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Lost and Found
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9/11
Salvatore Sampino
09/01/2006
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Illustration By Philippe Lechien
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I have known Tanya since she was 12 years old. She is the age of my
younger sister and, over the years, she became one of my closest and most valued
friends, as well as a powerful stabilizing force in my life. In 1994, Tanya
began a seven-year relationship with Sergio, a member of the NYPD who later
transferred to the FDNY, allowing them more time together following their
engagement. I was looking forward to attending their wedding. However, the
events of September 11, 2001 changed all of this—all the expectations we had,
and our perspective on them. I was told that Sergio had been on duty that day,
and was missing in Tower One of the World Trade Center.
In the months that
followed, I accompanied Tanya to the memorials at the inner walls of Ground Zero
and Grand Central Terminal, and subsequently to Sergio’s own memorial in
Flushing Meadow Park, as well as a street naming in his honor. Tanya kept up a
vibrant spirit by day, sinking into a murderous depression at night. “I had
already gone through that point in my life,” she explained to me, “searching for
what kind of a career I wanted, what kind of a man I wanted...and I didn’t want
anything else. I was happy.” She then told me that she had taken up skydiving
and that she had bought a motorcycle. Fearing that she was on a death wish—which
she was—her aunt and I decided to help her escape by taking her on an African
safari. On a side trip to Plettenburg Bay we sat overlooking the warm, peaceful
beauty of the Indian Ocean and wondered if we were experiencing visions of a
life that she would never have. At that point, I told her, “You’re not going to
find it jumping out of a plane.” I did not mention the motorcycle at
all.
Motorcycles to me, at that time, conjured flashbacks to 1969 when my
father took us to a drive-in movie in Lake George, New York to see a double
feature—Cycle Savages and The Angry Breed. Having grown up with a psyche shaped
by the media, motorcycles and the people who rode them, seemed reckless and
dangerous to me, and not the kind of people your mother would approve of.
However, I knew this was at least a grounded activity and I endeavored to
readjust my thinking. But I refused to treat Tanya as a victim of a terminal
illness. At the risk of our friendship, I was tough with her, harsh at times in
my determination to convince her that life on this earth would once again take
her down the path that would lead her to happiness.
Shortly after our return
from Africa, Tanya took her Honda to Miami, where she decided she wanted to
live. On a ride one day, she stopped at a gas station to refuel. There she met
Ray, a successful Florida contractor and a motorcycle enthusiast. They began a
friendship, which would deepen, and later lead to an engagement. They were
married recently, in a private ceremony on a beach in Maui with a Big Dog
Chopper waiting nearby. Tanya is 38 now, with an even bigger Honda than she had
before, and a husband with a Bourget and Harley of his own. They are
very happy together, and are looking forward to starting a family.
As
far as this type of happiness is concerned, I still don’t think you can find it
jumping out of a plane. But I have learned that you can find it on a motorcycle.
And I am still learning.
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