Kansas Summer

A Day To Remember

 I remember exactly where I was on the morning of September 11, 2001. I was exercising on the treadmill in the morning before my Statics class. And I was just as shocked as the entire nation was.

“An American Airlines passenger jetliner struck the North Tower at 8:46 this morning. You can see all of the smoke pouring from the building. Evacuations are proceeding, but there are still people trapped in the upper floors. People are, oh, God, people are jumping from the tower, and they look like they are on fire. I'm sorry, Ladies and Gentlemen, it is just like something out of a horror movie, but it is so real.”

I can't watch anymore. I stop the treadmill, and walk angrily out of the rec center. The images of the people in the World Trade Center jumping, trapped, and the firefighters rushing into the burning building, knowing that they probably would not be coming out is etched in my mind; I can't shake it.

I'm the only one who is outside the dorms right now, and I'm on my way back to mine. As soon as I see the building, I run for it. I want to be in my room, my safe room, and bury my head under my sheets and not come out until it was all over. I dash up the metal stairs, which clatter painfully. I reach my dorm and fiddle with the key, finally getting it to slide into the lock on the third try.

I throw open the door, and to my surprise, there are about ten people crowded into our small room. Many of them are crying and hugging one another. One of the kids turns to me, tears rolling down his face, beet red with emotion.

“The plane—hit the other tower,” he whimpers.

“I saw,” I answer gravely.

“No,” Spencer tells me, “He means that a second plane hit the second tower!” I hold my hand over my mouth, and drop slowly to the floor. Odd chills run down my spine and throughout my entire body. The girls scream when they see people jumping or burning, but I can't hear them over the sound of my thoughts. I know everyone is thinking the same thing: why?

I lunge for the phone in my suite, and quickly dial to Houghton. I hold the phone tightly and pray that someone answers.

“Hello?” It is Mrs. Andrews. I sigh loudly.

“Thank goodness it's you. Do you know what's going on?” I ask.

“Colin? What's wrong?” my foster mom asks.

I swallow my breath and close my eyes, trying to say what I want to say. I compose myself and take a deep breath. “Someone's bombed the World Trade Center. They've already hit both towers.”

There is silence on the other end for what seems like a minute before Mrs. Andrews comes back on the phone. “I'm shocked,” is the response. “I just can't believe it. Was it a bomb?”

“No, they were hit with airplanes. I just needed to call somebody, and talk to someone.”

“Well, Colin, you are safe, y'hear? I will be praying for you and for everyone else in New York. Hold on, I'm getting another call, probably from your sister. Be strong, Colin.” Then the call ends.

I put the phone back in its cradle, and hold my heart, which feels like it is crumbling. I lean against the wall and grit my eyes and close my eyes as hard as I can. I am interrupted by the shrieks and screams of the other people in the main room. I rush out to see what happened now. I hold my breath in shock as I see the magnificent North Tower crumble to the ground in a billowing and lethal cloud of smoke.

From the cameras on the ground, the cloud looks akin to a nuclear blast. People run for their lives. Some are swallowed by the giant gray monster. The scene is even more tragic when I think about the countless office workers, and innocent police officers and firefighters who were in the building when it fell. So many wives would be without husbands, and so many children would be without fathers, many of them too young to understand. The camera pans out to a view of the skyline seen from near the Statue of Liberty. Now only one tower stands, billowing smoke helplessly, while a dark cloud rises from its fallen twin.