An accident?

Twenty years ago today, I was 19 years old, a sophomore at my local community college. On the morning of 9/11, my classmates and I were counting the minutes on the wall clock. If our teacher didn’t show up in the next 5 minutes, we would run out the door and enjoy a free period. 

Just as I gathered my books to put them away, our teacher rushed in, her face elongated by disbelief and confusion. With her hand pressed against her heart, she announced a plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. 

I couldn’t even visualize what my teacher said. How can a plane crash into a building?

My classmates and I looked at each other curiously. I couldn’t even visualize what my teacher said. How can a plane crash into a building? Which building was the Trade Tower? My teacher listened to our questions, most of which she couldn’t answer because she, like the rest of the world at the moment, thought the plane crash was a horrible, tragic accident. 

After a while, we proceeded with class. We continued with our lives, completely unaware of the fear, the tragedies, the suffering, and the death that kept unfolding only an hour’s drive away from us. 

An attack?

When the bell rang, we shuffled out the door. Absorbed in my own little world, I walked down the hallway, past other students, thinking about my homework assignments, my upcoming birthday, and other mundane tasks. Eventually the hushed voices, the panicked faces, the dense shroud of fear that blanketed the usually jovial campus lured me away from my casual ruminations. 

I paused when I entered the lounge area. Every student had collected like magnets around the TVs. Their heads turned upward. Their mouths hung open. And every TV showed the same image: thick black clouds rising from two buildings. 

It never once crossed my mind that anyone would or could attack us, that I might not be safe in my own country.

Among the students, I found my childhood friend, Justin, whom I asked what was going on. When I try to recall this conversation, he sounds like he’s submerged underwater. I’m sure he said something about a second plane, that we were being attacked. 

As I walked toward my car, feeling empty and scared and wanting nothing more than to get home as quickly as possible, the first tower collapsed. While people were dying and family and friends were paralyzed in horror, I still couldn’t process Justin’s words.

At 19, I had just stepped out into the world. I had almost no knowledge about current world affairs. It never once crossed my mind that anyone would or could attack us, that I might not be safe in my own country. In so many ways, I was still a child. 

Sudden loss of security

When I got home, I ran upstairs. My mom greeted me from the living room sofa, crying hysterically. “The tower, it collapsed. All those people. All those people,” she cried over and over again. I went into my bedroom and dropped my bag. My mom screamed, and I ran back to her. Together, we watched the second tower fall. 

That gaping wound in the New York skyline scarred my view of the world and crumpled my unconscious preconceived assumption that living in the United States guaranteed safety. How ignorant I was. How sheltered. How lucky. 

As I listened to the continuous stream of news regarding ground zero, I could not shake the encroaching fear that accompanies such a sudden loss of security. I then remembered my Japanese pen pal, Chiemi, who was attending college in New Jersey. I worried how scared she must have been, trying to decipher the news while her family worried from the other side of the world. 

With text messages not yet commonplace, I had only ever messaged Chiemi via email and in chat rooms. But that day, I picked up the phone and called her. I didn’t want her to feel alone. September 11 cemented our friendship. Twenty years later, I woke up to a message from her. Chiemi wanted to check in with me.

Two different TV views

My brother didn't arrive home until late in the evening. He worked at MSNBC in Secaucus, New Jersey, as a video editor. He called early to reassure us he was safe, but later that night he revealed that police had surrounded the building; they feared the terrorists would target news stations next.

Police had surrounded the building; they feared the terrorists would target news stations too.

By the time he got home, he couldn't stand to look at the TV anymore. He had spent the entire day editing the raw footage so that TV viewers wouldn't see the gore. He had seen footage that looked like the set of a horror film.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t turn off my bedroom TV for the rest of the day and all through the night, even after I went to bed. I was too afraid that I would miss another attack, that the danger would creep even closer to home. 

The reality of 9/12

The next morning, I realized that I could never go back to who I was and what I thought before 9/11. That day became a dividing point in time: Life before and life after.

Their youthful faces no longer exuded carefree innocence.

As I drove through my neighborhood, I passed the elementary kids walking to the school bus stop. They weren’t laughing. The kids didn’t twist their bodies or swing their arms or skip ahead. They weren’t even talking to each other. Their youthful faces no longer exuded carefree innocence. They were silent and solemn.  

I remember thinking, “We failed them.”

That day rewrote my reality and ignited my awareness. And yet I still can’t reconcile that in other parts of the world, parents tuck their children in bed at night not knowing if bombs will kill their family before morning. These parents and their children carry on every day with no expectations of safety, of survival. These children have never known the bliss of presumed safety. 

To my readers

Where you were on 9/11? What were you doing the moment you heard the news? How did you find out?

Featured photo by Steve Harvey on Unsplash