History Class on September 11, 2001.
by Emily Oliver
9/11/2001. Coming into Mr. Kiki’s world history class felt different today. Everyone was quiet. The television was on, and no eye missed the screen. Taking one glance, I saw smoke and flames.
“Where’s the fire?” I asked flippantly.
I looked at the pretty blonde girl in my class. She was crying.
“Oh, sorry.” I said.
I realized that there was something going on that was beyond me. I put my book bag down, got out my school supplies and looked at the screen. What I saw made me stop what I was doing. We had been attacked.
New York seemed to me invincible. Living in a small town in Eastern Washington, the bigger cities were always untouchable. For rich, powerful people with agendas. New York is cultural. People are accepted. New York has people from all across the world. I was so naive.
Throughout the day at school, every screen in every classroom was turned on to breaking news. Everyone was crying. The “funny boys” tried to crack jokes, but even they realized how affected they were and could not find the punch line.
I called my mother from the school office. She was crying. No one we personally knew was involved, but as an American people, we all became involved. I felt our school come together that day. Tragedy has an odd way of bringing people together.
School ended and my sister and I clung to one another waiting for our bus. My mom came and picked us up instead. We came home, and immediately turned on the t.v. I think we were all drawn to it this day more than ever before and did not stop watching until the late night when our tears wouldn’t come anymore. We were all dried up. I can’t remember anything else about that day. What I do remember is that I took a bath, and tried to go to sleep. I felt older. I felt my innocence resign. And I felt so incredibly sad.