9/11 Tuna
A broken heart, a broken country, a big fish
September 12, 2001. Newly single and pushing 35. A love affair and the World Trade Center, both destroyed in a single month. I could barely distinguish one loss from the other. I could not get a particular Paul Simon lyric out of my head:
“Losing love is like a window in your heart.
Everybody sees you’re blown apart.
Everybody sees the wind blow.”
And so I called the Explorer.
“Thanks for calling the Explorer, Brooklyn’s rocket ship to the tuna,” Explorer’s answering machine croaked. “The latest catches are: Monday night — fifteen tuna, Tuesday night — twenty-four tuna, Wednesday night — forty-seven tuna. Tell us the date you want to go, and Explorer will take you to the tuna.”
The voice was convincing. I booked a trip and geared up.
Along with my love affair and the World Trade Center, sleep had also been destroyed during that month. V, the woman I had loved, had gone to Kabul to cover the war and I had become stuck on Kabul time. I woke regularly at 2:00 AM for Kabul breakfast and long sessions of useless Kabul rumination. The only companionship I had at that hour were the tuna Web sites — ScreamingReel.com, Noreast.com, Babylontunaclub.com. I joined the tuna discussion…
