Sept. 11

It's strange how distant I feel from Sept. 11. I remember the day it happened, how I felt and how it affected my family afterward, but I was very much an adolescent who wanted to be an adult. Everything I knew, understood or believed was cultivated by outside sources, be that reading books to pass the time or the limit influence I had at the time. I didn't know how to feel or what it meant that Tuesday morning when I was in World History with Mr. Delaney my junior sophomore of high school. 

We didn't have a TV in class. A friend of Mr. Delaney's who worked in the school library called to tell him and his first response was, "is this a joke?" We filed out to the library to watch the scene blazing across every channel, news anchors in shock and unable to clarify other than the obvious. A plane crashed into the World Trade Center, I had no idea what that was. The Twin Towers were where the world trades things, was the best guess I had at the time. A second plane dive- crashed into the second building as we watched, confused. 

After school, everywhere in the small town conversation was consumed by the dust bowl of crumbling skyscrapers; ever channel, ever station, ever household locked down, eyes forward, ears pierced for what seemed like no explanation. A terrorist attack against the intangible idea of our country; 2,751 people killed: policemen, firefighters, the 8-5ers, gone into dust. Everything moved in slow motion for Tuesday Sept. 11, 2001. The next day everything moved in fast forward as the heads of state attempted to rationalize the irrational. The War on Terror began and continues. 

I've become accustomed to the  dissatisfaction for everything involved with that day for the last 7 years. I, being far away from ground zero physically and emotionally, have pulled far back from the high wave that fuels the tragedy and continuing sorrow of those most affected by the aftermath. I remain unscathed. I thought little about it on the seventh anniversary and very little about it influence my activities. Most in my direct periphery said and did nothing to commiserate. Remembering now on the day after feels like I've missed a step descending upon the memories.