Jumping on

I pushed open the double doors from the breezeway, headed to Mrs. Taylor's room with plenty of time.  People criss-crossed the hallway like normal.  Rachel came brushing by me, I assumed headed to the bathroom, and reached to touch my sleeve as she passed.

"Something weird's happening.  Everybody's talking about something with someone trying to bomb us or something."  She shrugged and threw her hands up as she went past.  I turned, hands holding my shoulder straps of the ol' Eastpak.

"What? Are you kidding?" I cocked my head to the side and gave her a scrunched up face over my shoulder.

"Yeah, I don't know if it's a joke or what."

Likely a joke. I thought.  Nothing like that happened except for in Mrs. Holliday's history classes in her own mind's eye.  But when I walked into English, I knew something must be at least a little wrong because Mrs. Taylor was in full out fluster mode, wringing her hands, shooing people, and most alarmingly, ignoring people as she tried to get more information from the office and other teachers.  Mrs. Taylor rarely brushed people off, even when she had no intention of answering their question or request at that moment.

Minutes later, the bell rang and we settled into our chairs in a murmur.  The intercom crackled on and Mr. Tiller took over.  I wish I could remember his exact words, but I don't.  It amazed me just to hear that what Rachel said in passing was not a passing matter or a joke, but a real thing that had happened.  It involved a plane crash and smoke and terrorists and all the things that weren't a part of my life, my vocabulary, my thoughts and definitely not a part of my country.

Later in Government/Economics we watched the smoking towers on TV, watched the second plane take aim and watched the crumbling of 2 buildings I previously never even knew existed, but that had suddenly become so important.

That afternoon, under the careful watch of my friend Mandy's family while my parents were out of town, I kept waiting for swim practice to be cancelled.  When it wasn't, I went driving to practice in the Tempo, groping with the reality of buildings falling and planes crashing and people dying ... in America.

My last true memory of September 11, 2001 is of swimming backstroke.  I was in the indoor pool at USC-L's PE Center, gliding through a lane of the far right of the complex, right beside a wall of windows looking out onto the gray-skyed afternoon.  Stroking back down the length of the pool, I kept cutting my eyes to the panel of windows, trying to imagine seeing an airliner come crashing through it and onto the pool where I drifted.  I tried imagining seeing it coming and realizing it would head through the glass.  I tried imagining my response, my shock, and sinking as far under the pool as possible to escape it's weight.  I tried imagining the sparkle of the glass breaking and the smack of the impact on the water.  It was so unbelievable that no matter how I tried, I could never get my mind's eye to make the plane hit the water.

How incredibly thankful I am that my most traumatizing moment was in my imagination, while in New York, so many people lived out what I couldn't even force myself to imagine.  I am not one to jump on "bandwagons," but the bandwagon of remembering the events and devastation that occurred that day is worthy.  More worthy are the people who were there.  There are so many people who died voluntarily and involuntarily to not jump on.  So here's to all of you who weren't safe from your wildest imagination, and who aren't here to remember those moments.  Here's to all of you who remember 9/11 everyday because a part of you is still invested in that day and how it changed your life.  Here's to all of you who showed action, love and bravery in response to the most unimaginable thing I hope to ever see in my lifetime.   I am not typically an outwardly patriotic person in the typical sense, but I feel such deep patriotism, pride and compassion when I think of all of you.