The man was obviously from Middle Eastern descent. He had olive skin, dark hair, a long beard and wore heavy, thick glasses that framed his large eyes perfectly. I clutched the armrests of the 747 as we banked over Manhattan that morning, just two days after American forces led an invasion into Iraq.
My eyes never left him.
I was heading back home after a week-long stay in the city, and I was more than a little anxious to see Arkansas again. This was only my second post-9/11 flight, and my anxiety level was very high as I sat on a plane that, in my mind at least, could have been part of another terror plot.
Just one day before, I witnessed U.S. soldiers patrolling Manhattan subways with machine guns. Many more soldiers stood guard in Times Square, fingers on triggers, poised to make mince meat out of anyone who even thought about terrorism. Everyone seemed to think that America was once again in the crosshairs, and I wasn’t going to question it.
I knew I wouldn’t feel completely safe until we touched down in Little Rock, but I tried to remain calm, holding a tight set of reigns on my imagination. Looking out the window, I focused on the Empire State Building. It looked like a child’s toy on a model train set, the spire reaching toward the amber-blue morning sky.
From the plane, the city was so peaceful, void of noise and crime, and for a moment I lost myself in the view.
But then the man stood up, his large frame dwarfing nearby flight attendants as he swept the plane with his eyes. What was he looking for? Why is he looking around?
I gulped, almost swallowing my tongue.
The man slowly ambled down the aisle toward my row, and I just knew that he had a bomb with some horrific plot to take down the airplane. In my mind, it was over.
I was at the back of the plane and watched as the man entered, then left, the bathroom a few minutes later. As it turned out, he wasn’t a terrorist, he just needed to relieve himself.
I felt silly after we safely touched down and I saw him hugging his wife and children at the gate. Who could blame my initial reaction, though? Those were angst-filled times when everyone was on alert. I often think back about that experience and wonder what it must have been like for the passengers on board the doomed 9/11 planes.
One of those planes, United Flight 93, is the subject of a new, controversial film opening next month. The passengers on Flight 93 had their imaginary fears become horrifically real that morning — the day their lives ended and they became American heroes.
In order to keep the plane from plowing into the U.S. Capitol building in Washington, the 40-something passengers and crew of Flight 93 fought the hijackers, bringing the jet-fuel-heavy 747 down in a Pennsylvania field.
Reports say the plane rolled over and followed a near-vertical line straight into the field. I can’t imagine what was going through those passengers’ minds during their violent descent.
This film’s goal is to shed light on some of these unknowns, sharing with audiences the final day of the passengers’ lives. Many say it’s too soon for such a film, that it opens still-sore wounds that aren’t healed. I haven’t seen the film yet, but I plan to. The previews look stunning, and I’m sure it will be one of those you walk away from and think, “Wow, that was really powerful.”
And it will probably make us all afraid to fly again.
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