11 September 2014

that day

I was 24 and I lived with my mother and grandmother. I was asleep. Mom called me, more like shouted for me to come into her room. Even in that haze, I knew something was wrong. I stumbled in and adjusted my eyes just in time to see the 2nd plane strike.

To say I couldn't believe it is more than understatement. But the nightmare I viewed was very real.

I worked as the frame shop manager at Hobby Lobby. On the bus, it was the consuming conversation. At work, we were all huddled around radios in every department. Customers as well. No one complained.

The stories poured in. We sold out of American flags and prints, posters of the World Trade Center, small packs of Kleenex and anything that said God Bless America. It was the longest day ever.

Shock. Inexplicable pain and sorrow. Numbness. Fear. Hope. Anger.

What happened? Was this how they felt during the attack on Pearl Harbor?

Why?

All those people. Gone. Their families forever changed. What did this mean?

All the neighborhoods that came together. Candlelight vigils.

The sound of a silent sky.

The tiredness and sadness and the fight to hold back tears and anger in the eyes of President Bush. 

What were we going to do?

Never thought I'd see this. Never thought I'd experience this. 

Never will I forget.
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