Remembering September 11th

It's not hard to remember September 11, 2001 at first. People throw it around so casually nowadays that it's impossible to forget. Whether it's being used to try (and fail) to get a mayor elected as President or to oppress and disgrace an entire people who are innocent of any connections to that day besides sorrow and grief. Whether someone's making money off of other people's tragedy in Alaska or someone is voting down a bill to help those who are still sick from that day, we remember September 11th.

The problem is that it doesn't mean so much anymore. It's a phrase overused, an idea spread too thin, a moment too widely misconstrued and abused and politicized.

Nine years later, we've forgotten what really happened and how we really felt.

On September 10th, Republicans (especially the Southern ones) hated New York and most people had no clue was Al Qaeda was. Not too many people in the U.S. had a strong opinion about Islam one way or the other, except that it was a big religion abroad that not many people followed here. Those who did weren't all that different from those who didn't - unless you were talking about Israel, of course.

Since then, a lot has changed and a lot hasn't. Republicans still hate New York and everyone in it, but now they claim to love Ground Zero. Most people still don't know a whole lot about Al Qaeda or Islam, but everyone has a strong opinion about it one way or another. Everyone feels very different and everyone feels very much the same.

Living a few blocks away from where it all happened, it's easy to get bombarded by the protests and the tourists and the fakeness. Passing by the big empty hole and the posters about what's coming (but are they really getting anything done?) and the big charred cross on the way to the Whole Foods can really make it all just seem to so far away and forgotten. For weeks after I moved to this apartment, I didn't even know I lived right next to the former World Trade Center.

Today wasn't all that different. It's a beautiful day, sunny with barely a cloud in the sky. Not hot. Not cold. After a brunch with friends, the BF and I took a long walk home. We walked through the Festival of San Janero in Little Italy. We bought vegan ice cream (made of cashews!). We tried to avoid the crowds along Canal.

Only when we got to Duane and Reade (namesake of the ubiquitous pharmacy) did we noticed the heightened security, the bomb squad dogs, the bullhorns, the protestors, the signs, the loudspeakers, and the fact that it was nearly impossible to get through. And I wanted to do was go home and take a nap. The BF was focused on getting us to the CVS so I could pick up my pills and he could pick up toilet paper. I noticed that the vast majority of protestors and speakers were the friendly kind, talking about unity and denouncing racism and saying the names of those that perished. Someone was giddily (seriously, he was so happy to be doing this) handing out free Korans, but I don't know if he meant for us to read them or burn them.

So it's hard to remember what it was all about to begin with, what happened and who it happened to. There are a few people, people I feel terrible for, who will truly never forget what happened and how it happened, because they were the people who were there, who lost someone, who got sick, who can't stop remembering.

For me, I was a freshman back in Dallas in the middle of an advanced geometry class. Our new principal came over the PA and hastily told us to go to the auditorium after class instead of advisory (our fancy-school version of homeroom). We all laughed because she sounded so flustered. We all thought it was because she was new and not used to the PA system. The hallways were crowded and some people sounded really distressed. A friend of mine, a junior, told me the Pentagon had been hit by a plane. She said it was a terrorist attack. I wanted her to be wrong. By the time we got in the auditorium, everyone was upset and everyone had heard something different. What is the World Trade Center? What about the White House? Is it over?

Our new principal told us that one of the two World Trade Center buildings had been hit by a plane. They weren't sure if it was an accident, but since the Pentagon had been hit by something, too, they didn't think it was. She told us that they had contacted our classmates who had taken a semester abroad in New York (again, this was a fancy high school) and they were all ok. She told us that if anyone needed to contact a relative in New York they should talk to their advisor. They told us that we were still going to have school, but that if anyone needed to go home they could.

This was when I remembered that my cousin and her husband (or was he still her boyfriend at the time?) lived in New York. I hoped they were ok. They were, but I didn't realize then how close they lived to the World Trade Center. Turns out it was just a five minute walk away. At the time, they had a very clear view.

Next was biology or chemistry (I'm thinking I had chemistry since I was a freshman, but for some reason I remember being in the biology room). That was when I saw the poor girl whose birthday it was crying in the lounge in the science hall. We're all crowded around the the TV. It's here when I first see the second plane hit the second tower. Looking back, it probably was replaying footage, but I thought it was live. It was horrifying. I was journaling at the time. I had just gotten into journaling in a notebook instead on the computer (it ended up being on the computer that stuck), and I was very glad in a weird way that I had it with me so I could document my feelings. I don't know where that journal is now... I'm sure my fourteen-year-old angst made me sound like I was over analyzing everything too much anyway.

The next chunk isn't as clear. I don't really remember lunch or anything. I do remember we had a world history test that afternoon and my teacher refused to postpone it. He said something about our fear not being a good enough reason not to learn (though I'm sure he didn't use a double negative like that). That night, I was glued to the TV. I wanted to absorb everything. I was very much caught up in it. My parents were the opposite. I think they were more scared than I was. I was more "this is my JFK moment." I don't know if that's how I'd think about it now.

That was my September 11, 2001. That's what I remember. There were days and weeks after of mourning and arguing about what was next, but on that day I was just confused, fascinated (in the horrified way), and utterly sad. I knew it was big, but I had no idea what it meant. And I definitely didn't think it would lead to what it is seen as now. Well, I was fourteen. I was naive. I was innocent, even then.