Ten years, two towers

Ten years ago today, I was fourteen years old.  It was the third or fourth day of my freshman year of high school.  I had English class, then math class, and then band.  At 10:30ish, it was time for lunch, so my friends and I went to the cafeteria.

There were televisions set up everywhere.  At first, I thought it was maybe some weird thing the high school did every so often.  But then I started to see what was on the TVs.

During that day, the worst parts were dealing with the shock and sadness of so much death and destruction, and the terrifying uncertainty.  That is, we had no idea what was happening.  Because the teachers I had that morning hadn't known that there was anything happening, I wasn't aware of anything either, until after all of the planes had crashed, and the two towers had collapsed.

I remember other things about that day.  I remember feeling suffocated as I saw video footage of the billowy clouds of ashy debris rolling towards people, who were fleeing for their lives.  I remember wondering if Boston might be next.  I remember listening to the radio that night before bed, as I always did, and finding nothing but subdued talk on the airwaves.  I remember one young man calling in to say that his father had died in his office at the Pentagon, and that he would be joining the army to avenge his father's death.

The hijackings on September 11th were devastating, and not just on that day itself.  First responders are dying because of their efforts.  Our military is fighting multiple illegal wars, which are bleeding us dry financially.  Innocents are being tortured and killed.  Islamophobia is rampant.  Our country is incredibly divided.  Our sense of safety has been lost.

I won't forget what happened.  But I also hope that someday, hopefully soon, we'll finally start to heal.  There will always be scars, but I would like to, one day, be able to look back at these ten years and say, "I remember when things were bad."