Sep 11, 2008 18:27
When the towers were hit I remember we were sitting in our world geography class. It was ninth grade, I think, and we were finishing a chapter on Eastern Europe. The principal was somber over the intercom telling us what happened, and then the teacher wheeled in an old television to the middle of the room.
All that was on the screen were the smoking buildings of New York; there were hundreds of people like panicked Barbie dolls hanging from out windows, some jumping just to get away from the flames, and nobody said anything. The first fifteen minutes nobody said a word.
I can vaguely remember staring at this sheet of paper on my desk about Romania's main export and thinking it was funny that this did not include vampires. Then I looked back at the television again and the second plane hit, I kept thinking how it must be a model or something, you know, like the ones they use in the old Godzilla movies. I guess it wasn't. I wanted to go home then. I wondered if my aunt and cousins in Brooklyn were okay.
I don't want to get sentimental here, and I'm not going to sit and justify my patriotism to anyone, because I'm not patriotic in the slightest. I guess people owe it to today to remember.