I Had Never Heard of the World Trade Center

I was not going to write anything today.

September 11, 2011. 

Words are my thing. I tell stories. I share small details of lives.

But this is not my story.

I feel inadequate to speak on this. I did not loose someone I loved, or even someone I knew.

What is the process for sharing the stories of others? Because it is something I try never to do. 

When people fall into the "where were you" conversation, and every year when we watch the footage on tv, Thomas always tells his story.

I usually stay silent. I'm not sure how my story fits in. It is so little compared to the grief of those who lost so much that day.

This morning I watched as they read the names at the 9/11 Memorial. I wept.


That is how I find myself here, writing my story... 

Ten years ago, I was eighteen. I worked at a small bookstore. Every morning, I slept in until the last possible minute before rushing to work. On September 11th I woke up early to the sound of the phone ringing. My dad was calling to tell me to turn on the Today show - a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.

I had never heard of the World Trade Center before that moment. As I stared at the screen, trying to wake up, all I could think was, "How many people are in that building?"

I sat holding the phone, not talking, and stared at the smoke pouring out of the building.

I watched as the second plane hit.

A few minutes later, my dad told me I had better go to work or I would be late.

The smoke. The people jumping. The reporters crying.

Work? Was the bookstore going to be open? Who would be out shopping on this day? How was I supposed to walk away from the tv? It didn't make sense.

I drove the few blocks to work. My manager, Mary, had just opened the door when I pulled into the parking lot. I told her about the planes.

In the front of the store we had an old boom box that we used to play cassette tapes. Mary fiddled with the radio buttons, and we were able to get some local station to come in.
We sat on the floor by the radio. The lights in the store were still off, sunlight from the window reflected off of Mary's glasses. The station was letting people call in, and there was a lot of hysterical crying.

Ten minutes later, one of our regular customers came walking in the door, "Hey y'all! Why are all the lights off? What's up? The roads are deserted. It is a strange day." I told her about the planes. She sat on the floor next to us, crying, and listened to the crackly radio.

A pastor came in looking for communion wafers. I told him about the planes. 

The radio station continued to allow call-ins, and it wasn't long before the conspiracy theories were flowing. When they announced that something had happened at the Pentagon, I wasn't even sure it was real.

A piano teacher came in to pick up sheet music she had special ordered. I told her about the planes.

Listening to that radio station was pointless. They were in chaos, and there was more spreading of rumors than reporting of actual news. We turned it off. Not having the crackly crying and commotion filling the room was a relief, but there was also a feeling of being cut off. I wondered if something else was being hit. I wanted to go home and watch the real news.

The owner of the bookstore finally called, and told us to close up the store.

I stopped at a gas station near my apartment, and there was a line. People I knew were sitting on their cars, talking. One of them was going to give blood. One was trying desperately to get through on a cell phone to his mom who lived in DC, I remember hugging him as he cried.

I went home and watched the news. They showed the second plane hit, over and over and over again. I turned it off. I don't remember much about the rest of that day.

The first week planes were allowed to fly again, I took my mom to the airport. It was the first time I dropped someone off for a flight and didn't walk them all the way to the gate, and watch the plane take off. It was the first time I dropped someone off for a flight and felt worried.

In the days, weeks, and months that followed September 11, 2001, there were a lot of firsts. That is what happens when the whole world changes.



Today, at Band Back Together, we are sharing people's stories and memories of September 11th.

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