What I remember most is that I never cried.
I was in study hall. A guy came over and said that a plane had hit the Twin Towers.
In chemistry, we persuaded our teacher to turn on the news. We said that it was a beautiful day, what could have gone wrong? The tv announcer said a second plane had hit, and we knew it wasn’t an accident. Our teacher tried to turn off the tv and have class. Then the principal made the announcement over the loudspeaker.
We had tv sets in every classroom. In drama class, we watched the first tower fall. A girl next to me sobbed. I gave her a hug.
People were frantic. They set up the library as a calling zone, where students could use their cell phones to make sure their parents were ok.
In algebra, we heard that a plane had crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. My friend told me they though Osama bin Laden was responsible. I said “who’s that?” Parents were coming to take their kids home. By the end of the period, the school had decided not to let us watch tv anymore.
They wouldn’t let us watch tv, but it was still all anyone could talk about. Halfway through 6th period, I was called down to the office, where a family friend came to get me and her daughter. She told me my dad was fine, and my mom would come pick me up at her house. I was glad to be able to watch the news again.
My mom and I went to pick up my dad at my aunt’s house in Westchester. He had gotten one of the last trains out of the city. We could see all the smoke over lower Manhattan as we drove. Even when the skyline was no longer in sight, you could see the smoke.
I never cried. I can’t forget the smoke, gray and dark against the clear blue sky.