Where were you on 9/11?
I was a junior in high school in Westchester, New York, working on a project for physics in the hallway. I remember what I was wearing: a black Gap favorite T and hot pink capri pants. “Did you know two planes just hit the world trade center?” said a senior walking by. “What?” we said, almost dismissing him. “It’s true,” he said. “They are like, crying, in the front office right now.”
Throughout the day we got more and more updates, each more unsettling than the last, especially because so many peoples’ parents work in the city, and no one’s cell phone was working. Were they dead, or were they safe?
At home, the TV didn’t work either. Just fuzz. I went for an emergency session with my therapist along with my mom and brother. It helped, but for weeks afterward, I felt shaky. Unsafe.
Of course, bad things happen all the time, but always to someone else. Never this close to home. That was what was so scary.
A few weeks ago, I watched this documentary about Tania Head, The Woman Who Wasn’t There. It’s really fascinating how she was able to infiltrate the 9/11 survivors network, even take charge of it, before anyone figured out the truth.
I wasn’t there, but I was close enough.