on Mabou Mines/Suite
with an epilogue on Ruth Maleczech
samuel french
nopassport press
the brooklyn rail - in dialogue
A monthly series of essays which serve as a platform for a playwright to write about the work of another playwright, with the goal of presenting new text in a contextualized way. Featuring essays on Christopher Chen, Carla Ching, Kristoffer Diaz, Young Jean Lee, Taylor Mac, Ruth Maleczech, Dominique Morisseau, Tommy Smith, Saviana Stanescu, Lloyd Suh, Martin Zimmerman.
For all articles, click here
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new york theatre review (writing on indie theater)
September 11
My bed was situated such that my feet faced the window across the two-bed dorm room, which, from three floors up, overlooked Maiden Lane in the Financial District of New York City, about five blocks from World Trade Plaza. In the other bed, directly under said window, was my roommate of approximately nine days.
His name was Onegin; he was from Korea.
Both of us had been having trouble sleeping that particular morning, as there was an irregular amount of commotion sounding from outside our window. And while there is always metropolis noise in this area, this was exceptionally loud, and I remember tossing and turning over again trying to recapture sleep, as I didn’t have to be up for my second day of graduate school for another hour or so. And then, at one point, I heard an enormous banging sound, which sounded as if a subway train had broken past some barrier and crashed in one of the stations. I was still naïve enough in this new city to think that maybe sometimes happened.
Then, finally, as sounds of sirens and honking became ridiculous, I sat up in bed and looked to Onegin, who was also sitting up; both of us almost smiling at the increasing amount of noise from outside. Eventhough we were both new to New York, something about the noise was too much. Onegin looked out the window, but didn’t see anything particularly spectacular. Then, just as we’d resigned to thinking this was just sometimes how New York sounded, one of our suitemates, Mattius, from Brasil, came into our bedroom and said that a plane crashed into the World Trade Center. The immediate image that came into mind was that of a small, two-person plane accidentally sputtering into the side of one of the vast towers.
I immediately put on my flip-flops on, threw a t-shirt on and hospital pant pajamas on, then went downstairs with Mattius to the building lobby where our security guy was holding all students inside; everyone looking out from the glass doors where we could see the top of one of the towers on fire. We ran back upstairs to tell our suitemates. Onegin immediately gathered his expensive camera, and I did likewise; grabbing a disposable Kodak. All of us, then went downstairs, and joined the crowd of New School University students staring up at the tower on fire. At one point, Mattius swore that he saw people jumping from the tower; as in committing suicide. But at the time, that seemed excessive and nobody really believed him. Then, Onegin and I decided to go outside onto the street.
The corner of William Street and Maiden Lane was full of people in business suits looking up at the burning tower. I looked up and snapped a picture. The final shot left in my disposable. I recall distinctly, there was a murmur amongst the people outside, but you could tell that nobody really knew what was going on.
I remember hearing some guy tell a lady that there was a bomb at the pentagon. And my first thought when I heard it was: “we are under attack”. I also remember for a split second thinking,
how maybe our country has had this coming.
Onegin and I were both eager to move closer to the burning tower, so we walked up William Street, making a left on John Street and headed directly towards the Tower. At the time, I am still thinking a small plane had accidentally landed itself into one of the towers; and why not, we had not been told anything different, nor had either of us seen the news. We'd honestly had no reason to think anything of any grand significance was going on. On John Street, there was an equal amount of people standing in the streets, it looked unique to me because there were no cars in the street, only people. We walked a couple blocks towards closer, side by side, with Onegin getting his expensive camera focused.
However, about a half a block up John Street, there began an enormous, thundering rumble, which I can only say reminded me of an earthquake. My immediate thought was that the top of one of the Trade Towers was toppling over, that large chunks of debris would fall onto the courtyard surrounding them. However, as I was thinking this, people in the street began to scream and run back, away from the Trade Center. It was right out of a disaster or science fiction movie, where hordes of people are running terrified in the street away from some large impending creature. And I remember distinctly thinking, “oh please, relax people, we’re at least two blocks away, the debris isn’t going to fall this far…”.
However, I stop all thinking when I glance up, above the people running towards me, and am horrified to see a gigantic, tidal wave of brown smoke barreling down John Street, just as high as the buildings. It is coming fast and so, without thinking, I turn and begin running as close to full speed as I can manage in sandals. I am very aware that I am still holding my disposable camera in hand. My heartbeat is going hard, my insides are panicking, and I remember thinking “you stupid, stupid idiot!”, on how stupid I’d been to try to get closer.
It reminds me of growing up and getting into trouble that was somehow bigger than you. Like doing damage to the car, or breaking something of real value; knowing you have gone too far and consequences are hardly imaginable.
As I make my way around the corner of John Street, back onto William Street, I glance to my right and am horrified to see that another tidal wave of smoke is coming down Maiden Lane. I guess my instinctual thought had stupidly been that there was only one tidal wave, hardly using the logic that there were tidal waves of smoke barreling down every street in downtown. However, these are all thoughts I formed later, when reliving the experience, at the time, my mind was only on running. As fast as my legs would go.
A couple seconds later, I slammed face first into a business man in a blue suit. He was with brown hair, probably mid-forties, and apparently had been running from the Maiden Lane wave of smoke, thus our paths crossing. We both fell backwards, completely on our backs like a turtle you’ve turned over. I felt slow getting myself up, then this man and I exchanged a strange, silent look between us. I felt as if we were both agreeing to just move on. And so we both got back up and continued to sprint.
I could see my building up ahead. However, also heading straight towards it was that wave of smoke which had been racing down Maiden Lane. My mind began to calculate if I could make it to the lobby before the smoke overtook the building. My honest calculation told me that I wouldn't make it. So I began to look at the few buildings before mine, however they were business buildings and I couldn’t be positive if their doors would even be open, I somehow remembered them being mostly service entrances. And so as these millisecond thoughts ran through me, I charged on towards 84 William Street.
I got to the glass doors of my lobby, but the air I was breathing had already turned to a cloudy, brown dust. It smelled like a construction site and I remember tasting it on my tongue, dry and dirtlike, as I made my way inside. The lobby was now vacant of any people, even the security guard’s station was empty. Without even considering use of the elevator, I ran to the rear of the lobby where there was a door leading to a stairwell.
I needed to get away from the smoke that I could see was beginning to encase the entire building.
However, when I opened the stairwell door, inside was a frantic scene as the stairs were absolutely crammed with people instrinctively just trying to go up; any way they could. I remember seeing green and purple pastel colored clothing. And there were layers of students; meaning people were crawling on top of each other as they made their way up. Like ants. And I don’t know if seeing this affected my actions, but I did just the same, and as I grabbed hold of the hand rail, I remember placing my left foot on top of somebody’s shoulder and joining the crawl of people-on-top-of-people as I worked my way up.
The mass of people from the stairwell were being emptied on the second floor, as school officials were ushering us towards a common room. I walked as they instructed into the large, dorm-style, living room, where people were gathered all staring at the television. Nobody spoke. Nobody even referenced the madness what had just happened in the stairwell. People were crying. I glanced at the television showing Lower Manhattan being drowned in a thick smoke, I finally began to piece together what had actually transpired in the world.
In the center of the common room was a skylight, people looked up and began to respond poorly as we saw the daylight go to darkness. As I watched the smoke spread on the T.V., alls I could think was that we were in the center of it, right inside the atrocity unfolding. I remember thinking seemingly banal thoughts like “This is not good” and “We shouldn’t be here”. I began to wond how long the smoke would last, and how long before it began to seep inside the buildings.
Just then, the T.V. replayed the tape of a large airplane crashing into the World Trade Center. And despite our location, this was news to most of us; people began to make sounds; sounds of fear, of panic, of anger. And when they played the tape of the second plane, the room grew quiet; we just sat and stared at the footage in disbelief. Nobody knew what to do. That is, until we watched live as the second tower began to crumble, and more smoke began to rush through downtown. People began to talk. Things about how we need to get out of here, how this isn’t safe. Then, a school official said aloud that nobody can leave the building at this time.
So, we sat in this room for a little while longer, watching the reports, finding out about the other planes and the Pentagon. And though all of this was nothing short of jarring, my thoughts really begin to hone in on how I have nowhere to go. If and when they do allow us to leave the building, I haven’t any destination. I’ve only been in New York for a little over a week, I don’t know a single person. I begin to get scared and think how I would love to head to JFK and just pay whatever it costs to fly back to California, or perhaps the trains are still running. Whatever method of transportation, I don’t care about the cost, I just don’t want to be here anymore.
Just as people are beginning to talk and move their attentions away from the T.V., the power in the building goes out. Several students begin to scream, meanwhile school officials tell us to remain calm. We begin exiting the common room and everyone pulls their cell phones to light their way through the darkened hallways.
I remember passing a classmate, David Salsa in the hall; he is the talkative, always-joking sort. Charismatic. And though I’ve only met him once or twice, I notice that the humor is gone from his face as he asks if I am okay and pats my shoulder while I make my way to the stairs. I find my way back up to my third floor room, and am strangely surprised that it is not dark in there as the window shades are open.
There is slight dust in the living room/kitchen, but upon entering my bedroom, there is an actual layer of dust on everything. I quickly clean off my laptop and begin to clean. I look at the window and there are several people with makeshift masks over their mouths, walking up William Street towards uptown. My roommates are cleaning their own areas and my third suitemate, Yohei, from Japan, asks if we are going to leave or stay. This question scares me, as I have no options.
Perhaps oddly, but at this point, I have nothing to do. So I look at my cell phone, only to see there is no service. I then pick up my landline, which is a green phone mounted to the side of my desk, right next to my pillow. I pick it up and a small beep tells me that I have new voicemail. I dial my code and listen.
There is a very worried message from my Auntie Maggie's boyfriend, Efren. Though I cannot recall the verbatim of his message, he said basically the following; “Hey Matthew, this is Efren, your mother couldn’t get through to you, so she asked that I call and see if you are alright. You gotta give us a call back here, everyone here is REAL worried about you.” He then gave me instructions on how to call his work number. Apparently, he had some special landline that had better coverage than regular land lines? So, I followed the instructions and dialed though. He answered and asked if I was okay. He then patched me through to my mom, and stayed on the line while I told my mom a brief account of what happened, where I am, what I thought was going to happen. After we were done, Efren told me to call with any updates.
Now knowing that most phone service was unavailable, I opened my laptop and sent a message to my entire address book, just saying that I am okay. A little while later, Mattius came in and announced that he was leaving. Heading up to his sister’s who lived close to the Empire State Building. This scared me. Yohei reminded him that we were told not to leave the building. He said that he didn’t care, that he didn’t feel it was safe to be down here, but he urged that if any of us needed, we could come to his sister’s house as well (Ahh, relief, finally an option). He wrote the address, and left both his cell number, and his sister’s house number. He then wrapped a sweatshirt around his head, covering his mouth and exited with a backpack of belongings. We looked out the window and could see more people making their way North.
Then maybe a half our later, Onegin announced that he would be leaving too. I cannot remember where he said he was going, but he too wrapped his head/mouth and went on his way.
Myself and Yohei agreed to stay. And we spent, if I can remember correctly, at least an hour, maybe two just waiting in our downtown New York City university housing. I remember that the cell phone lines had cleared up because I got a call from an ex-girlfriend, who was upstate attending Cornell, her name is Cherie. At the time I barely knew what upstate meant or how far or close it was.
She had actually met me the week prior at JFK, when I arrived to NYC and accompanied me when I moved into the William Street housing. We had actually gone to World Trade a couple days earlier and taken a picture with the vertical of the towers in the background of our faces. She was calling me because she knew how close I lived to the towers, which she had heard fell, but hadn't seen the footage; apparently she had been worried the towers like...literally fell over, and if they had, I lived close enough for them to fall onto my building.
I appreciated her call though.
Later there was a knock at the door, somebody announcing that we were being evacuated, to get enough belongings for a few days and to head downstairs. I remember being somewhat relieved, the idea of evacuation made me imagine a bus waitng downstairs, taking all of us someplace together. Dropping us all off, together.
So I packed a bag with clothes for a couple days, I wrapped my laptop in clothes and packed it in a drawer so it wouldn’t get dust. I did my best to set up the room such that dust would not get into any valuables. And myself and Yohei took ourselves and bags back into the darkened hallways.
We filed down the stairwell, which was then nicely emptied; nobody seeming to care that not long ago it resembled the lawlessness of “Lord of the Flies.” The main lobby was powdered over with dust, but we hardly had time to consider this as we exited the glass doors and were immediately standing on another planet.
The ground is soft as we're all standing on top of gentle powder, and when I look down to see the several-inch layers of dust, I get chills. I look up and down William Street, then down Maiden Lane. It is all gray, as though a postcard. It is not beautiful. At all. Rather it is eerie and reminds me of a movie I used to watch as a kid, Night of the Comet. The streets of New York look just as they did in that movie, empty and ominous. The fallen dust which covers everything makes it look like the moon. Or some other abandoned planet where life had ceased to exist.
Yohei takes several photographs of our walk, but later erases them by accident. It's funny what normal things you do even amidst tragedy.
We walk north on William Street, school officials are telling us to walk fast and to cover our mouths. There is a decent wind and most of downtown seems to have already vacated, as there are only a few scattered individuals walking besides us. I remain in awe of the ghostlike surroundings and I find my eyes staring down each street we pass.
After several minutes, we are in front of the NYU Downtown Hospital. There are several women in white doctors’ coats handing out disposable face masks. They speak quickly, as though they are eager to head back inside the hospital. We put on our masks, replacing the article of clothing we'd been using to cover our mouths and noses. I am beginning to realize I don't actually know where we are, as I don't know the area at all.
Soon, we come up next to the Brooklyn Bridge, which is crammed with people walking. All of them one-way, back to Brooklyn. I think enviously of how they all have homes and people worriedly waiting for their return. And me, I am simply following along this crowd from my building and have no idea what awaits.
As we are past the bridge, I begin to see the beginnings of Chinatown. And as I look around, I see that the group of people from the University housing has all-the-while been dispersing, everyone heading their separate ways. I had thought I was part of an organized group, but perhaps organizaition is just not possible today. And then, Yohei tells me that he will be heading to a friend’s. I nod, but inside I am panicking to be alone. He then says, he needs to find a restroom and do I want to come with him. I do.
So we walk into a laundry mat, where a Chinese man looks at us upon entering. It seemed to me the sort of business that would definitely not have any sort of public restroom available to anyone, even customers. But then the man very humanely tells Yohei, “Yes, of course.” Everyone is friendly right now, we are all just people, is how it feels.
I wait outside, and begin to think of my course of action. I decide to take up Mattius’ offer of his sister’s apartment close to the Empire State. And when Yohei returns, we take our separate ways. He goes east towards his friend and I keep my way north, hoping to find a subway station that is functioning. My figuring that the further away from downtown, the more normal things will be.
And sure enough, a few blocks further north, life seems to be almost operating. So I head down into a subway station.
I find my way to the apartment, and before I know it, I am sitting with three strangers watching T.V. Watching the repeated clips of the Towers being hit, and then falling. We are amazed at all the angles. However what strikes me most is how everybody in the apartment seems untouched. Their house feels totally in order, and they do everyday tasks like laundry or dishes. Everyone begins talking about small things; their plans for the week, gossip. And though there was a slight scare on the news about the Empire State Building being a possible next target, I find that Mattius is soon putting on a movie. It hardly seems like the same morning from which I awoke, just several hours earlier. And I go to bed on a stranger’s couch unsure if I can even sleep.
In the morning, everyone gets ready for their day, as though we are roommates and nothing has happened. Not wanting to intrude, I get ready as though I have someplace to go. And before I know it, I am in Greenwich Village, wandering the streets, imagining what people must be thinking. It is a nice day, cafés are filled, bars are too. Which I find odd, people behaving so...normal. I see a famous rock musician, Billy Corgan, walking with a floppy hat, and I wonder if he’s unable to leave due to the airlines not-running.
I walk down Sixth Avenue, close to Houston, which is the furthest south people are allowed to walk, where a military barricade has been set up. My heart races scared and I look up scared, as does everyone around me, when we hear a plane go by overhead. I walk to the West Side Highway and stand amongst the crowds, as truck after truck hauls wreckage from the Trade Center. And whenever a Fire Engine goes by, people cheer. Me, I am just glad to see that there are others who know this is not a normal day.
As the day moves on, I call Mattius to see when people will be back at the apartment. He tells me to meet them in Central Park. And as the day winds down, I enter Sheep’s Meadow to find that he, his sister and some friends are sitting causally in the park, as though it was no more than a lazy Saturday. And when I greet them, they are talking about the tennis they played that day, or the restaurant they ate in. I am confused.
That night goes very similar to the night prior. And however welcoming they have been, I begin to feel that I should find some other place to sleep. So the following morning I make a call to Cherie, upstate in Cornell. And I ask if I can come stay for a few days. She readily gives me precise directions how to catch a bus.
The next morning, I am walking towards the Port Authority Bus Terminal, when the scares begin to happen. First on Eighth Avenue, as I am passing a building, people begin to run out from the main door, and I hear from several mouths something about a bomb threat. I walk faster. Several minutes later, I am walking past a hotel, just as it is being similarly evacuated, and those same words being uttered, bomb.
I begin to jog a bit.
I feel a stretch of relief as I enter the Port Authority bus station and make my way into the Peter Pan Bus line. There is a bus going to Ithaca in less than an hour. However, just as I am about thirty people back in line, some commotion begins behind me. People in the busy of the terminal begin to run and scream. And before long, from several mouths, the words “bomb!” are heard. The line I am in disperses and I find myself experiencing deja-vu. People are racing up the escalators towards the street, and much like the stairwell at 84 Williams Street, I find myself aggressively climbing past people. Everyone runs at a mad pace out the exit doors, and several police and firemen herd us across the street, where we sit and watch. Waiting for an explosion to come.
As I stand there, amongst strangers, I can only think of the bus that I am going to miss and how long it will be for the next one. My stomach begins to tremble with my downright hunger to leave this city I had been so eager to move to a just over a week before.
An hour goes by, and the police begin allowing people back into Port Authority. I walk rather fast towards the ticket office, hoping to be in front of the line. This works, and I am soon standing about ten people back. Eagerly waiting to pass over my money in exchange for an extreme change of scenery. Soon, I am about five people from the front. I find myself almost dancing in my feet, like those excited moments in a concert when the lights finally dim and the main act is about to begin. So I am, in fact, more angry than scared, when again a collection of commotion begins behind me. Again. Screaming and running. Like clockwork, the words “BOMB!” are heard and there I am running with everyone else; fiercely up the escalator and charging out the glass doors. And then standing again on Eighth Avenue, behind barricade, waiting for some sort of terrorist something.
It’s interesting to me, that no matter the situation, it takes only time to make it seem banal. Though I am standing in the center of New York, being held back by police officers from a potential bomb, two days after the worst attack this country has ever seen…I find myself unpatiently waiting. Like a kid in the backseat while on a road trip with his family. Looking at the people around me. Annoyed that I cannot do what I want to do. And then just like that, the police officers open the street back up to us.
I run to the ticket window. Only three people beat me there. When it is my turn, I buy a one-way ticket to Ithaca. The teller tells me the gate and I head there with determination. At the gate, the people are of lesser means and nobody is talking. But all I can think of is: Please Let Nothing Else Happen. Every time I hear a voice raised in the background, I cringe, fearing another evacuation. Every minute that passes, I find myself itching for another one to pass. And finally, we begin to board and I work my way up to the front of the line, eager to pass over my luggage, eager to be to a point where it would make more sense to drive the bus out of the building rather than to evacuate a third time. And my throat and nerves keep at this agonizing anxiety all while the bus is moving slowly out of the parking structure, through midtown towards the Lincoln Tunnel. And I finally feel some inkling of calm or relief finally as our Peter Pan bus leaves the island that is Manhattan.
I look out the window at New Jersey, a part of the country I have never seen. All thoughts from the last 48 hours quickly beginning to empty from my body like fuel being released from a circling plane. I take a deep breath and sit back in my seat; calculating how long it will be till we hit Ithaca. I wonder how long I’ll be gone for. Neither thought lasting very long. Mostly I just sit. Tired of thinking. Tired of waiting. Tired of not knowing what would happen next. I wonder what everyone else on the bus is thinking. What they are tired of; scared of. And what their stories from the last 48 hours are like. I’m sure they all have theirs.