The Invisible Pull Of 9/11 Through My Neurodivergent Brain

While my classmates were in school for their senior year, I was in Boston on 9/11.

I had a meeting … and my mom even noted that I kept commenting on the planes as we left the restroom off the highway en route to the city.

The “gifts” that I have are genetic, and while I don’t remember that part … I know that she did … due to mentioning it.

A few months back I learned more about what happened that day … I didn’t know 20 plus years later there was more to learn, but here we are!

“Gifted” or “not” - I’ve never told this full story because it’s hard to relive. It was such a horrible day for our country, but important to remind those who weren’t there what happened.

Maestro …

I finished high school when I was 16 - which made me “legal” for a lot of different types of work, independent of still not having a right to vote, or capability of signing a lease (because I also couldn’t open up a bank account without parental permission).

I wanted to have reunions with my class, so I “walked” with my class in 2002 but actually finished all of my studies a year ahead of schedule.

I knew I wanted to work in entertainment, but also knew “tech” was my “fallback” after already successfully having my own little computer “company” (called Computers Anonymous for some neurodivergent reason … and not Jen’s Computer Company like I’d imagine the “majority” of 8 year olds would choose).

I worked mornings at Starbucks at Bishops Corner in West Hartford, and nights at a local modeling agency in Berlin, Connecticut.

I’m gifted at “positioning myself” and noticing things others may miss (another sign of neurodivergence).

After being early to so many classes I noticed that the receptionist was the last stop for sending out submissions to clients and different agencies in larger markets (NY, and Boston were the closest markets). If I wanted to be “seen” I needed to be seen around the office.

Upon there being a vacancy …

… I very quickly applied and just as quickly got the job.

I had been a recent graduate of the modeling school and they liked to “promote from within.”

I liked the fact that I had spent money on new comp cards (the business card of all aspiring models), and proudly pinned my own to the cubicle divider that everyone stared at while in the waiting area.

… but on the bottom to not be too obvious.

Being two decades away from being diagnosed as AuDhd and synesthesia meant that I was hella good at masking and “people-ing.”

I knew how to play the part because I had spent 16 years scripting conversations and studying faces (despite also having facial blindness and not always seeing them).

If either school had an AP class in “mirroring” I would have aced it.

Coffee was made, phones were answered, I always greeted with a smile, and never missed a beat.

The agency was (from my perspective) my “ticket” to something “bigger.”

I quickly went from receptionist, to teacher, to even recruiter.

I was the person who asked you at the mall “if you’ve ever thought about modeling.”

I had a quota to hit, and while the lead gen wasn’t always indicative of “industry standards” (the 2000s were a WILD time for women, ya’ll) … I felt like I was playing a part in the industry I wanted to go into … “entertainment.”

At 5’2 at the time (I lied on my first comp card and said I was 5’4 - the requirement for commercial models) … I poofed up my hair, and volunteered for EVVVEERRRYYY position I could to be as front and center as possible.

I spent many a nights at various “club promotions” despite the fact that legally I wasn’t allowed in the club.

I was always told if anyone asked me to tell them I’m 25 (a requirement for people promoting in a place where alcohol was sold), and shockingly never took advantage of the world that I was 5 years away from experiencing myself.

Applying for “every” job that summer also meant being dunked in a dunk booth at the Meadows Music Center.

I wore my favorite Abercrombie and Fitch 10 navy blue t-shirt (opting not to wear the agency’s shirt since they only came in white and I had boundaries at 16) and made friends with the security guards who brought over the artists which included the Backstreet Boys, Destiny’s Child, DMB, Charlies Daniels Band, and even the artists from the Ozzfest.

I would also slip in my comp card any time there was a casting that I was a “fit” for. Which led to modeling gigs with Weathervane and Talbots, and go-sees with department store catalog companies like Ames.

I don’t know what planet I got to live on at 16, but it was AWESOME, and very intentional … if this is what I wanted, I was DEFINITELY getting it.

Then that September, after working at the agency for a few months, I began recognizing a pattern in terms of where comp cards were being sent out to.

For me to “make it” anywhere, I wasn’t qualified for New York based on my height, but I could qualify for Boston based on my lying about my height.

With my peers going back to school, it put additional pressure for me to “figure my life out” and figure out what my next steps were.

Knowing that Boston was my target, I then noted down the agencies that were considered the “top” for the area.

I don’t know if these were necessarily the “top two” at the time, but the ones that I had access to were Hillary Beckford (Tyson’s mom … and Tyson was considered the top male model at the time) and Click Modeling Agency.

Hillary and the president of the agency spoke on an almost daily basis.

Instinctively, I knew not to talk to her. I still don’t know why (alphabetically maybe?), but I started with Click.

Careful to not use the agency’s contact without going through them … I used a contact method that they did not have - email.

Signing into AOL … in FULL dial up mode … I correctly guessed the president of the agency’s email address (which shocked me that he had one).

See, back in 2001, Gmail was a solid three years away from existing (and was limited to only beta testers at first). Email wasn’t a “standard form of communication” in fact - everything done on the “computer” was considered “lesser than.” Being a teen, it was “cool” to be on AOL, but the majority of business owners did not send emails (which is why my “company” was successfully. I literally taught adults how to type, use word processing programs, and send emails). The beginning of the email addresses were mostly the same (name@domain.com, or @yahoo.com, or @AOL.com), BUT … they had to be “techie” enough to have one.

I got REALLY lucky with this one … and from my Purrfect80sGirl@aol.com account emailed the president of the company asking if we could meet. I mentioned that I was done with high school, so I could legally work longer hours than other models (a HUGE selling point).

That got me the meeting.

… And remember, people not using emails meant that there was also no spam.

I’m sure he was just as surprised that I was that he was solicited in such a unique way.

“How about 9 am on Tuesday,” he said.

HOLY SHIT I GOT A RESPONSE!!!!!!!! I remember running out of the “computer room” (which was also a thing at the time - literally an entire room of the house would be devoted to where the computer lived).

I HAVE A MEETING WITH A MODELING AGENT IN BOSTON ON TUESDAY!!!! I SHOUTED TO MY PARENTS!!!

“What date is that?” my mom asked logistically.

The 11th.

“Okay, I will move some things around to take you.”

On Tuesday September 11th, 2001 at 9am, I had a meeting with Click Modeling agency (right outside of Copley Square).

… this is where I’m confused by “gifts.” I know I feel a “pull” towards things … and have documented COUNTLESS times I have also “put” myself in situations at either the right place at the right time with UNDENIABLE accuracy … or the WORST place at the WORST time ... still with a story to tell. He picked the time. I didn’t. I just knew school had started again, and I “wanted to make a ‘go’ of something.” He could have said Monday, or Wednesday … or even 12 or 3pm. HE PICKED THE DATE AND TIME.

On September 11th, 2001, we drove up to Boston.

I remember what I was wearing … it was this purple sleeveless turtleneck tank that was like a lite-faux-angora fur.

I was a vibe … and I was there to ROCK every second of this meeting.

I don’t remember the timing of how long it took us to get to the T (Boston’s version of the subway) where we parked the car to then go into the city, but I do remember stopping off at a restroom on the way (right by where we were parking).

My mom told me this a few months back, that as we left the restroom we stopped to buy some sunglasses (I had forgotten mine and with undiagnosed sensory issues, I never left home without them) … I kept commenting on the planes leaving Logan Airport. (The planes that hit the towers originated from Logan Airport.)

Again, I don’t remember that part, but I do remember the purple sunglasses with the little bejeweled heart to match my INCREDIBLE looking outfit.

I used AI to dramatically recreate what I looked like that day.

We arrived at the office about 10 minutes before the meeting, and four minutes after the first plane had hit the World Trade Center.

Despite social media, and email not being a “thing” yet, word still traveled fast.

Having a cell phone since age 10 (not for “fun” purposes - but for the lojack GPS search device on me at all times) - my dad quickly called to check in.

Are you guys okay, he asked?

Yes, I said.

As we stopped with the crowd to hover over the TV to see that a plane had just struck the first tower.

My mom grabbed the phone.

It must be a fluke, we’re right outside of her meeting can we call you right back?

She hung up the phone, and with my comp card and portfolio in hand, I walked up the flight of stairs to the teeny tiny office where Click was at the time.

I remember the reception desk, and I remember the equally teeny tiny president’s room, with a sofa (but fortunately not a casting couch) that we sat on after we were called in.

“How did you find me?” was the first and most obvious question.

I then explained my background at the agency, and that I saw that there were submissions sent in - but I thought because of my age and being done with school that I had a different advantage than the other girls that were submitted.

“I’ve also been in tech for the last eight years, so I literally just guessed your email and lucked out that you replied back.”

I’m not sure if he was impressed or terrified, but he then opened up my portfolio (hopefully opening up the door to my future) as the literal door opened with a very scared looking fellow receptionist.

“There’s been another plane crash. We’re under attack,” she said shocked. The time was 9:03.

“Cancel my meetings for the rest of the day,” he said as he continued looking through my portfolio.

My mom whispered “there’s going to be a domino effect.”

Not knowing how to process her premonition on top of the president’s own “not skipping a beat” - we all just sat there for what seemed like an appropriate time to be living in a completely surreal life experience.

He passed on representation, and gave me tips … but also said “I think you’re going to be okay.”

Unsure if he meant that in a literal sense since we were now in a “big city” during a terrorist attack … or if he meant that just in general because I see things other’s don’t … we walked out of the office and as I opened up the door to the outside we were IMMEDIATELY pushed back in as if we were in a Lion King style stampede.

We waited a moment, and then re-opened the door.

My mom grabbed me and said “I need you to focus and not. go. anywhere. I. am. not. I have to get us home, and I don’t know what to do yet.”

Completely freaked out, and completely forgetting I had just been rejected at representation, we both kept our eyes on the prize to figure out not only what was happening, but where and IF we would even get home.

We walked over to this open aired bar with the news turned on.

My mom was glued to the phone with my dad, and as I stood there really confused.

I watched in horror seeing the second tower fall on live TV.

Oh wow, I’m crying remembering this.

NYC was my dream home - it was the only “big city” I really knew. From shopping and field trips, to broadway, to countless other trips TO.THE.WORLD.TRADE.CENTER.

I knew “the city” like the back of my hand … and to be standing there outside of the agency … watching this happen ON LIVE TV … WHILE ALSO IN A “BIG CITY” was TTEERRRIIFFYIIIINNNGGG to a degree I hadn’t experienced up until that point.

“It’s a domino effect, my mom kept shouting, now with confirmation of the pentagon being hit (which happened at 9:37 - before the first tower fell).”

I don’t know how she knew, but SHE KNEW.

I don’t remember exactly how we got back to the T, just that we did.

It was an above ground part of the T and I remember standing there on the very crowded train with my 5’2 body staring into this woman’s face as she was partially bent over- fully collapsed on someone I’m assuming she knew.

I’m not sure if she found out she had just lost someone (as how could anyone know at that point) … or maybe she knew someone on the flight … but all I knew was she was experiencing shock and grief and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

Despite the stampede-style-rush we experienced leaving the agency, the T ride was painfully silent.

No one said anything.

No tears, no screams, no pushing. Just silence.

My mom stayed on the phone with my dad for the entire 90 minute ride. I don’t remember there being a lot of traffic (which is surprising since the planes originated in Boston where we were … you’d think people would want to leave … but again, I think everyone was too stunned).

I got home, and ran to my room. (My dad was still at the office and my brother was in college.)

I had gotten a TV with a VCR in it for my 15th birthday, so I turned on the live TV sitting under my covers GLUED to the coverage.

They would replay footage of the smoke coming from the first tower struck, followed by the visual of the second plane hitting.

It was SO hard to grasp how any of this could happen … and for it to be captured (which was rare at the time) because the first tower had already been struck.

They would then cut to show the pentagon in flames, and more information on the “failed flight” that crashed in Pennsylvania.

The landmarks that I had learned about and visited in school were now either in flames or gone.

I don’t think being around my peers at the time would have helped any, it was just SO SURREAL to be RANDOMLY in Boston away from “everyone” while something so monumental was happening.

My dad came home sometime later and turned off the TV in my room.

You can’t keep watching this, he said. You need to turn on a movie - there’s nothing we can do except wait.

Neither one of us cared to mention what happened at the agency that morning. We were all just SO GRATEFUL to be alive and to be with each other. Suddenly the whole notion of my “future opening up” felt so small comparatively speaking to what was literally going on in what felt like our backyard.

Nine months later, I walked with my high school class at graduation (albeit not without my own dramatic flare) … and a week or so later moved to New York City.

In March, I had applied to the Lee Strasberg Theater Institute in NYC (using a similar tactic as the agency - that I was yes, underage, but “allowed” to “adult” because I had finished school so early).

I was the youngest person they had accepted into the adult program (up until that point - not sure if all these years later my record holds).

It didn’t freak me out that I was in NYC so close to the WTC attack. Logically, I figured what were the odds that a “second attack” would happen. It felt “safe” to me … as safe as a big city could be to someone who was only 17 at the time.

I was in NYC in Penny DuPont’s commercial acting class on the one year anniversary of 9/11. I remember classes started later because the entire city was in mourning.

They rang a bell and said the names of each person who died on that day.

I watched on TV for as long as I could before I had to head to class.

Penny’s classes were pretty small. Most people went to Strasberg for their more advanced theater classes teaching the world famous “method.” (To explain how big/ influential this school is, the Strasberg family owns the Marilyn Monroe estate - in fact, I took classes in the “Marilyn Monroe” theater.)

I knew where my bread would be buttered … and with a face that looked so “girl next door” I prioritized where I thought my now 5’7 future would be. (I experienced my “big growth spurt” REALLY late in life.)

Among said fellow “next-door-types” happened to be Brooklyn Sudano.

Brooklyn you may know from the TV show My Wife and Kids, but I knew her as the queen of disco Donna Summer’s daughter.

Whatever “it” factor “it” actually is … Brooklyn had “it.” Those Summer/ Sudano genes are a ::chefs kiss::!

Independent of the family name, you just knew she was going to walk out the door and “make it.”

On that day in our own version of a memorial, we went around the room sharing where we were one year ago.

I shared my story about being in Boston and about the unbelievable coincidence of having my one and only commercial meeting in Boston at 9am on September 11th.

Brooklyn shared details about her mother (which I’m sharing now because it’s public information). Her condo was right by the WTC, and Brooklyn shared how difficult it was in terms of the “aftermath” and her breathing.

Donna Summer, the renowned "Queen of Disco," was living in an apartment near Ground Zero during the September 11, 2001 attacks. She believed that inhaling the toxic dust from the collapse of the World Trade Center contributed to her later diagnosis of lung cancer, despite being a non-smoker. In the aftermath of the attacks, Summer became deeply affected by the events, experiencing depression and heightened anxiety. She reportedly kept her blinds down and stayed in her bedroom, finding solace in her faith and church attendance. Summer also took precautions by spraying disinfectant in her apartment and hanging silk sheets to prevent dust from entering. Her family maintains that her lung cancer was not related to smoking, but rather to the exposure she had near Ground Zero.

In March of 2003, (technically March 20th) the second Iraq war was declared.

Still in school and less than three miles from where the attack on the World Trade Center took place, I remember walking out of my apartment (that was in my parents name since I had just turned 18), and thinking “this air is what ‘war’ feels like.”

I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting.

Everyone was going about their “business as usual” - but it struck me … AGAIN … how surreal all of this felt.

Despite being in acting school, this wasn’t a movie. This wasn’t part of anything I could autisticly script, I was FULLY OFF BOOK and unsure of what or how to feel.

I haven’t “relived” this story (which is what I can do with synesthesia - I literally go back in time as I write and re-experience it) for as long as I could remember, but randomly it came up at my parent’s dinner table a few months back.

“You know I got a call from one of the victims on the plane, right?” my mom asked assuming I had already known.

NO!!!! I said, but also realizing I was so young and couldn’t remotely process what that would have meant.

“I went back to work, and I checked my voicemail and because the phones were so jammed up on 9/11 with everyone calling - some of the calls placed ended up in the wrong voicemails (meaning the phone lines were crossed because the systems were so overloaded).”

I didn’t ask her what it said, not wanting to know, but I instead asked “what did you do?”

“I called security and they told me they had to call the police. That this was their matter technically.”

My mom then called the Hartford police department and recognized a familiar voice.

PETER?! She said, it’s Dee.

The Hartford police officer assigned to her case was her brother in law’s brother.

Now, to add one more final “strange coincidence” in the mix of this surreal story…

a few weeks back I went on a boat ride with my friends. As we got off the boat, one of my friends commented saying the dockmaster was from Hartford, Connecticut.

My mom’s brother in-law’s brother trained the dockmaster of the boat I had just gotten off of. I only knew to ask if he knew him due to my mom re-telling me this story.

NOT AT DOCKMASTERING … AT POLICING (he is a former police officer in Hartford).

“He’s like my brother!!!” he said as he asked for a selfie.

As I connect the dots in my now unmasking process, I can’t help but wonder what’s a “coincidence,” what’s a “push,” what’s a “pull,” or is there even a point to it all?

All I know is, I have these REALLY beautiful gifts that will keep my life as a content creator … unexpectedly relevant. :)