"Where Were You?"- A Class Assignment

The World Trade Center Site, as seen from the observation area. July 23, 2006.

Twice a week, my students have journal topics, in which they must write at least one page in regards to the topic. At times, I also write an entry, because I believe in doing what I teach.

Today's topic was "Where were you when the planes hit the tower? What was your reaction? How, if at all, have you changed since then?"

Here's my journal entry:


There are few days in which I can remember what I wore, what I ate, what I was doing when a certain event unfolded. I remember being in the second grade when the Challenger exploded. I can tell you that I ate fried chicken the night my father went into his fatal asthmatic coma. I was watching "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman" while lying down on the floor of my dorm room at LSU when Princess Diana was killed in a car crash. I was walking in the door of Starbucks in Baton Rouge when I heard that a plane had hit one of the WTC towers.

I awoke that Monday, September 11, 2001 at 5:30am. Not having to be at work until 8am, I woke early to exercise. I was 23, having just graduated from LSU the previous month. I was cast in the Baton Rouge Little Theatre's production of "Sweeny Todd" and was to go to the first rehearsal of the second week. I was still working as a shift supervisor at Starbucks, waiting for my lease to expire and for me to move on with my life.

I listened to the radio that morning, on the 10 minute ride to work. As the first plane was slamming into the first tower, I was getting out of my car, oblivious to the destruction a thousand miles away. I walked into the store at 7:50am, right as the word was being spread. As I walked into the backroom, apron in hand, I remember hearing one of our drive-thru customers telling us that a small biplane struck the WTC. I remember thinking, "Wow. That's odd." I didn't think much more of it until the customers kept telling us what was happening. One by one, we exchanged coffee and information. The plane was a jet. It went completely into the tower. It was an accident. Another jet flew into the neighboring tower. It wasn't an accident. The Pentagon is hit. The White House is being evacuated. Fear began to fill the store. We realized that America was under attack, and none of us knew who would become the next victims. My thoughts went to my friend April in DC, my friend Marylen in Manhattan, my mom in Houston. Refineries were in abundance in Houston and Baton Rouge, and they were being evacuated. We were next?

We heard everything, yet saw nothing. Ken, the manager, completed assembling the deposit and gave it to me. "Here," he said, "take it to the bank and run to your apartment for your television. Bring it back to the store and we'll watch the news as it happens." I got into my car and immediately turned on the radio. In the short time of taking the deposit to the bank, sitting in the car while the teller counted the money, and driving the 10 minutes to my apartment, rumor began to spread. A fourth plane went down, but authorities were uncertain of its relationship to the other planes. There was a report of a car bomb in the Washington Mall. The first tower falls. The plane in Pennsylvania was hijacked, and on its way to Washington but crashed in a field instead.

When I arrived at my apartment, I immediately turned on CNN. I knew I was to bring the tv right back to the store, but I wanted to see the pictures first. Those first horrifying pictures were made even worse when I saw the second tower fall. Soon, smoke filled the screen and people were fleeing the WTC site. Reporters were panicked and shocked. People were bloody, cursing, crying, falling. I tried to call my friends and family, but the phone lines were busy. I watched for another minute and went back to Starbucks.

Once back at Starbucks, we watched the news for hours. I tried to tape it, but left a movie in the VCR part of the tv, so recording wasn't possible. Customers ceased to come in. One by one, government buildings began to close. Schools closed. People were being sent home. Bush was rumored to be at the military base in Louisiana and all of us at work said, "Bush, go away!" We were certain he was a target and we didn't want him near us. At 1pm, we closed the store and were sent home. Rehearsals were cancelled. The news and radio were speaking of nothing but the horror and destruction of Manhattan, DC, and Pennsylvania.

I remember that I went to a video store, surprised they were open, but glad. I didn't want to watch the news anymore and needed something to occupy my time since rehearsals were cancelled. When I got home, however, I remained glued to the television. Later that evening, after a pizza dinner, my friend Laura came over and we watched the news together, both of us afraid and confused.

For the next couple of months, I watched as much CNN as I could. I read the NY Times everyday, becoming addicted to the local section, where they printed memoriums daily of victims. I felt as though I needed to read the stories of everyone killed.

I've changed since 9/11 in little ways. Now, whenever I fly, I send out my flight information and my "CSI" files for body identification should a tragedy ensue. I write it light-hearted, but with seriousness. Some of these people were identified thanks to hair left in their hairbrush at home, thanks to dental records, bone fragments. I let those close to me know how they can identify me, and to know what flight I am on.

When I am at the airport, I think of 9/11. I admit to watching people of Middle Eastern descent, paying attention to what they look like and what they're doing. I watch everyone, actually, for suspicious effort. I refuse to give an attitude to anyone at the airport, and don't complain when I get searched.

I no longer think we're invincible. We, as Americans, need to realize what people in other countries already know: no one is immune.

When I travel to NY I visit the WTC and give a moment of silence to those who died. I've been to the site three times and each time I read the timeline and I look out at the observatory.

When I travel to DC, I always watch for planes in the air.

I watch the 9/11 documentaries and films. I watch it to remind me of what could happen and to try to understand, for I don't understand. I don't understand how it happened. I don't understand how someone can take out their aggression on people they've never met. I don't understand how a person can kill innocent others and themselves and do it in the name of a deity. I don't understand how someone can celebrate the death and destruction of people who have never done them wrong. I've watched countless documentaries this past week, some even twice, because I still don't understand. I didn't understand that Evil exists. I do now.

Finally, every day I look outside my classroom window and wonder. I have a perfect view of downtown Houston and I can see every skyscraper clearly. I wonder how I would react should a plane crash into one of those buildings. Would I panic? Would I watch in awe? Could I be able to calm those students around me? How would I react?

I hope I never have to know.

My heart continues to go out to those whose lives were destroyed 5 years ago, destroyed by men who didn't know the victims personally, destroyed by men who didn't acknowledge that those murdered were important to someone, and whose lives were taken when trying to give life back to someone else.