Without going into great detail, I'll tell you that as the first plane hit the first tower in New York, at 7:46 a.m. my time, I was in in a classroom before my Chem II class would begin showing classmates some pictures from a trip I went on over the summer with a Criminology group from our university (see below for pictures).
After weeks of forgetting to bring my little album, I woke up from a stress-mare that involved the city in the pictures and finally remembered to put the album in my bookbag.
After my Chem II exam that morning, class dismissed as we finished our exams. I went out of the classroom into an outside open area and another student told me that a professor had been watching a TV in his office and that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers.
My professor was late getting into my next class that day.
When he made it, he reported that another plane had struck the second tower.
My classes were a blur that day. I drove home after my classes listening to the news the entire way. I have no way to explain the rush of emotions as I heard the shock and horror in the voices of the radio announcers as they talked of people jumping out of the towers and the terror and surprise when one and later the other tower crumbled.
I came home and found my dad sitting on the arm of the couch. We both sat there in silence as they replayed the towers falling over and over again.
We both watched as they showed footage of the Pentagon.
Time, work, or responsibility couldn't seem to drag me away from the horror in front of my eyes.
It was one of those days and one of those moments that forever changes you. It was one of those days where we'll always remember where we were and what we were doing when we learned the devastating news.
They're memories we will never forget.
But so are these...