Disclaimer: this is the story as I remember it. very likely to be incomplete and/or incorrect, but a story nonetheless. Leave comments for corrections. oh, and tell me when i should stop.

I stepped into the fall of 2001 invigorated. The twelve months prior had been filled with time spent outside the lines–minimal studies and maximum life–and now, it was time to finish the college chapter.

I remember the day not so much because of what happened on 9/11, but what followed the week after. I’ll stick to the choronology, though:

I was still sleeping when the phone rang. it was bruce. he’d gotten a phone call from debra telling him the world trade tower was on fire.

“Is she joking?” he asked me.

I stumbled out of bed and down the ladder to my loft to turn on the television. There was no need to flip the channel.
“No, she’s not joking.”

The news was mumbling something about an accident. a plane had flown into one of the towers. People were being evacuated.

“Debra says there’s paper flying around everywhere down there.” bruce says.

“Is she okay?”

“yeah, she’s fine.”

I check the clock.
“I gotta get to class. i’ll check you later.”

I hang up the phone. i look at the television. the second plane hits. I don’t know what to think. i shake it off and get out the door.

I sit down and the professor starts lecturing. For a 9am class, it’s pretty full. It’s early in the semester. Signals and Systems II with Alexandros Eleftheriadis.

About fifteen minutes in, a student raises his hand. He had been listening to the newscase on a portable radio.

“The twin towers just collapsed.” the students gasp. “The pentagon has been hit. The white house had been evacuated.”

The professor looks at the student. Looks at the class. Looks at the white board. shrugs his shoulders and says, “Well, there’s nothing we can do. let’s keep going.”

I’m incredulous. Did he really just say that? I get up and bolt out the door. I vow never to listen to this man speak again. I end up taking a D minus in his class.

I’m heading home and i call my friends, the cell phone towers aren’t overwhelmed yet. I tell them to meet me at my place. It’s the largest out of everyones. I stop at the atm to get cash. the lines are down. I have about forty bucks. I get to the house. tickles is there. “We should get some food and water,” he says. we head to UFM, pick up all the canned food, water and bagged treats we could afford. We get back to the house, turn on the tv, and wait it out.

I look at my watch. I’m supposed to be at work soon. I call john up. he sounds distressed. I tell him i’m not coming in that day. he doesn’t sound ok. I think the worst.

“is erin down there?”

he says no. his voice barely registers. he says his father is down there. mbote is down there, too. again, I don’t know what to do. there’s nothing i can say. john passes me on to jeff and helen. we trade info on the interns we’d heard from. as far as we know, the ccit family is all ok. i hang up and we wait some more.

The waiting continued for hours. The misinformation spread on the news didn’t help. the anticipation of what would happen next, wondering if it was safe to drink the water, wondering if we’d run out of money before they re-established the telephone lines, wondering about the possibility of riots, wondering when there’d be order again . . . there were a host of things to wonder about . . .
By the time night came around, things were looking better. the phone lines had begun to clear and we could call out to reach our families to tell them. There hadn’t been any futher activity, and slowly, sanity was regaining control.

I don’t have the ability to describe the next few days.  So, all i’ll say is that I remember the smell of ash and people commenting on the smell of burning flesh.  School wasn’t closed on the 12th and the next day i was back at work.  The ccit family had survived intact.

A week later, nanny passed away.

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