I was in second grade, just outside the classroom when we heard jets flying. The adults started acting more and more strangely until I was picked up early. This was in Jersey.
From a hill near home, I saw smoke instead of towers. It persisted for many days after.
There were memorial services in town during the following weeks. We slowly learned stories. One man we knew saw papers in the air outside his office window and got out in time.
I’m not sure I knew what tragedy meant before 9/11 and even now, horrible events sometimes read like echoes or exacerbations of that root crime. In my mind, the towers were mine — mine to enjoy by virtue of my appreciation of them. And they were always there after school until they were replaced with smoke.
There was a gap after, until they built the new one. The skyline looks different now, grown, and a bit stranger. Sometimes when I look, I expect to see the other skyline.
