Thursday

After my first day in the Fashion District - where I scored some rad finds for under ten bucks - my friend and I sailed onto the 10 only to discover it swamped with rush hour traffic. So I told him he could drop me off at the Metro station and I'd let my legs do the walking. I was disappointed to find cops guarding the stairs since I had been contemplating a Metro freebie (The honor system? In Los Angeles?). I begrudgingly charged $1.25 to my credit card and headed down to the platform.

I turned when I heard, "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH MY BIKE!" A preschool teacher was engaged in a staring contest with an inebriated older fellow, who was yelling at her in some broken language. The air was electric with tension, and the yelling escalated as the man repeated fake kicks at the bike and the woman edged toward the rails. I could see a bad scene looming overhead although why I didn't act quicker I don't know. I watched, all of us rushing home at 4:30 on a Tuesday afternoon watched, and the seconds expanded into lifetimes, stretched thin and ready to burst. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" He yelled in heated gibberish at her. "WHY ISN'T ANYONE DOING ANYTHING?" And at this point, two men and I stepped forward. "Get off it man." But he continued to yell in a confusing angry way and with another step toward the edge I was grateful the cops had been present that day as I raced to fetch them.

The cops dispelled the confrontation without much drama. And then the train came and opened its doors and swallowed us whole.

I ended up next to the preschool teacher and I could tell she was shaken. A woman jabbed at us about how worried she had been, about how she thought someone was going to fall onto the tracks, about how she was just about to go and get help, and I don't mean to sound self-righteous (I really don't because obviously I'm no model citizen taking free rides on the Metro!), but I was the only one who actually acted on the incident. At the same time, whatever good I did is shadowed by my initial delay - "Oh it's not my problem" - but it is my problem.

Because what if that had been me? What if it had been you?

I have all the wrong feelings today. The country remembers the day seven years ago when its sense of security collapsed in a terrible display of dark cunning. I remember careless days with Sam smoking away our sophomore slump. And that's what I feel sad about losing today.

I would have avoided the subject all together if a friend had not prodded me with it.

I won't post it, but the single image I recall of 9/11 I saw for the first time last year. It's Richard Drew's "The Falling Man" and we studied the photo in FA101A when we discussed documentary photography. The photo is stunning...until you reveal the contact sheet of dozens of outtakes. The point my teacher was trying to make is that even documentary photography is subjective.

And I'm not sure what my point is except that someone recently told me, "There hasn't been a lot of death in your family has there?" and I felt very emotionally immature.