Through the magic of Internet blog technology I can write from this day looking back
with six years’ hindsight. If I could go back in time to this night, dropped into reality on September 19, what would I do?

Would I call the FBI or the CIA? If one is to believe the conspiracy theorists–and I am not saying that I do–who show videos on subway platforms and scratch “9/11 was an inside job” onto the windows of newspaper boxes on the street, calling the FBI or CIA would prove useless. The best course would be to call the airports first. But I lost two good childhood friends, Danny Lopez and Emilio “Pito” Ortiz, in the September 11 attacks. I might first try to reach my friends and tell them not to go to work, although I have not seen or spoken to them in years. I would have to call my brother and say, “Hey, you got Danny’s number? You know Pito’s?” He would think I was crazy but I would try and tell them not to go to work, I was feeling psychic. “Stay home!” But would they listen?

I was not one of those who in the intervening years has become obsessive about 9/11, memorizing the minutiae of that tragedy, the flight numbers, the departure airports, the names of the terrorists.Then I would call JFK and Newark and tell them there was a terrorist on board one or more of their flights. I would tell them hijackings were planned and hope they would listen. At the least, there might be more scrutiny. Would the box cutters still get through?

But the best course would be to call the security people at the Twin Towers at 8:30 a.m. Tell them there was a bomb in the building. A federal offense, of course, but that might do it, at least make them evacuate the building. The other planes, I’m sorry to say, I do not remember the flight numbers. I might still call the Pentagon, although that was not the original target, apparently, the White House was.

And even if this did stop some deaths, would the terrorist try it again anyway? Would George Bush? Fantasy seems useless, doesn’t it? It can give one comfort, and I admit I have lied awake at night wondering what I would do, what I would do. And before I blinked back to my own time, to see what better or worse thing had resulted from my messing with the timeline, would I take the time to give my then self a call, tell me to fix things with A—- and to say goodbye to M—-, who would be going back to her husband and eventually calling her brother the lawyer on you. It is all fantasy, useless conjecture, silly daydreams.

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