|Image by mrgoose|
I was a junior in college–just shy of 21. I was ironing my capri pants and watching Good Morning America.
I rarely turned on the T.V., but for some reason, I did that day.
Good Morning America was airing a fashion show when the news broke that the first tower had been hit.
The screen shot to the scene. Building burning.
“How could a pilot be that stupid?” I thought. “How could someone fly right into the tower?”
I thought it was a small plane–an accident. And it almost didn’t even occur to me that there was no chance the passengers would have survived.
Then, on live T.V., the second plane hit.
|Image by equity69|
A sinking feeling entered my stomach.
“Another one? What’s going on?”
I was running late (not much has changed) to a weekly campus-wide chapel service. En route, I realized, I was one of the only ones on campus that knew something major–something catastrophic (although I still didn’t realize how much so) had occurred.
Not long after I entered the building, the announcement was made.
But, of course, no one still knew what was going on.
I attended my next class–Spanish Lit. We all sat dazed.
A plane hit the Pentagon. Another fell from the sky in Pennsylvania.
“This is an attack on our country,” my professor said.
|Image by linder6580|
Students gathered on the grassy quad–praying, crying, hugging.
But mostly stunned and silent.
Students could go to class or stay home–however we chose.
I wanted to be with my classmates.
I attended Western Civ. II–the discussion centering around the re-writing of history that day.
I remembered looking up at the sky on my way back to my dorm room that afternoon.
|Image by gorex|
Clear, blue, NC sky. Only trace clouds.
Where were you that September day?
This pilot was almost in the pilot seat of Flight 11–the first plane to hit. Listen to his story:
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