When the Towers Fell

It came upon me far more suddenly than I was expecting. That’s always the way it happens isn’t it? There are such significant events that impact our lives in ways that we cannot describe, and we swear to ourselves that we will remember, that we must remember. Then the day of commemoration comes upon us and we realize that it did so with our scarcely noticing. They say that each generation has an event that they will be able to remember with detail where they were when it happened, what they were wearing and how they felt about it. JFK’s assassination, Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, the moon landing, all of these events are etched into the hearts and minds of those that experienced them. My generation has such an event and it is this event that we commemorate today; September 11, 2001, the day that the Towers fell.

It has been ten years. That is so surreal to me. It almost feels like it was yesterday and oh yes, I remember. Where were you when the Towers fell? Ten years ago I was fifteen, a sophomore in high school. I was such a dork back then, a nerdy and awkward pubescent girl who was too smart to be well liked. I was wearing jeans, hiking boots and a green shirt. We were sitting in my second period English class when a teacher from across the hall burst into our room, “They just flew a plane into the Trade Towers. Turn on your TV! America is under attack!” The woman ran to the next room and we all looked at the teacher, she looked scared. We were scared. As we turned on the TV, it was on ESPN, so we switched it to the closest news station. We didn’t say a word but watched the pillows of smoke and the looping film of the plane’s descent and the subsequent explosion as it collided with the first tower. One girl started crying because her uncle worked there and asked if she could leave and call her Mom. The teacher simply nodded and when the bell rang to signal the class change we just sat there looking at each other. The teacher’s voice cracked, “You should probably go to your next class.” We all got up from our seats and the halls were abuzz with everybody talking, those who hadn’t gotten the announcement heard now and we were all rushing to their next class. The TV was already on in my Economics class and Mrs. Bauman declared that though today was going to be a review day for a test we were going to have then next day, the test would be put off.

We wanted to cheer about it, any day a text was delayed was a good day, but not today. Cheering seemed like the opposite of what we should do. Mrs. Bauman muted the news for a brief second. “These images are probably going to be disturbing, if you don’t want to see them, you can call your parents and have them come and get you. Any of you can do that and it will not be counted against you,” she paused, “they are saying that another attack is probably going to happen and we are pretty high on the list of possible targets, so if you want to call your parents and have them get you, that is also fine.” Oak Ridge is nothing if not a target..for a lot of things. We watched in wonder as she turned the mute off. We watched the falling man and we watched the towers collapse. We watched the brave men and women of the NYPD and the NYFD as they fought to find survivors, to find hope. A friend turned to me, shaking her head, “Nothing is going to be the same after this. ” She was right.

While so many other people wanted revenge, wanted the people who did this to pay, I couldn’t help but think of all the kids whose Dads weren’t coming home, of the husbands whose wives wouldn’t be coming to dinner that night. It’s insane to think about it. That’s all you heard about for the next few weeks as the plane crashed into the towers again and again. It was nauseating after a while. In its own way, America has survived, Americans have continued on with their lives, but every year on this day we remember. We mourn those that we lost and we try to heal. Facebook and Twitter updates carry the commemoration. We visit the memorials all across the country. There’s one in Oak Ridge, right in front of the high school. A mangled piece of metal from the towers in the shape of a dilapidated cross. It’s been painted to keep it from rusting, but there it is. We pass by it and we remember. Where were you? Where were you when the Towers fell?