...And they fell
I wasn’t there. The day the towers fell. I have not stood upon the pavement and looked up as they came crashing down in a horrific cloud that blanketed the city like a death shroud. I wasn’t trapped in one of the upper floors to watch as people flung themselves to their deaths rather then face the fires that raged below. I didn’t lay there, trapped beneath the rubble, wondering if anyone would ever come, wondering if this was the end. I wasn’t there, but like everyone else in this country, I had been attacked, no matter what the miles that stood between myself and ground zero.
I was fourteen years old, never knowing a time when America hadn’t been the strongest nation in the world. Never knowing a time when we faced war and attacks upon our people. I remember the shock of leaving class to hear the adults saying that the World Trade Center had been hit. It only grew worse as someone ran up to tell us that the other tower had also been attacked. A cold dread had seeped into my bones, the kind of fear one feels only when death is near.
More attacks, more reports. The Pentagon had been hit, a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania, the President was in the air. It seemed like it would never stop. With a feeble voice, I asked if we were safe. I thought that surely no one would want to attack a little town in Northeast Tennessee. In my mind, I knew what the answer had to be.
We were safe, what reason was there to target us. Yet a nagging little voice repeated constantly, over and over; what about the weapons plant in Kingsport, what about the dam, what about Eastman? If a plane hit Eastman, then Kingsport would be gone, just a smoking crater of debris and devastation. My heart clenched convulsively as I looked at the somber faced adults around me. Silence was their only answer as they looked worriedly at one another.
At home, I sat riveted to the TV. For hours, I didn’t watch my cartoons, or favorite shows. I didn’t read or do my homework. All I could do was watch the horror unfolding on the news. I saw the towers standing above the city, smoking and smoldering. I knew nothing about these massive constructs of steel and glass, the strength of the welded bars or reinforced columns. I only knew that an airplane had plowed into their sides. Unlike all others, who knew how strong the towers were, I wondered why they did not fall.
I watched as rubble rained down from the towers, thousands of papers fluttering on the wind like confetti. Then with horror I saw the bodies, falling, leaping from windows and plummeting to earth. I think it was then that tears finally slipped from my dry eyes.
Numbness gripped me as the first tower fell. People were running, screaming as the great cloud engulfed all in its path. For a moment all was black, and only the terrified shrieks of those caught in it could be heard. I could not tear my eyes away though, watching with morbid fascination as the other tower also collapsed. All those untold lives, all those son’s and daughters that would never go home. All those widows and orphans born in but a few short minutes. Hate was their father and their mother Despair.
Rumors began to circulate, rumors of war upon those who had done this to us. People began to panicked, streaming to gas pumps and grocery stores. That night, prayer was all I had. Dear God, please keep us safe, dear God don’t let us die…Dear God. It was all that seemed to run through my mind. With my prayers came an odd sense of calm, a peace that settled over my troubled heart.
My fear rushed out in the following days, leaving a hollow space into which ran a boiling rage. I wanted whoever had done this to us dead. Whatever it took, those responsible had to pay. They had attacked my country, killed its people and they needed to die.
They didn’t crash a plane into my town, or level my school. But in striking my country they had struck me as well. They weren’t going to get another chance to hurt our people like they did that day. I wasn’t there, but I could have been and if they’re not stopped, in the years to come I might be.
I was fourteen years old, never knowing a time when America hadn’t been the strongest nation in the world. Never knowing a time when we faced war and attacks upon our people. I remember the shock of leaving class to hear the adults saying that the World Trade Center had been hit. It only grew worse as someone ran up to tell us that the other tower had also been attacked. A cold dread had seeped into my bones, the kind of fear one feels only when death is near.
More attacks, more reports. The Pentagon had been hit, a plane had crashed in Pennsylvania, the President was in the air. It seemed like it would never stop. With a feeble voice, I asked if we were safe. I thought that surely no one would want to attack a little town in Northeast Tennessee. In my mind, I knew what the answer had to be.
We were safe, what reason was there to target us. Yet a nagging little voice repeated constantly, over and over; what about the weapons plant in Kingsport, what about the dam, what about Eastman? If a plane hit Eastman, then Kingsport would be gone, just a smoking crater of debris and devastation. My heart clenched convulsively as I looked at the somber faced adults around me. Silence was their only answer as they looked worriedly at one another.
At home, I sat riveted to the TV. For hours, I didn’t watch my cartoons, or favorite shows. I didn’t read or do my homework. All I could do was watch the horror unfolding on the news. I saw the towers standing above the city, smoking and smoldering. I knew nothing about these massive constructs of steel and glass, the strength of the welded bars or reinforced columns. I only knew that an airplane had plowed into their sides. Unlike all others, who knew how strong the towers were, I wondered why they did not fall.
I watched as rubble rained down from the towers, thousands of papers fluttering on the wind like confetti. Then with horror I saw the bodies, falling, leaping from windows and plummeting to earth. I think it was then that tears finally slipped from my dry eyes.
Numbness gripped me as the first tower fell. People were running, screaming as the great cloud engulfed all in its path. For a moment all was black, and only the terrified shrieks of those caught in it could be heard. I could not tear my eyes away though, watching with morbid fascination as the other tower also collapsed. All those untold lives, all those son’s and daughters that would never go home. All those widows and orphans born in but a few short minutes. Hate was their father and their mother Despair.
Rumors began to circulate, rumors of war upon those who had done this to us. People began to panicked, streaming to gas pumps and grocery stores. That night, prayer was all I had. Dear God, please keep us safe, dear God don’t let us die…Dear God. It was all that seemed to run through my mind. With my prayers came an odd sense of calm, a peace that settled over my troubled heart.
My fear rushed out in the following days, leaving a hollow space into which ran a boiling rage. I wanted whoever had done this to us dead. Whatever it took, those responsible had to pay. They had attacked my country, killed its people and they needed to die.
They didn’t crash a plane into my town, or level my school. But in striking my country they had struck me as well. They weren’t going to get another chance to hurt our people like they did that day. I wasn’t there, but I could have been and if they’re not stopped, in the years to come I might be.