story11220.xml

story11220.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2004-12-13

September 11, 2001. It seems so long ago. On the morning of September 11, I woke up, just like every other morning. I got dressed and prepared for school. At the time, I was a senior in high school, but I was also in a work study program with the Department of Defense, so I had to make sure I looked nice to go to work as well. The day continued on as any school day does, listening to teachers, trying not to fall asleep, the usual thing. I can not even remember exactly where I was when I first heard rumors about a plane. The funny thing was, in high school, the administrators didn?t like to tell you much of anything, so rumors were flying and different stories were formed. I can?t even remember them. Even now, 3 years after that fateful day, my memory hasn?t unclogged itself enough to understand what was going on. Because I was a work study, I got to leave school early each day of the week to go to work. As rumors flew, I chatted with friends, attempting to gain some semblance of understanding. I finally left and went home, which took about 3 minutes. When I arrived home, my mom was there, partially asleep in bed. She works night work, so she?s generally unaware of what goes on during the day. She was, however, only partially asleep. I went into my mom?s room, trying to wake her up and figure out what was going on when she told me my dad had called. He lived about 2 hours or so away (depending on how fast I speed) and so we talked on occasion. I hit play on the answering machine and I heard a desperate message from my father. ?Sheila, planes hit the World Trade Center. I don?t care what happens, don?t you dare go to work. I don?t care if they fire you, it doesn?t matter, do NOT go to work.? That?s all I really remember of the phone message, a strict warning I had best heed. I dialed the phone to my office, thinking if I was really necessary, I didn?t have much of a choice. One of the women in our office picked up the phone, I think it was Sharon, and I asked her what was going on. ?We?re not emergency essential personnel. Everyone?s locking up and going home. Don?t come, we?re leaving.? Ok, I thought? I don?t guess I?m going to work today. I changed and I suppose I bummed around the house, calling loved ones, assuring them I was safe and not at work (working for the government has its down sides).

When I look back to that day, it all feels so surreal, like a dream that I can watch happening to me, but that I?m not actually in. That?s how a lot of my traumatic memories are, something I can watch without participating in, just seeing myself go through the motions in response. That is how I remember September 11th. I see myself making the phone calls, talking to relatives, assuring them of my safety and wondering what actually happened. I remember days after it was over, talking in my AP English class about our own reactions, what it was we felt, fear or confusion. I was thankful, both parents were safe. Some friends had been in fear that day; I was spared the overwhelming anxiety of that emotion. I do however, realize the consequences. The effects of September 11th remain, despite living what seems is to be so very far away. It all seemed like a bad dream, the nightmare of this country, but I find that this reality has shaped our nation, into something stronger and more united than before.