I guess I forget that I'm not a teenager anymore, and that it was eight years ago.
But I remember.
I remember sitting in tenth-grade Latin class in my teacher's basement, probably doodling on my page of translation in the yellow, creased-spine book we used that year.
I remember the door to the upstairs bursting open and my teacher's son thundering down the stairs, yelling, "Turn on the TV! We're going to war!"
I remember sitting on the couch beside two of my friends, one of whom had a family member who worked at the World Trade Center.
I remember the coverage of the first plane being interrupted as the second plane crashed into the tower.
I remember talking with friends about what it would feel like to be the pilot on one of the planes. I remember having a hard time imagining that.
I vaguely remember the soccer game that was cancelled because it would involve driving past an oil or natural gas repository.
Fear. I remember that.
I remember just wanting to get away from the images that were played over and over and over again. I remember going outside to play soccer to try to forget what was happening on the TV inside.
I remember it was a beautiful day, sunny, clear, a little cool. I remember thinking how hard it was to be properly solemn when it was so peaceful where I was.
I remember.
Do you?
I remember too. Sitting in French class, we were shocked, the tv was on when the second plane crash. The reality of it all still didn't hit in. Lunch time was filled with people trying to make phone calls or talking about ones who worked in D.C./NYC. English class that afternoon was devoted entirely to what was going on. I also remember riding the bus to my mom's school that afternoon and rushing in to make sure none of my Dad's family was affected by the plane crash in PA since the site was only half-hour away from them.
ReplyDeletePeople say they don't remember, but I don't think we'll ever forget!