Where Were You When You Heard?

I was in the 8th Grade. 9:30 AM. I had to go into the nurse’s office to have my snack for my hypoglycemia. Right as I walked in the door, our principal came over the PA system and said that a small plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center. I figured, oh, it was probably just a moron in a Cessna or something, or maybe it’s foggy over NYC. I remembered having read something about a B-17 that crashed into the Empire State Building in the 40’s.

Then the nurse, who was on the phone with her daughter, screamed “THEY BOMBED THE PENTAGON?!?” Right then, I knew that whatever happened in NYC was much, much worse than a simple plane crash, and that it wasn’t an accident. I quickly wolfed down the rest of my snack and ran across the hall into class. Just in time to see recorded footage of United 175 go into the South Tower. We watched for maybe another ten minutes before my teacher had to force himself to turn the TV off so we could have some semblance of a lesson. He couldn’t keep it off for long, and turned it back on at about 9:55. I watched the South Tower go down on live television. My teacher couldn’t bring himself to teach any more after that; all any of us could do was watch. I saw the North Tower go down a half hour later.

The rest of the day is a blur. I remember speculating with my friends about what might be hit next. I remember coming home and watching the news with my family for hours, watching the planes going into the towers and the towers going down over and over again until I felt sick.

I will never forget that day.
I will never forget all those who died in the fires.
And I will never forgive those monsters who were responsible.

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