As That Date approaches, I feel like I should do something to bring all the memories flooding back. I feel like I should watch the Naudet & Naudet documentary. It’s the one the BBC chose to show; if you’re looking for an unsensationalized non-gratuitous documentary, it’s the one to choose.
Yet at the same time, I really don’t want to watch it. Just reading about what the documentary contains is unpleasant enough. I don’t feel like I need to hear the thumps of bodies hitting sidewalk, I don’t feel like I need to hear the screams of women burning to death. In particular, I don’t feel like I need to spend a few hours sobbing on the sofa again.
Yet maybe I do. It’s reality, after all. It’s undeniably relevant to my life; I could have been on one of those planes, making a business trip down to Madison Avenue. Perhaps I need to understand viscerally just how evil the terrorists are, perhaps I need that reminder.
I don’t know.
The Phoenix, like many other publications, is putting flaming death on their front page this week, in full color. Is it necessary?