The phone rang. It was early. I was just thinking about getting ready for my first class. My roommate's mom was on the other end of the line. "What channel?" I heard my roommate say. When the answer to that question is that it doesn't matter, you know something is very wrong.
Even with the reporters explaining what had happened, it took several minutes for anything to register. I kept thinking that it didn't make sense that two pilots had miscalculated so badly. But then it registered that we'd been attacked by terrorists. I ran into my friend's room and woke her, on her birthday, with, "Terrorists attacked New York!" We ran back into my room and the three us stood, glued to the repeated video of planes flying into buildings.
And then we watched, live, as the tower fell, rapidly, window by window by window, to the earth below.
I remember being terrified. I remember being devastated and angry and confused. I remember wondering how we just went off to class or rehearsal when the weight of the world was now sitting squarely on our shoulders.
More than any one image imprinted on my mind, I remember watching footage of people leaping from the tower to their deaths.
I simply cannot believe that ten years have gone by.
Because, as though it was yesterday, I remember.