story7822.xml

story7822.xml

born-digital

story

yes

no

2002-09-17

I had just broken up with my boyfriend. The cat pooped on my sweatshirt. My mom had flown out to Portland the night before and forgot to give me any money to sustain myself. I grumbled my way to school and tried to think of reasonable excuses to explain my lack of English paper to my teacher. These things mattered. They make up the life of a high schooler. I sat through gym (I sat because my clothes were conveniently still in the dryer at home) and bought a biscuit and some chocolate milk during the break in between first and second period. Break passed just like any other, the bell rang when it should have, right around 9:20. I walked into my second period class, English, excuse ready (a good one involving an anonymous friend and a borrowed disk), biscuit and milk carton in hand, and noticed some strange file footage from some conflict being played on the classroom TV.
I turned to the girl next to me, "When did that happen? Where is that?"
"It's happening right now. Those are the Twin Towers."
And September 11th was more than just another day. It was now "that Tuesday" forever engraved into the memories of countless Americans.
Suddenly my life was about as trivial as certain board games that don't mean anything.
There's no reason for me to recount the things I saw on the endless news reports that day...we all saw them. After the Pentagon became involved, though, everything that had already been drastically changed had been drastically changed again. Seeing as our school is one of the top public choices for children of Pentagon employees to attend, this was a huge deal that remained unacknowledged until an intercom announcement said what was quite possibly more ridiculous than the event itself.
"There's been reports of a third plane striking the Pentagon. There are no injuries as of yet."
Like anyone believed that.
Phone calls were made in frantic voices usually reserved for betrayals by best friends and students were excused from classes. I just wanted to go home so I could think.
I stuck it out the rest of the school day and went to my friend's house to call my grandfather, who gives tours of the Capitol on Tuesdays.
"Everything's alright around here. I made it out before the traffic got too heavy."
I called my mom, who would end up being stranded in Portland for the next week and a half. I Love You's were whispered and shouted, meaningful and constant.
My big brother picked me up from my friend's house, he had shaved his own head and missed a spot in the back. He and I decided to go to a spot in some woods to take pictures. When we exhausted our words and sat on a log, the full impact of the day had hit me. The sky, normally loud and busy with the traffic of two nearby airports, were completely silent and empty. I cried for the first time that day. It was the most depressing, devastating silence I had ever heard.

Since "that Tuesday", it's been harder to get worked up about the things that used to matter. Time is precious and so are the relationships you create during it. My peers and I have unavoidably been jaded because of these attacks. Boyfriends dump girlfriends, cat poop washes out, and money's only as important as you make it. In the end, it's not the kind of life you have, it's what you do while you're having it.