Spring 2011—ENGL 112B: Literature for Young Adults

9/11 Readers’ Theatre

Silence.

There was nothing but silence to add to the growing fear that somehow this was a big mistake. A joke. We had tried for nine years and were met with silence. Silence from our friends. Our family. Our baby. Silence from God. And now, when it is time: time for the laughter, the late night feedings, the sounds of life and legacy, it is once again silent.

They have shut off the televisions.

No radio.

No connections to the outside world.

So we gather around in the halls, whispering, talking, holding hands, wondering who will go first. Wondering if God will spare us one more day, to save our children from coming into this world on this day.

Funny, I waited so long for this moment, and here it is, the blessing of life, my blessing of life, and I want to wait, just another day, a day that isn’t filled with death, a day I won’t have to share.

But Nicole, she won’t wait. She is ready now. Ready to come out into this world of chaos and begin her journey. Suddenly the chaos is in my room, people swirling around me.

I push.

I cry.

I feel her alive inside.

And.

Pure joy.

Magic.

Beauty.

Is it right to feel so much joy when so many are grieving? To feel happiness well up inside, desperate to rip from heart and echo down the sterile halls and break the suffocating silence? How can I feel so … complete when so many are being torn apart by hate and loss.

Marina

I always hate waking up before 7 a.m.

No 12-year-old should be forced to wake up before the sun.

At least the shower is welcoming with the steam rising and frosting

the bathroom mirrors

I flick on the shower radio and the tone of my favorite radio DJs has

changed,

“As of 9 a.m. this morning New York time, a second airplane has flown into the

southern building of the Twin Towers.”

The only twin towers I know of are in Oakland.

Where’s the World Trade Center?

I saddle up on my bike and head to class. The sun is peaking

through the fog, and the grass’s frost is now a glistening dew.

There is no sound. Complete silence.

The planes that usually roar above the island are grounded.

It is an eerie, unnatural silence. Now I can hear my

own thoughts.

Every classroom has the TV on, but they’re not playing a

boring documentary or Remember the Titans for the hundredth

time.

Smoke, fire, hell, screaming, panicking New Yorkers.

Many of my classmates have to leave the room to get away from

the turmoil.

I stay with my eyes transfixed to the screen.

Lisa

I was pretty young, and at home because I was sick and hadn’t gone to school. It was just my mom and I, and she was in her bedroom asleep.

I didn’t watch much TV, so I hadn’t turned it on, and I was just fooling around in the living room when someone knocked on the door.

It was our neighbor across the street; he never came by, but he told me to run and get my mother and for us to turn on the news.

I had never seen anything like those towers falling before; I couldn’t believe it was real.

I felt like it was a toy plane crashing into Legos, and I kept waiting for someone to say it was a joke.

But no one did. Luckily I didn’t personally know anyone who was there, but my best friend did, and all we did for days was watch the news and talk about it.

I remember walking to the 7-11 with her and saying that we couldn’t believe what happened and that things were never gonna’ be the same again.

This is probably a perspective shared by hundreds of people across the country, and it was an event that I doubt any of us will ever forget.

This just makes me wonder what it might be like to live somewhere, in a country or a place where disastrous events like this happen frequently or even daily, and it makes me sad for the millions of people who have to do so.

Katie

I was too young to understand what was happening. The day was normal and there was no warning indication that something was wrong. I was 10 years old, in PE class playing outside when I started hearing names being called through the school’s PA system. One by one my class shrank as students were called to the office and when it was my turn, I went. My dad was calmly waiting for me. He did the best he could to explain what was happening, but all I understood was that schools and offices all over the country were shutting down today, but mine wasn’t. I, like many other students, left anyway with worried parents and with confused looks on our faces.

After about a week I got the gist of it: someone blew up something somewhere and Americans died. It was everywhere, constantly, but I couldn’t grasp the magnitude. It seemed to me like people died all the time, and entire countries were sometimes at fault. I didn’t know what countries were involved and I didn’t really care. Being only 10 years old, I assumed I was going to be okay. If anything, I thought my parents would save me.

Now I feel extremely lucky to live where and how I do – to have lived a life so secure and full of resources to assure that nothing was ever going to hurt me, even if it did others. I knew that people in other countries suffered wars, starvation, disease, and death, but it seemed like impossibility to me. When the fate of our country was changing on September 11 and following days, it seemed so far off from what other countries have to go through. I assumed the adults would worry for a while, and it’d be on the news for too long, but this happens all the time. I didn’t understand that no matter how secure I felt, I wasn’t. I didn’t understand that there are things in the world that may parents would be powerless against.

Stephanie C.

I woke up, same time as always. 6 a.m.

In California, 6 a.m. is the same as New York’s 9 a.m.

9 a.m. in New York was different that day.

The radio said a plane hit a building.

What’s so special about that? Bad stuff happens

every day. Watch the news. There’s always tragedy

somewhere.

I got dressed for school and headed downstairs.

My mom seemed worried, asked if I’d heard the news.

I put on my shoes and walked to the bus.

I got to school and everyone was talking. Even the quiet ones.

That’s when I knew something was wrong.

I went to first period, English. There was a

TV set up and the news was on. A building stood

against the sky, emblazoned and pouring

black smoke into the atmosphere, like a cloud

or a tornado or a hurricane of darkness.

Our teachers told us what had happened,

told us it was serious. It was bad, they said.

It went right over my 12-year-old head.

I knew it was awful, but I couldn’t comprehend

it. Besides, I had art class next and I still couldn’t

draw a flower properly.

School passed as usual, except for all of the

TVs in every class showing the news and everyone

talking to everyone and everything turning to

static fuzz.

I got home and turned on the news.

I sat there for four hours, crying the entire time.

Jennifer

Today a woman holding a soy granola bar

and wearing a big black rimmed glasses catches a

whiff of my cigarette smoke. She shoots me

an annoyed glance. “Enjoy lung cancer,” she

says with misty breath. I smile at her and take another puff.

I had taken a smoke break.

Employees are required to go to the smoking

lounge located on the first floor. I hated that. As I

was smoking, the building began to crash,

but I got out alive.

Now when I hold my daughter and she smiles at my charred, raspy,

Cancerous voice reading her a story, I thank god

for my addiction.

Justin

The details of the September 11 attack were not released or known to the public until after the event. Many documentaries, books, films, and photography emerged from this tragic event. All had intense images and emotional stories. However, there was one documentary that showed something I had never seen before that stuck in my mind forever.

The Towers were burning and there was chaos everywhere you looked. The temperature in some of the floors was becoming unbearable for the people inside. Realizing their chances of survival were slim, some chose to die by their own hand.

A tall, dark-haired man in a white colored shirt with black slacks and shoes, complete with a dark tie is shown climbing out of a high floor window. The man looks up at the sky and in the following moment, releases his grasp from the building. He falls. As he’s falling, the forceful wind causes him to twist and turn on the way down. He disappears behind a smaller building. Never has an image affected me as much as this and I begin to sob. I know nothing of the man, his family, nor his name, but I know how he died.

Keli

The huge, tall clerk guy walks behind me

yelling “Fuck You All.”

I ignore him, not because my scarf restricts

my fists’ movement

but because I pity him and understand his fear-based anger.

The U.S. government did it;

I have reason to think!

To make you hate my people, my homeland, Iraq

They wanted my rich land’s resources

causing an excuse to attack

and ravage my resourceful country.

They wanted oil and they got it too.

Didn’t they?!

Clenching my throat, tears blinding my patience,

I swallow my tumor-like anger

so that it won’t crash into your peace

and collapse the tower of your dreams.

I’ll leave you a white rose by your door

every September 11.

I’ll leave you a white rose

especially because I see the depth of your fear

in your eyes.

Cause I feel your pain through your uneasy smile

as I walk passed you, a floating scarf.

I’ll leave you a rose to show how much I

appreciate your every effort to accept me

despite your government preaching otherwise.

I’ll leave you a rose not cause I’m guilty of a

crime against you.

Leaving you a rose is my timid way of tenderly

telling you… I love you!

Maryam

I woke up late. Not unusual.

Took my half-conscious zombie walk to the shower.

Stepdad was glued to TV. Not unusual.

In my stupor, I fulfilled the rest of the morning’s routine

and waited for my mom to take me to school.

She looked worried. Kind of unusual.

We chatted about our video games in the car. Not unusual at all.

It wasn’t until my mom pulled up to the school gate that I realized

something was wrong.

Instead of the barren lonely scene that the everyday late student is accustomed

to, I saw kids running, screaming. Some looked terrified. Others were

like me, totally confused. Something unusual was going on…

My mom rolled down the window, and said, “Get back in the car, Boys.

You’re staying home today.”

Ian

It’s 7:45 – a Twin Tower has been hit.

Time to go to school. First period is art class. The radio is on.

The instructor mentioned the Tower collapsed.

Am I to be concerned? I don’t think I

should. I’m only 10 years old.

National Security is an issue. They said

something about terrorists. A hijacker,

a plane. Am I to be concerned?

I’ve seen in the news our own

people being attacked. Different

ethnic groups attacking others in our

own communities. Lots of American flags,

lots of resentment. I’m Mexican-American.

Should I be concerned? The news is stereotyping

It was Middle Eastern. This is California.

My friend is Middle Eastern. Should I be

concerned? Things are calm in my

school. This is San Jose. I hope things

do not change.

Efrain

My boyfriend has not come to school.

He didn’t call.

He wasn’t by the library

That morning I was on my way to the shower

I turned the TV on as always.

It looked like a scene from a movie

but it was on every channel

No cartoons

No music videos

(MTV still had music then)

At fifteen the world doesn’t seem to shift outside of you

But it was moving

Uncertain

Violent

And he didn’t show up that day

My White boy and his blonde hair

Snug JROTC pants

Playing pretend military the way he did

Waiting for the day it could be real

Take up arms like Dad and Grandpa and Great Grandpa

So when I saw him next

I was not surprised

that he wanted to “go kill some Hajis.”

And I knew then who he really was

And why I could not stay

Maria

I woke up that morning, groggy like always. I wasn’t looking forward to school. We were four weeks in and I had missed the first two-and-a-half weeks. My teachers didn’t like me, having to back-track, and being a minority at the school and shy; all of my classmates thought I was some stuck up White girl. I only had a few friends.

My mom drove me to school in the muggy Florida weather—it look like it was going to rain again. I waited for my friends at the back door where we always met up. When the doors opened, we all trudged inside and I took one last glance at the barbed wire fence before being locked inside until the dreadful hour of P.E. came around and we would have to spend 30 minutes out in the heat, running.

The day passed quickly, unusually so. Then lunchtime was about to come around – last class before it. A few of my friends got pulled from that class at first. Then a few I didn’t know, then a few more I didn’t care about. By the end of class, half of it was gone.

The last 10 minutes came and we had to watch the broadcast our senior students put out. “Airplanes strike the Trade Center in New York. Details aren’t known yet.”

Everyone stopped. The chattering, rustling of papers, packing up to go to the cafeteria—it was like we’d all stopped breathing.

I looked to my left and right – where my friends would have been sitting had they not been called out, and they were empty. I was alone.

Whispers spread, then erupted into a roar in the tiny classroom. Someone started crying and her friends tried to comfort her. Someone started saying we’re next and the class started to panic.

I never missed my brothers more – wanting them with me on the way home. The crowds rushing down the stairs almost caused me to go tumbling.

I want my grandpa. He’s only been gone for a few weeks, and this happens. My guardian. What if we are next? My brother jumps out of my mom’s car as she pulls up and he hugs me when I start to cry. I don’t even mind sitting in the middle on the way home this time.

Laura

Part I

I remember waking up to my radio alarm clock.

Gary and Julie were talking about something strange.

Their voices strained and serious

Not like them at all

I listened to what they were saying.

Planes flew into the Twin Towers in New York?

I was in a daze.

It was hard to comprehend the horror.

My mom had the TV on in the living room.

I sat down and watched the footage of the terror.

It became real to me.

I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want anything for breakfast.

Got to school. Jennifer’s dad was in New York.

They hadn’t been able to reach him by phone.

He was supposed to have a meeting in a tower.

Her fear and sadness were palpable.

She was pale and anxious for news.

Good, or otherwise

The class was muted.

Not like a sixth grade class.

Mrs. Lovell didn’t make us do any work, really.

Just a math worksheet

and a chapter of religion

on Ordinary time.

Part II

I remember best the prayer service

that was held for the Junior High students.

We gathered in the church, all subdued and confused.

Why did God let this happen?

Why would anyone want to hurt America?

We thought we were a good nation.

How could this happen?

We prayed silently, our thoughts far away from San Jose.

Father Jim gave a homily; I don’t recall his message.

Jennifer sat quietly, with tears running down her face.

Her fear for her father’s life humbling and immediate.

I contemplated life, in my own 6^th grader way.

Its horrors, its complications, the unpredictability of it.

Everything was so surreal.

The day passed in a haze.

I still do not remember most of it.

It changed me, though.

Made me afraid.

Afraid of things I did not know, and probably

did not have the right to be afraid of.

Things I didn’t understand.

It awoke me to the darkness life holds.

The destruction, devastation…

“Infamy” … I finally understood that word.

Erin

On September 11, 2001, I was 11 years old.

I woke up and went into my parents’ room to take a shower.

My dad was watching the news.

He said someone flew a plane into the World Trade Center.

I said, “uhuh” and then I went into the bathroom and took a shower.

(I don’t remember when what happened took on meaning for me

to be honest, it wasn’t for years.)

Those words didn’t mean anything to me

despite the fact that a few months ago I had flown to NY with my family

and visited the World Trade Center

and my family was there.

That morning at school, we had to talk about it.

But 11 year olds don’t really understand these things.

Basically it became of game of seven degrees of separation from the tragedy.

I won because I had a pregnant cousin in NY.

(Of course, I forgot to mention she lived in Long Island).

That beat Melissa Gomez whose cousin’s flight to Texas had been grounded.

And for the rest of the week we pretended to care about people, strangers

thousands of miles away, murdered by an enemy we didn’t understand for reasons

we couldn’t comprehend, culminating in a school wide assembly where we

sang the National Anthem, and Miss Bunya cried.

I was sad too because Pokemon wasn’t on after school anymore.

Instead, Christine Gomez made us watch the news. Blah.

When I was 16, Señor Murillo told me he was glad when 9/11 happened

(well, glad was the wrong word, but, ya know)

because these things happened all the time in other parts of the world.

I called him a suckling pig in Spanish.

I relived this time later.

Jon Stewart’s tearful return to Late Night on YouTube.

Bruce Springsteen’s “The Rising.”

But yeah, it wasn’t that exciting.

Megan

She hopped off the school bus at exactly 4:00 p.m.

Into that cold, crisp September English weather.

School bag wrapped over her shoulder,

the strap luckily covering the bright blue ink stain on her white school shirt.

Walking down the familiar road to home,

with the masses of autumn leaves piled by rows of houses,

she thought about what her mother would say about the stain on her shirt.

Would she be angry?

She could just hear her voice now

“What happened to your shirt, Alice? I’ll never get that

stain out now!”

“Oh crap,” she thought, maybe it would be better to turn around and

head back to school.

Nevertheless, she still stomped her way down the road.

The road seemed quieter than yesterday.

As she reached her driveway, she thought maybe she could

run upstairs and hide the shirt somewhere before her mom greeted her.

But as she walked through the door, she paused as

her mom was standing there, just standing there still.

Right then, her mother wrapped her arms tight

around her and didn’t move for a few good minutes.

Her mother and she just stood in the doorway, holding each other.

Then her mother said, in a shaky tone, “Something’s happened, it’s on the TV.

You need to see,

Something’s happened in America.”

Helena

Two buildings. Planes. Crash.

That is all I hear, but I

know nothing. Looking around,

I’m confused and hoping

the rest of my classmates

are feeling the same way.

Library.

All students come together,

sit down in front of a

single TV screen. I see

the visual of what I

had previously heard, but

remain just as, if not

more, confused.

Got it! Get it!

Plane crashes into Twin

Towers in New York.

Meant nothing to me.

My friend Michelle is

distraught and tells me

how she wants to call her

dad, who was supposed to

fly into New York that

morning.

Drama queen.

I envision the madness,

chaos and fear left in

those who are in New York.

Exaggerations.

The terrorists are coming

to Chicago next! Maybe?

Quite possibly. Why not!?

Wanting to fee more than

I am I think about

my brother who was

supposed to go downtown

today for school.

I know he’s fine.

I just want to tell myself

this affects me more than

it truly does.

I’m 12, live in Lemont,

Illinois.

I don’t even know what the

hell the Twin Towers are

until that day. Kathleen

It was 8:10. I had to be in algebra by 8:13 or else I faced a sentence of one hour’s detention. I don’t know why class started at such an arbitrary time, or why being even just 3 seconds late was grounds for such steep disciplinary action. All I knew was that my feet were moving, my backpack was unzipped wide-open, and I was gunning for that classroom door. I’m always running, always edging on tardiness, no time for breakfast, no time for morning news, not even a “bye Dad! Thanks for the ride!” Always running. I beat the clock by ten seconds. Yes, those crucial ten seconds. I sit down. Five seconds. Later, the bell rings. Mr. Jackson, my algebra teacher, with a stern face, settles the class down. “A moment of silence, please” he said. A moment of silence? He’s never quieted us down with that one before.

Ruel

I have little to say about the 9/11 attacks. It did nothing, changed nothing for me. I feel nothing and it meant nothing. Life continues on no matter what happens. Why should I care about this one tragedy compared to others that are far worse? All I can say is that those people did not deserve to die in that way. The world would be a better place without humans.

No, I do have a lot to say about the 9/11 attacks. I don’t blame the terrorists; I blame us, the US of A for allowing such a thing to happen. I blame “President” George W. Bush for deciding to invade Iraq in order to make it look like he was taking action against terrorists; I blame the American public for allowing it to happen; I blame the US for getting involved with Al Qaeda decades before and burning that bridge. I am too angry to care. I am tired of humans.

Adrian

I was a freshman when the attacks in New York happened and found out about it when my mom woke me up for school. As I got ready for school my mom kept saying that she was unsure about even letting me and my brothers go. The TV was on, and my mom was watching it, and that never every happened in the morning. When I was at school most of my teachers had the news on, and the school has a moment of silence at lunch, but it all felt so far away and disconnected. My Spanish teacher was the only teacher that was uninterested in discussing the events. She said she was there to teach us Spanish and that was that. I thought she had a point, but most of the people in my class were upset, insisting that we had a right to know. She was absent for a week after that. When she came back she told us that her daughter lives in New York and gets off the subway at the World Trade Center. It was by some odd stroke of luck that she had overslept that morning and was running late for work. Our teacher hadn’t wanted to talk about what was happening in New York because she didn’t know if her daughter was okay.

Heather E.

Character: Morton, Reporter – SNY CNY News

Date: 9/10/01 Time: 4:00 PM EST

Nothing stirs up my disinterest for the public

like public interest stories.

People starving in Africa.

Injustices in the Middle East.

Thousands of infinitely more stories

lying in the world’s lurches

and I ask Suzy Q

how her lemonade stand stood.

Date: 9/11/001 Time: 9:37 AM EST

Expecting the same day, I awoke

begrudgingly letting to of sheets as warm as my mother’s green bean casserole

Never was a pie guy, chicken for

Thanksgiving. Tricks for Halloween.

I felt alone when the kids talked about

what they got for Christmas.

My family can’t celebrate Jesus

We could, but we can’t

It’s impossible not having a choice.

Turning on the television

warm myself in the only glow I’ll feel all day.

My computers glows, but the keys I strike are so cold

Emergency testing?

They never test the emergency signal this late in the morning.

What would Dan the weatherman say?

Those magnetic cloudy clouds lying on the table.

What do Keller and Alyssa think?

“The Big Apple’s core anchors”

They should have hired an actual writer for that bit.

Maybe turn it into a public interest story

“Morton here: reporting on behalf of the writing dept.”

The signal grows ominous

There will be no warmth today.

Date: 9/1/01 Time: 10AM EST Setting: Office

All of what I wrote about

All the sardonic feelings I’ve expressed

Quietly damning Suzy Q

And her damn lemonade.

I take it all back

Today, something became imprinted in all of us

Us, two letters, you and I, all of us

Us, two letters, all of us, United States

Unprecedented events have occurred in New York

the shockwaves from this day will reach the world around us.

Us – there’s been talk of dividing America.

Many men have wanted that.

But from this day forth

that will never be the case.

And America will never be divided

East Coast, West Coast, Midwest, Deep South, Southwest, Pacific NW

Each area has its own name, phase, identity

Everyone has their own sayings and beliefs

Everyone’s in a snowflake, unique and beautiful

People in Montana probably don’t care about those in Alabama

Same goes for Indiana to Maine

Same for Washington to Arkansas

And Ohio to West Virginia

But today there is great concern.

And even there as a family comes together

America – the biggest dysfunctional family on Earth

learned to get along.

Zachary

A man stumbles from a taxi cab, throwing

a $20, shouting obscenities, brief case in hand,

leaving his coat behind, he slams the door and

runs through the automatic doors toward the terminals.

Seth: “Get the hell out of my way! Can’t you

see I have a plane to catch?!”

Security Guard: “Ok Sir, I will. I just need to see your boarding

pass and you can be on your way.”

Seth: “What?!” Shouting now. ”What the hell kind of

shit it this?? Do I look like a terrorist or

something?

Security Guard: “Standard practice, sir.”

Seth: “God, what is this world coming to?” (shuffles around in his pockets, a look of horror fills his face.”

Security Guard: “Sir…? Sir?”

Seth: “Goddamn, cabby! My coat! I… I …”

Security Guard: “Sir, if you don’t have a boarding pass, I need you to step aside. You need to talk to customer service…”

Seth: “To hell with customer service! I don’t need another flight; I needed the one on my fucking boarding pass. I’m gonna’ lose this contract… my career, everything wasted, ruined!”

Security Guard: “Sir, please, I … Do I smell alcohol?”

Seth: “No, it’s nothing, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

Security Guard over radio: “I need back-up at Terminal B.”

Seth: “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. My life’s just over. That’s all.”

David

At home that morning, we ate birthday cake.

When you’re turning 10, it doesn’t matter whose

stomach would be twisting and turning till lunch.

For our birthdays, Mama would sacrifice her 7 AM

date with Good Morning America to light candles

and sing a tune.

That’s why we didn’t know.

We walked to school, birthday boy and me.

Found friends crying and

if we were allowed cell phones, I would’ve

called Mama right there.

But we had to wait to witness the horror in

history class before I could tell Mama that

those airplanes ruined my brother’s birthday.

Stephanie S.

I didn’t have a cell phone before

September 11, 2001

I really didn’t think I needed one

and I’m so “non-techy,” I didn’t think

I’d be able to operate it.

Then that day, September 11, as I watched CNN

with my English comp class – held in a computer

classroom, as I saw people jumping to their

deaths to escape the collapsing Towers,

as I heard stories of those trapped

several floors up,

and in the airplanes, knowing the planes

were going to crash, I ached for those who’d lose loved ones

and for those who were losing their lives.

I decided if I were on one of those planes,

I’d want to say goodbye.

I’d want a cell phone to call people I love

and have some last words with them.

I’d want to leave a record of my voice and my

love.

I’d do as so many of them did – break the

rules about cell phones on airplanes.

I’d just call to say I love you.

Dr. Warner

(a fiction)

I feel trapped.

Stuffed inside of this claustrophobic box of an airplane as we take off towards our destination.

Looking around me, I see people of all ages, young, old, infants, teenagers, all trying to relax, to find some rest in this flying metallic coffin as it begins its travel to Los Angeles.

Around me, my companions sit, scattered among the sheep as we prepare for what must be done. Our goal is clear, our reward is also clear.

And yet I am scared.

Our lives, meaningless in comparison to our goals, are to be freely given today, all for what? A message?

The people surrounding us sleep, read, make small talk…they feel nothing. They are simply faceless bodies, lambs to the slaughter. I must feel no compassion, no hesitation. If we fail, our punishment will surely be worse than our martyrdom.

I take a nervous breath as I hear a commotion from the front. It’s begun.

I stand, whispering a prayer beneath my breath. It’s too late to turn back now.

Taylor

Mom picked me up from school early today.

She was all red and in a hurry

but I couldn’t figure out why because all she did when we got in the car was grab

me into a huge bear hug. And then she started crying.

And not a loud, whiny cry like when she sees a spider and cries for dad to come

kill it, but a quiet cry like I’d never seen her do before.

I asked her what was the matter but

I guess she couldn’t find the words cause she

just hugged tighter and tighter. So I

thought I’d try something else and asked

why Dad didn’t pick me up like normal on

Thursdays. Then she started crying out

all these weird things that I couldn’t get …

“Why, why, why,” and “he wasn’t even

scheduled to be there”

and then, “Jay, Dad is gone.” Gone”

Gone where?

She didn’t say anymore and as young as I

Was, the crusch of her embrace and her

soft cry was all that I needed to understand

that this would be the end of hushed whispers

behind closed doors,

the end of waiting for a call from

the Fire department telling us that they found him.

They hadn’t. Reztyleen

My best friend who lives

in New York was the

first person I called.

It was like every other morning

before we turned on the

news and saw the

destruction that was caused

by the terrorists.

I was young, confused,

and sad for those who lost loved ones.

No one finished their breakfast

that morning, and the

security that Americans had once

felt vanished instantly.

Slowly we began to unite over the

terror that had struck.

Cars carried flags on plastic stickers, waving red, white,

and blue.

Firemen became heroes once again,

and our nation started to put

itself back together.

East and West Coast rivalry diminished,

at least for a little while.

The security has yet to return.

Holly

In the mornings I wake up, eat breakfast

get dressed, go to school. Aptos Junior High.

There are lots of people I call my friends

and some I don’t.

This morning my mom couldn’t even drink

her coffee, her stomach was so sad and

scared.

At school we didn’t do any work in our classes.

We asked our teachers questions and talked about

people we knew.

One girl’s uncle was on a plane and she was

terrified he wasn’t coming home.

It was scary, facing the idea that there was

so much hatred in the world.

Is a plane going to crash here?

Should we go home?

Mom and Dad talked about taking a trip.

They talked about packing and where would

be best to go.

The neighbors put up flags. One on every house.

It looked like all of them were in cahoots.

Wouldn’t it be nice if people would care about

strangers all the time as much as they do today?

Lauren

Katie: Mom, when is Daddy coming home? I miss him so much.

I want to show my new teddy bear to him. You know what I’m

going to do Mom? I’m going to put this little

teddy bear in his suitcase, so when he goes on his business

trips he can smell it, and it will remind him of me.

Habibah: Mom, I can’t do my math by myself. It was always Dad who could

answer the hardest math questions. I don’t like it when he goes to the United States. Although he brings the nicest teddy bears for me, I like him being

home with us. I don’t understand why he has to spend most of his time there.

He is learning how to be a pilot, right? It should be very fun, but it’s kind of

scary to fly a huge airplane. Isn’t it?

Jack: This headache will go away if I ask the flight attendant to give me a

cup of coffee. Excuse me. Can I have a cup of coffee, please?

Shenikua: I wish this flight would end soon as I can see my mom. Well, she was

always supportive of me going to NY and studying art, but these past two years

she has been so lonely. I know she is going to be proud of me when I get an

awesome job in Southern California.

Jack: My head still hurts. Katie doesn’t like it when I get home with a headache. If only this plane could land as fast as possible.

Mahmud: Ok Brothers. Inshalla. We can finish this mission successfully. I’m going to miss my daughter Habibah. I’ve asked one of the brothers to send her a

teddy bear tomorrow. Tomorrow at this time we are going to be in heaven.

Ahmud: Are you sure what we are doing is what God wants us to do?

Mahmud: Where is your faith? Are you scared of dying? You know that by doing this we will live in heaven forever? Ok, it’s time now. Goodbye, see you brothers in heaven.

Captain: I’m dead. It was so quick that I almost didn’t feel anything. I felt my chest

was burning and that was it. I feel so bad though. I wish I could have saved myself to save the plane. I failed others. What’s going to happen now? I see

these angry men yelling and speaking another language. I’m a ghost now! Wow, I can see them. I can see my body falling in the captain’s cabin. They don’t see me. No one sees me. What is happening?

Mahmud: (Yelling at Jack) Put that damn coffee down or I’m going to throw it at your face. Shut up, Everyone. No one is gonna’ get killed. Don’t move. We are going to take the plane somewhere safe. Just sit still.

Captain: I see the plane smashing into the Tower. People yell, and one by one they start to see me. One by one they are as light as a feather. Those angry yelling men can see me too. They are heave as heavy metal that is crashing down. I hear one of them say: I wish I had bought the whitest and lightest teddy bear for Habibah. Nayra

Pamela Daniels – my cousin in New Jersey

I don’t have time to think. I can recall Dad’s voice over the phone screaming,

“Pam, get your ass back home right now! This is not the time to be a hero. You are my

daughter; if you love me, you will come home right now…” I feel guilty. But it is such

a mild feeling overpowered by my fear and my promise. I did not choose this job for pay

or the great work hours. I sure as hell did not wish to feel 100 at 40. I do this because

I know in my soul it is what I was meant for.

So when I saw that image—the crash, the people, the ashes…It is not my job to be

Selfish. I called my work and asked, “what’s the next ambulance I can get on?” I’m only

Halfway there, and I hear over the radio the medical cases. It helps to think of the people

as overwhelming as it is. It’s far better than trying to process what happened. Terrorist

attacks. Here. Thirty minutes from where I live, and think of the people dead already.

Stop! You cannot do this right now! What the hell are we going to do?

I hear sirens everywhere—Above me, the next street over, off in the distance.

I’ve been trained to take care of emergency situations. I was born for doing it. But not

this. Never this. Is any person ever prepared for this? We’re all silent in the van. I

guess I’m not alone in feeling shook to the core. It’s strange to hear of the mangled

bodies, the incapacitated, and the dead. It’s strange because I’m heading there pretending

I know what to think—to be in charge. Is anybody in charge? I can help save lives, but

even that feels pitiful. Better this than staying home, watching the news, trying to

process. Samantha

It was going to be a normal day at school, at least that is what I woke up thinking.

I was in the 8^th grade then, and my mom and I always watched the news together as we

ate breakfast before school. She was always on about wanting me to be worldly and up

with current events. I didn’t mind.

I went to turn on the TV that morning, not really thinking about news at all really.

My dad was coming home from a business trip that evening, and I was excited to see

him. I flipped to the news and stared at the TV for moment, absolutely dumfounded,

stunned, shocked, horrified at what I was seeing… a plane flying through the World

Trade Center in New York. I couldn’t believe it.

It took me a minute to find my voice. When I finally found it, I yelled at my

mom, “Mom, you need to come here right now.” She did not adhere to my warning, so,

“Mom,” I shrieked. With that, she came running and her expression changed from a light

smile to the same horrific expression I had.

One tower down, then the second, where was Dad during all this? He was flying

that day too. Was it his plane? Mom was not answering my one hundred questions. I

was confused and worried. And what did all of this mean? How could someone have so

much hate in his heart? I didn’t get it, I was sad and angry and mortified all at the same

time.

At school, no class that day, no yelling in the halls, just worried whispers as we

were all herded into the gym. First an assembly, then a TV set up for all the school to

watch. It’s been hours now and still no answers. My mom said she’d call school with

any news of my father; no one had come to me with news, and I knew if she had called

someone would have come to me, but I went to the office at lunch anyway… no news.

Ria

I woke wanting it to be a regular day. I wanted to walk my dog in a quiet place

and enjoy the sunshine.

The red light on the phone was blinking. Too early for that. Who would call so early and why? Flashing, flashing, flashing. Something was wrong.

Outside, the street was quieter than usual. I opened the blinds and let the bright blue day pour in. It looked like any other day.

The red light imposed itself on me again. I listened. My fingertips got cold. My voice was gone. Friends and relatives were shocked and frightened.

The black screen flickered to life. A bright blue sky, just like the one out my window filled the screen. The towers were tall and majestic. Invincible. So strong, and on fire.

They fell. One by one, they fell. My knees were weak. I fell back onto the sofa. My breath was gone. I wondered about the people. All those people. I wondered about the buildings. Gone. I would never see them, visit them. How selfish.

Outside, the day was extra quiet and sunny. Looking out my window it looks like a regular day, almost like a regular day. Dario

Quiet.

Those funny people on the radio show in the morning.

No popular songs I was learning the works to

No commercials interrupting the songs and the

funny radio.

I’d never heard him talk like that before.

It was quiet on the radio

Quiet in the car

Quiet from Dad and quiet from Am.

And I didn’t know

why we were all being so quiet.

Something had happened

far away

that made the radio man quiet

The lines and wires and radio waves

stretched the news so far away

like looking through the wrong end of

a telescope so that your sister

looks small and you can feel bigger

than her. Far away

But it was

Quiet

Classmates, teacher

Quiet.

Hushed. Homework, lesson plan

forgotten

As our teacher told us what our parents

what the news, what the

funny radio man

already had.

And we were quiet as we listened

and our minds tried to take it in

As I tried to understand why my

teacher was saying the same news

that the funny radio man had said.

How did she know what he had said?

Slowly we turned our questions around.

Moving away form the why were we

talking about this when it was so far away

when we had a spelling test we had studied for

when we had grammar to learn.

The bigness of it

rested on my shoulders then

and it was we who felt far away

from it all, as I sat

quietly in the room.

And the question became

how do we move from talking

about this on to that spelling test

that grammar? How could we?

There was no way, not test, no grammar.

There was the teacher’s soft voice

The funny radio man’s serious tone

The silence from the quiet children

who did not yet know how we

could melt the distance between ourselves

and the everything

that had happened.

Heather R.

9/11
Writing
On August 26, 2001, I arrived in Manhattan for the very first time in my life. I had traveled to Europe's major centers in my early 20's, but now they all seemed village- like to me. Nothing could compare with the corridors of mammoth skyscrapers or the cacophony and fumes from the traffic, cabbies laying on their horns, and with a flick of the wrist as likely to turn a wheel as to offer someone the bird—all of it overwhelming to a Californian whose experience with life in fast forward came solely via texting and email. This was not the New York I had read about, not the New York of Walt Whitman.

My husband, born on Crete and raised in Athens, Greece—its own mini- tempest of urban life—loved New York as he loved this country: desperately, madly, deeply.
Just past his U. S. Citizenship test but not yet sworn in at the time of our arrival, he had become my personal ambassador to my own country, and he planned every detail of our trip to the nth degree.

We visited Ellis Island and took pictures of him before a blown- up photograph of a 19th century Greek immigrant in a φουσταν?λλα (foustanella), the traditional skirt- like costume worn by diplomats and warriors. Then we took the Staten Island Ferry at sunset and posed with the Statue of Liberty behind us. The only thing we didn't do on our trip was go to the top of the Twin Towers. It was the one thing that he had not done on previous business trips—the one thing he craved. "Next time," I told him. "You'll be here again in a few months." I was afraid of heights, and I didn't want to go up. Typically, in such situations, I would have encouraged him to go without me, while I explored some other part of the city. But this time was different. I didn't want him to go. I had a bad feeling about it. And so he didn't.

When, a week after our return, the towers were hit, my husband was sitting on an airplane at SJC, grounded. He was supposed to be making a long haul that day, on an American Airlines flight to Miami. Waiting to find out what was happening and whether or not he was safe was agonizing. Later, realizing that perhaps his plane, loaded with fuel, could have been marked for the Transamerica Building haunted me for months, years even.

Later, when airport security measures were put in place, my husband— dark haired and olive skinned—was eyed with suspicion. On the verge of U.S. Citizenship, business suit or no, he was no longer someone to be trusted. Typically outgoing and friendly, he found that far fewer people smiled at him in airport lines and on flights. TSA agents delayed him, and airline attendants watched him carefully.

But he never thought much of how this had impacted him personally. Instead, he grieved for the FDNY and the NYPD, the workers in the towers, and the other New Yorkers lost that day—and all of our Muslim friends. Margaret