would have survived.
Until I heard the story of Brian Clark. As his story unfolded, my soul wrestled with itself, leaving me to feel uneasy about the decisions I made on my own. It raised issues that left me questioning my ability to discern by myself. What would I have done, really?
One story in particular stood out above the rest that became emotionally and psychologically disturbing to me. It put in question my strength to choose the conviction of my soul over the influence of my past. I tried to block my senses and the emotions I felt about my experiences in order to protect me from myself…in order to protect me from the answer to this question. But I couldn’t. It haunted me more than those who jumped.
The Story of Brian Clark
The plane, upon impact of the north tower, left the three staircases impassable. In the south tower, one staircase was passable. Those trapped in the building couldn’t know which one was which.
Brian, one of only 18 people in the South Tower who escaped from within or above the impact zone. Heading towards staircase ‘C,’ Brian felt a nudge behind him pushing him towards staircase ‘A.’ He turned around and saw no one there. Without second-guessing himself he headed towards ‘A.’ At this moment I felt that nudge as if I was Brian. I have felt that nudge in my life before, so I could relate.
“I was no longer the confident, courageous or determined Brian Clark. I was Robert Bautner, and I was on my own.”
On the way down staircase ‘A’, Brian met a woman on a landing several floors down. She was leading a group of people following her up the staircase. Meeting eye to eye, this woman blocked the landing with her body and arms and passionately told Brian and the group of people following Brian, “the stairway was blocked below and that the only way out was the roof.”
This is where Brian’s story became disturbing to me. I was no longer the confident, courageous or determined Brian Clark. I was Robert Bautner, and I was on my own. I stood in the staircase waiting for my beating for Mommy. My adrenaline increased, my emotions kicked out. A panic of my senses ensured conciliation was not on my mind. Time stood still, as I heard my mommy scream at me. More beatings were on their way. I stood still. I didn’t run away, my life was flashing before me.
I couldn’t help reverting back to the little boy standing with my ears defined to the sounds around me. I was thousands of miles away, but that was when my Mommy was talking to me in the South Tower on the 72nd floor of the world trade center. My heart pounded hard in my chest. I listened to her words again, “the only way out is the roof,” this time I heard her say, ‘Mommy knows best.’ I believed her.
I loved my mother and looked at this woman eye to eye, she was my mommy in that stairwell. I wanted my mommy’s approval. I heard her tell me, “You’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me.” My autonomy vanished. My feelings deepened for mommy to love me.
Submission…Survival?
I listened intently and obeyed my mother telling me to go to my room. I listened to her tell me how she wished she never had me, I believed her and wanted Mommy to love me. I felt unimportant, but wanted to please her, in my experience. I wanted to be important to my mommy so she would like me, so I did what I was told. I heard my mommy telling me to give her a good night kiss on the cheek before going to bed, and I did. I was beaten into submission from thinking on my own, and accepted the pain. My legs quivered, my breathing deepened, my stomach turned, the expressions on my face were hurling into despair. I wanted to please mommy, with all the pacification I could find in my heart. In the end I couldn’t find an equitable answer.
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