I walked back into class shaking my head. My mind was reeling. What? Planes crashing into the Pentagon? I did not understand.
A moment or two later, announcements were made over our school public-address system about the attacks that had happened in New York. I sat dazed by the news: the Twin Towers were falling? Thousands of people were probably dead? People were jumping out of windows to escape the fire and devastation happening inside the Towers?
Even now, I remember those feelings and thoughts with such clarity. They formed a giant pit in my stomach that took weeks and months to go away.
A friend of mine's mother-in-law was in the first plane that crashed into the Twin Towers. She and her daughter had taken children to University on the east coast and, that morning, were attempting to get home. They never made it. Even we in a little community in northern Utah were wracked with painfully personal results that horrible morning.
(On a lighter note- when it came time for dinner tonight, I did not feel much like cooking. I drove to a local Taco Time and ordered a couple of items. When the cashier rang up my order, she announced my cost: $9.11- wow. Of all days. Go figure.)