A Heavy Thing

September 11, 2008

Seven years ago was my second week of college.  I was being so good I was up early to get ready to go to my nine o’clock class.  My roommate was in the shower. I turned on the TV to Good Morning America to see the smoldering first tower.  Charlie Gibson was speculating about what had happened; no one even knew it was a plane at that point.  I was making my bed and was looking over just as the second plane hit.  The two burning towers made it pretty clear that it was no accident.  That always strikes be because I can count on two hands the number of times I’ve watched morning news shows since then.

I went to class (Psychology 101), and things went on as usual.  I got back from class and 50 girls were all siting around watching the coverage on the TV in the lobby.  By that time the plane had hit the pentegon and the commentators began talking about the fact that the towers were going to collapse.  Then it was time for our eleven o’clock classes.  I went but by that time everyone knew and we got released early.  I don’t remember much more from that day, I know we got an email from our psych professor saying that he was sorry but he didn’t know what was going on.  I’m sure that I spoke with my parents, and I think that I spent a lot of the time in the lobby with a bunch of these girls whom I’d just met.

That’s what happenend the fifteenth day that I lived alone, the fifteenth day I was a grown up. The world changed just as mine changed.  So it’s sometimes mixed up in my mind why things are different than they were.  Is it me or the world?  I’ll never know.

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