In the theme of my bravery and being in new york city, I decided to start auditioning for roles that I am not qualified for. Off-broadway, hand modeling, and shows that call for rythmic dancing and loud singing are not ever my jam, so I want to take some weird risks and see what happens. This "free love and fun" mindset brought me to a well-known comedy club on a hot August Saturday last weekend, when I responded to an ad looking for comedic monologues about coming to New York City. So as I prepared to tell my magician story (anyone who has heard it, you know), surrounded by a cross-section of fellow improvisers from all age brackets and levels of weapon knowledge, the vibe turned to "man, september 11th was crazy."

I haven't been on a thousand auditions, but this was strange. I was then handed notebook paper, for the "freewrite about your experiences on the morning of september 11th" that we were all embarking on, instead of performing our prepared monologues.
A free write!? Yesssss. Let's do this.

Through the dim lights in this freezing cold club, I made eye contact with a crude painting of Rodney Dangerfield holidng out a bouquet of flowers on the back wall behind the stage. Why thank you, Rodney. I accept. I looked to my left and saw the only other decorative part of the room: a very lifelike painting of Ace Ventura Pet Detective, to scale, wielding his pet detective badge. I have this movie on VHS an am in love with it, but had no clue that Ace had such a big standup career. Nice.

After roughly 30 minutes of silent writing, we went around and discussed our pieces. They were all very different, and one sweet older man did his instead on the JFK assasination, because he was younger when it happened and was less jaded by life. I love you, sir.

So here it is, the un-edited freewrite I did about my experiences on September 11th, as I remember it. 

I'm 17 years old, and I've never been to New York City. I always thought I'd end up there, but had no concept of the 5 borough layout, Manhattan being an island or large-scale subway transit.
I woke up at 6am, an hour after my mom naturally wakes up. She called down the stairs for me to come up. I forgot to tell her about the Fall Sports Assembly today, I have to get to school early to set up and get the props ready.
"Jenna! Joey! Something's going on in New York!"
Wearing my usual tennis sweats, I climb the brown carpeted stairs to the living room, and an see that Nance is watching an action movie on the news.
What is the World Trade Center?
I remember the World Trade Organization riots in the 90s that happened just north in downtown Seattle, but I've never seen these two buildings before. Is this a riot again? These people must be insane.
How is there a plane inside there?
We sit and stare, and my dad comes in tightening his necktie. One of the blue striped Father's Day presents.
"Oh Jesus." My dad works for Boeing, designing planes.
Who are our enemies? Who hates us right now?
Should we go to school? What's going on?
"I have to go mom, there's an assembly this morn and I have to run it." But there's an airplane in a skyscraper on the news.
I was president of my school, and bush was president of the country. Big days ahead. We both had assemblies to run, but his did not involve green and gold facepaint, a pompom tutu, and parading a horse around a gymnasium.
I get to the student lot when it's just starting to get light out, and make my way to the teacher's lounge.
My secret ritual in these early mornings was to cruise by the teacher's lounge, in case there was a box of donuts or a rogue poppyseed muffin. No luck today.
I make my way through a connecting door to read over the announcements, and find Mr. Anderson - the human form of Mr. Clean.
"Bubby, shit's getting real. Assembly is off."
He and all the other football coaches called me Bubby, because I'm distantly related to Bubby Brister, the NFL quarterback who spent most of his pro career as a Bronco in John Elway's shadow.
"Is it really terrorists? Who did this?"
I need to call my dad.
he's in his office at Boeing, in a building with no windows. At least that's what I think.. I could never go to "take your child to work day." Because Russia was watching.
Mrs. H. comes in wheeling one of the giant TVs that teachers checkout from the library, and it's all confused silence as she scans the news channels (4, 5 and 7) that are showing footage of what's going on 3 hours in the future on the opposite coast.
I had a 5 page paper on Annie Liebovitz to turn in.
Mrs. H was funny and quick, and understood that I was crazy. She kept a straight face when I'd come in late from doing announcments, wearing the large white horse mascot head and swaying side to side, taking my seat in class only to notice that the superintendant was seated in the back, observing the class that day. She kept it cool, and I love her for that.
She sat up on the front desk in a way she never had before, with her legs dangling up front. Her short brown hair was being pressed down by her fingers, as she fumbled with the gold earrings she always wore.
"We are going to watch this today. If you have your papers, leave them on my desk. If not, don't worry. You can stay here all day and watch this with me, if you can't go home."

Who in new york city was going home today?
Who was not going home today?