Every year, around this time of the year, I consider making this very blog post. Then, every year, I always say, "Well, maybe next year." So if you're reading this, it means A) You're awesome and thanks for reading my blog and B) That I finally decided to make this post. So here it goes.
September 11th, 2001 started off like any normal day for me. It was a very dull Tuesday in my senior year of high school. I went English class thinking that it was going to be another long and boring day. Of course, I was wrong.
Around 10:15 or so, I went to my second bell which was being an assistant in the school's Library. I put my things down and sat at the front desk, but as I did so I looked over to the lounge and saw the two librarians talking to each other very nervously. I remember getting a bad feeling in my gut that I couldn't shake at that point. There weren't any classes or students in there to help at the time, so I figured I would go over and ask them what was wrong. They tell me that terrorists have hijacked several planes, crashing them into the Twin Towers along with the Pentagon and that the South tower had collapsed.
I was in shock, rocked to my very core. I don't remember if I said anything or just took my seat behind the desk. I was just on autopilot. Shortly there after, a class came in. The students were conversing with each other, laughing and just having a good time (well, as good of a time as one can in class, I suppose). They didn't know. They had no idea what kind of news they were going to be receiving later on. And that bothered me, deeply. I asked if I could go run some errands around the school for librarians so I could get out of there. They agreed, and I was off.
Wandering the halls, I could see other students and teachers learning of the tragedy. You could always tell who found out by the thousand-yard stare they'd give. One girl was on a payphone in the main hallway, bawling her eyes out while a teacher comforted her. It was gut-wrenching. After returning from the errands, the librarians told me that the other tower had collapsed. I don't remember how I reacted to that.
The second half of my day was spent at a technical school where I took radio class. Just before getting on the bus to go there, the principal announced what had happened. A silence fell over the entire school. The bus ride to radio class was somber and long, with students throwing out wild accusations as to what was going on. My mind went back to the previous school year.
You see, in radio class we were taught some of the basics of how radio worked and how to be a DJ. This also meant covering the news. We covered the bombing of the USS Cole, which our teacher taught us how to pronounce the name of the person behind it. She told us that he would probably end up being a household name at some point in the future. And I knew, the second that I was told about the attacks, that Osama Bin Laden had to have been behind it.
Radio class was a zoo that day. Our printer that was connected to the Associated Press (AP) was constantly going off with updates about the attacks, Bin Laden, and Al Qaeda. To top if off, the teacher wheeled in a television so we could watch CNN. From there, we watch the horrific events unfold over and over and over and over and over again. From different angles, too. Now radio class was the length of two normal classes, so we were watching that footage for awhile. The teacher didn't speak or try to give any lessons that day, it was just us, the television, and constantly watching thousands of people die.
I cringed (just as I still do) whenever I saw one of the planes hit or the towers collapse. I eventually asked if we could just turn the TV off since there was no more new information being given at the time and we had a direct link to the AP. The teacher, still staring at the television, said no. So we sat there, watching it unfold again and again.
Once the numbness set in and the initial shock (sort of) wore off, everything else is a little fuzzy about that day. I remember going over to my friend's house and my Mom and I watching President Bush's "We're gonna get 'em" speech that he clearly made from a bunker (seriously, I know it was dressed up like the Oval office, but you can't think that they'd have the President in the White House after a major attack like that) with my friend and his family. Oh, and I remember suggesting that they should just arm the pilots, but everyone thought that was crazy (who's laughing now?).
The only real strange thing that stuck out was the house shaking violently later that night. I rushed outside to see an extremely low flying aircraft overhead. I can't say I'm too surprised since there are military bases all around the area I live in, but with the nationwide flight restriction in effect, it did unnerve me.
I'm honestly not sure how to end this. I was going to talk about how things have changed since then, but I think that may get off point. It's funny, though, how vividly events like this one can stand out in your mind. That the rush of chemicals in your brain can forever etch those memories onto your psyche, forcing you to carry them with you for all time. But even if they're always there and always vivid, they aren't necessarily as potent as before. And I'm okay with that.
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