I was fifteen, a sophomore at Lakewood Park Christian School. We had just switched periods, either from homeroom to first or first to second. I was settling in for one of my favorite classes, history with Mr. Weaver.
There was a delay. This was before cell phones were a ubiquitous device, but there was still a current of something in the room. "Did you hear...?" Some parents were pulling kids out of school. Finally, Mr. Weaver came in and said that something had happened in New York. I can't remember what he said exactly.
Everyone ended up in the cafeteria. The technically-minded kids were working on the TV to get reception. I think both planes had crashed into the towers by then. We got it working in time to see the plane hit the Pentagon. We watched everything burn, people jumping out of windows, ash and smoke billowing in great plumes.
Then the south tower fell.
It was quiet in the cafeteria. Everyone was straining to hear the TV. Some whispered to their friends. I was sitting with Christine. She asked me what this would mean.
I honestly didn't know. I told her something about how the towers held a lot of economic power, but I really had no clue. This was unheard of. Nothing like this had ever happened before. What would it mean?
The north tower fell. There was a hole in the sky, Manhattan was an island of dust. There were rumors of other planes that had been hijacked, as it was now clear that this was definitely a deliberate act. At some point, we heard a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania.
There was a fifth plane missing. Then there wasn't. People were streaming across bridges. Boats filled the harbors.
The videos just kept playing.
I think we must have dismissed early that day. I can't imagine we would have gotten anything done. I remember my dad picking me up. He was very calm. He said there would be a war for sure. He said he needed to get gas, but it would probably be a madhouse.
He was right. There were long lines at every station. The price had shot up. I remember being irrationally angry with everyone else. My dad actually needed gas that day. He wasn't just doing it because he was scared.
I watched TV the rest of the day. My mom was at work. I don't remember if my dad watched with me or not.
I was reminded of the Oklahoma City bombing. That was my only frame of reference. Except no one could get close enough to where the towers were to really see anything.
Another building collapsed later in the day. That night, President Bush gave an address.
I was reading the transcript of it the other day. I can't remember any of it. I was in a fog. All I could think was that nothing would ever be the same again.
Memory is a funny thing. There are things that stand out clearly. Some things I can infer based on those memories and the logical course of events. When I think about life before September 11, 2001, it seems almost wrong. I remember my sister sitting with us at the gate before we went to Jamaica. But surely not, because people can't sit at the gate if they don't have a ticket now. I remember news broadcasts that said little to nothing about things happening anywhere but in the U.S. I remember watching planes in the sky and not having a worm of doubt in my mind about whether or not they'd reach their intended destination.
The months that followed have similar flashes of stark memories surrounded by fog. My mom had to fly somewhere shortly after the attack. Our car was searched going into the airport parking lot. Police were everywhere. We had to watch her go through security alone (with her shoes on!) and wonder if she'd make it back.
A few weeks later, a plane crashed in Queens. I listened to the news in the yearbook room and prayed that it wasn't another attack.
For weeks after, I would hear Enya's Only Time on the radio. It was interspersed with broadcasts of the event. I've never been able to find a copy of that. I can't listen to the song now without thinking of it.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, a boy in the school died in an ATV accident. I can't remember at all when it happened. I don't know if it was before the attack, shortly after, or months later. I just remember that I had been friends with the boy's sister. We sat next to each other in Geometry and joked around. She was a year below me. After her brother died, I felt it was important that I go to the viewing to support her. My dad drove me there and waited in the car. I went in on my own, and when she saw me, she hugged me. And she held on for what seemed like hours. We didn't say anything. We just hugged. As we drove home, I remember looking out the window and crying. I didn't see much of her after that. I didn't know what to say.
A year later, we had a concert of sorts at the WWII museum in town. It was a remembrance gathering, a chance for people to prove they hadn't been beaten. For some reason, I was asked to sing with the kids from LPCS. We sang "For Such a Time As This." I did the verses. They sang the chorus. It was a big event. I had no idea at the time. I was terrified I'd forget the words. I haven't sung that song since.
Ultimately, I was proved right. Nothing was ever the same.
I developed a kind of mental block regarding 9/11. First off, I hated calling it that. It was September 11th. (I hated when people called it 911. Still do.) I avoided video or photos of it, but I saved every newspaper for a week following the attack. I bought the LIFE magazine issue about it. I bought both movies that were eventually made, and I never watched them. After YouTube became a thing, I had a depressive episode (not because of a video-sharing site) and binged every video I could find about the attack. I watched the towers fall for hours. I created a playlist, and I've never watched it since then, but I can't bring myself to delete it.
I feel like I was there, but at the same time, I feel like I have no right to be so upset or moved by everything. I live in Indiana. No one wants to attack Indiana. I'd been to New York once, but it hadn't meant anything. I thought it was a noisy, crowded place.
We went to New York later for our senior trip. Two and a half years after the attack. We spent a morning at the site. I remember looking at it and trying to figure out how such large buildings fit into that itty bitty space. It was giant hole in the ground, fenced off. The surrounding buildings still had damage in places. There was a church just down the street. I couldn't reconcile the two images in my head.
I don't know that I'll ever get over it. I don't know that I'll ever fully understand how I feel about it. I don't know that I'll ever remember everything about that day. I don't know that I'll ever be able to see a photo or video without flinching (and they are everywhere, and show up at unexpected moments). I don't know that I'll ever be able to watch the movies. I doubt I'll ever get rid of them, though.
I pray that it never happens again. And I know that it probably will. If it does, I don't know if it will affect me the same way. Recent events have numbed me to the point of apathy. More people died? That's terrible. What should we do for lunch?
I don't want to feel that way. But I'm tired of living in a broken world. I'm tired of feeling like nothing we do changes anything.
I don't have a nice way to end this. Like all things, it just...
Is.
There was a delay. This was before cell phones were a ubiquitous device, but there was still a current of something in the room. "Did you hear...?" Some parents were pulling kids out of school. Finally, Mr. Weaver came in and said that something had happened in New York. I can't remember what he said exactly.
Everyone ended up in the cafeteria. The technically-minded kids were working on the TV to get reception. I think both planes had crashed into the towers by then. We got it working in time to see the plane hit the Pentagon. We watched everything burn, people jumping out of windows, ash and smoke billowing in great plumes.
Then the south tower fell.
It was quiet in the cafeteria. Everyone was straining to hear the TV. Some whispered to their friends. I was sitting with Christine. She asked me what this would mean.
I honestly didn't know. I told her something about how the towers held a lot of economic power, but I really had no clue. This was unheard of. Nothing like this had ever happened before. What would it mean?
The north tower fell. There was a hole in the sky, Manhattan was an island of dust. There were rumors of other planes that had been hijacked, as it was now clear that this was definitely a deliberate act. At some point, we heard a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania.
There was a fifth plane missing. Then there wasn't. People were streaming across bridges. Boats filled the harbors.
The videos just kept playing.
I think we must have dismissed early that day. I can't imagine we would have gotten anything done. I remember my dad picking me up. He was very calm. He said there would be a war for sure. He said he needed to get gas, but it would probably be a madhouse.
He was right. There were long lines at every station. The price had shot up. I remember being irrationally angry with everyone else. My dad actually needed gas that day. He wasn't just doing it because he was scared.
I watched TV the rest of the day. My mom was at work. I don't remember if my dad watched with me or not.
I was reminded of the Oklahoma City bombing. That was my only frame of reference. Except no one could get close enough to where the towers were to really see anything.
Another building collapsed later in the day. That night, President Bush gave an address.
I was reading the transcript of it the other day. I can't remember any of it. I was in a fog. All I could think was that nothing would ever be the same again.
Memory is a funny thing. There are things that stand out clearly. Some things I can infer based on those memories and the logical course of events. When I think about life before September 11, 2001, it seems almost wrong. I remember my sister sitting with us at the gate before we went to Jamaica. But surely not, because people can't sit at the gate if they don't have a ticket now. I remember news broadcasts that said little to nothing about things happening anywhere but in the U.S. I remember watching planes in the sky and not having a worm of doubt in my mind about whether or not they'd reach their intended destination.
The months that followed have similar flashes of stark memories surrounded by fog. My mom had to fly somewhere shortly after the attack. Our car was searched going into the airport parking lot. Police were everywhere. We had to watch her go through security alone (with her shoes on!) and wonder if she'd make it back.
A few weeks later, a plane crashed in Queens. I listened to the news in the yearbook room and prayed that it wasn't another attack.
For weeks after, I would hear Enya's Only Time on the radio. It was interspersed with broadcasts of the event. I've never been able to find a copy of that. I can't listen to the song now without thinking of it.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, a boy in the school died in an ATV accident. I can't remember at all when it happened. I don't know if it was before the attack, shortly after, or months later. I just remember that I had been friends with the boy's sister. We sat next to each other in Geometry and joked around. She was a year below me. After her brother died, I felt it was important that I go to the viewing to support her. My dad drove me there and waited in the car. I went in on my own, and when she saw me, she hugged me. And she held on for what seemed like hours. We didn't say anything. We just hugged. As we drove home, I remember looking out the window and crying. I didn't see much of her after that. I didn't know what to say.
A year later, we had a concert of sorts at the WWII museum in town. It was a remembrance gathering, a chance for people to prove they hadn't been beaten. For some reason, I was asked to sing with the kids from LPCS. We sang "For Such a Time As This." I did the verses. They sang the chorus. It was a big event. I had no idea at the time. I was terrified I'd forget the words. I haven't sung that song since.
Ultimately, I was proved right. Nothing was ever the same.
I developed a kind of mental block regarding 9/11. First off, I hated calling it that. It was September 11th. (I hated when people called it 911. Still do.) I avoided video or photos of it, but I saved every newspaper for a week following the attack. I bought the LIFE magazine issue about it. I bought both movies that were eventually made, and I never watched them. After YouTube became a thing, I had a depressive episode (not because of a video-sharing site) and binged every video I could find about the attack. I watched the towers fall for hours. I created a playlist, and I've never watched it since then, but I can't bring myself to delete it.
I feel like I was there, but at the same time, I feel like I have no right to be so upset or moved by everything. I live in Indiana. No one wants to attack Indiana. I'd been to New York once, but it hadn't meant anything. I thought it was a noisy, crowded place.
We went to New York later for our senior trip. Two and a half years after the attack. We spent a morning at the site. I remember looking at it and trying to figure out how such large buildings fit into that itty bitty space. It was giant hole in the ground, fenced off. The surrounding buildings still had damage in places. There was a church just down the street. I couldn't reconcile the two images in my head.
I don't know that I'll ever get over it. I don't know that I'll ever fully understand how I feel about it. I don't know that I'll ever remember everything about that day. I don't know that I'll ever be able to see a photo or video without flinching (and they are everywhere, and show up at unexpected moments). I don't know that I'll ever be able to watch the movies. I doubt I'll ever get rid of them, though.
I pray that it never happens again. And I know that it probably will. If it does, I don't know if it will affect me the same way. Recent events have numbed me to the point of apathy. More people died? That's terrible. What should we do for lunch?
I don't want to feel that way. But I'm tired of living in a broken world. I'm tired of feeling like nothing we do changes anything.
I don't have a nice way to end this. Like all things, it just...
Is.
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