9-11

I was a sophomore in college at the time. I woke up that morning and realized I was late for class. I scrambled into the shower and dressed, then hurried the half block from my dorm to where my class was located in the basement of the chemistry building. The class was intro to social work and when my professor started class, he was unusually somber.

As long as I live I will never forget his words. "In light of what' s happened today, we won't be having class." There was a long pause, and he seemed to understand that most of us had no idea what he was talking about. He continued, "Terrorists have crashed into the World Trade Center in New York." He said more in his quiet, somber voice, but I don't remember what he said. I remember staring at the seat in front of me and trying to wrap my mind around this news, along with the rest of my classmates, the rest of the campus, the rest of the country.

I remember thinking of the president, and then reminding myself matter-of-factly, that President Clinton was no longer in office; President Bush was who I should be thinking of. I reflected that I still wasn't used to the change, and then wondered why I was thinking of that.

We were released from class and I hurried home. I have no memory of whether or not my roommate was there or at what point our friend Kelley staggered into our room. I do know I was still sitting in class sitting in shock and then blinking back tears of confusion, of rage, when the first tower fell. I had made it back to my dorm room in time to see the second tower fall at 9:29 a.m. central standard time.

Kelley and I sat on the futon in my room watching the news all morning and all afternoon, only taking a break to go to our classes that we knew would be canceled. I headed to my novels class knowing it would be canceled but needing to go anyway. Our professor sat at a student's desk with us and asked us what we should do. Someone suggested going to the hospital, one of the major hospitals in the country, and donating blood, but we never made it there. Somehow walking the half mile there was too exhausting. We found out later that they were turning people away anyway because people had donated so much blood and they didn't have enough room to store it.

I met Natalie for our next class over 1920s literature and culture. Our professor staggered in wearing his jeans and sneakers. "We can't have class today. Can you guys sit in class today?" He looked so shell-shocked that I immediately burst into tears. On the way home, we remembered he had family in New York City.

Back in our dorm, I remember Natalie begging us to turn it off; she couldn't watch anymore. Kelley and I ignored her requests and sat on the futon the rest of the afternoon, holding hands and crying in silence.

The next day, there was a moment of silence at the exact time of the first plane hitting the tower. I went to my classes but I no longer have any recollection of what they were.

That day, the 12th, was Natalie's birthday. Her dad was in town and he took us and our two friends, Sara and Jenni, out to dinner. We went to an upscale restaurant, a place that as college students we would never have been able to afford. The most serious thing I thought at dinner was that I wish her dad hadn't ordered red wine for me because I hate it but I didn't want to be rude when he was paying for it. We laughed and talked for close to two hours, and when we stepped outside, it was like getting kicked in the stomach. I felt ashamed and amazed that I had been able to forget about the attacks for so long. After crying for more than 24 hours straight like most of the country, I knew I had needed that break.

We watched New York's senators and Rudy Guiliani speak and cry and pray. We made sure we were all home to watch the fundraising that America's top celebrities were pulling together. Half a nation away, it still consumed our lives.

Like many others across the country, I bought every newspaper and every magazine that could tell me about the attacks, and more importantly, the victims and the survivors. I saved them and store them in a drawer along with newspapers from the days Princess Diana and Mother Teresa died, and the days of my high school and college graduations.

I think of the terrorists nearly every day but sometimes I get worried that I'm forgetting the victims, and in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, I worry that the lives and lessons of 9-11 are too quickly forgotten.

When this happens, I go to my drawer, I pull out the newspapers and magazines, look at the pictures and take myself back.

We remember.

Conversation in class...

Jay: "I know the answer!! I know the answer!!"

Me: "Well, Jay, why don't you share the answer?"

Jay (sitting back in his desk): No, I don't want my group to yell at me. They think I'm an idiot."
(Which is true--they do think he's an idiot, but no one's judging him for it so we're all okay in the knowledge that he is one.)

Ryan: Jay, look around you. Do we look like the type of group that's going to yell?"

Pause as we all look around. I don't know what they see, but I see one 17-year-old boy reclining on a bean bag under a table and ten 17-year-old boys lounging in their desks, heads bent so far forward it almost looks like they're sleeping, mile-long legs stuck out into aisles, candy and pop bottles strewn around their desks, backpacks piled up with mounds of stuff falling out. I think to myself, Oh my God. What a mess this class is. Then I look again and see that they're leaning so far forward because they're looking at textbooks and trying to come up with answers for the review which they are all partaking in to prepare for the test tomorrow. I see that no one is making fun of anyone for stupid answers (and let's face it, there are several). I see the boy in the bean bag hop up every time someone answers to mark a score on the chalkboard. I see that out of their backpacks fall textbooks for my class, free reading books for my class--I see that they came prepared and ready to learn in the best way they know how. I have to respond.

So I pull out my bucket of prizes and ask, "Who wants candy?"