Memory

I was in 8th grade, my second period study hall, working on homework that wasn't important enough to remember now. A teacher from down the hall scrambled into our classroom to tell us the news: A plane had crashed into The World Trade Center. A few moments later, he rolled a television into the classroom and turned on the news. Other students took seats next to me. We watched as a plane hit the second tower, the news commenter unclear as to what she was explaining. I was confused, overwhelmed by the reactions around me, the commotion that soon followed. Within the next hour and a half, the elementary students were bused to our building and we were sent to our homeroom classes. My brother, nine at the time, watched a movie in our auditorium, unaware as to why the school day was cancelled. They didn't have a bomb shelter in his building. The phone rang every minute or so. Mr. Hayes shared as much information with us as he was able to. A terrorist attack. The Pentagon too. Fifteen minutes passed before my mom picked me up. Hundreds, thousands.  September 11th, 2001 continued. This morning I awoke in a world forever changed by the events of that day. I showered, ate, and reflected. And yet, too many others have memories much more horrific than my own. My thoughts and my heart are with you.