I remember that morning five years ago, when I was only in third grade.
My family didn't have a T.V. because it had broken down two years before, and we hadn't listened to the radio, since my parents were rushing to get me to my friend's house down the street since we carpooled together.
I vaguely remember the mother of my friend, Melanie, talking nervously on her cell phone. Maybe it's just my imagination.
But I DO remember when we got to school and were standing on the blacktop, and saw a plane flying overhead.
"Look at the plane!" I said.
"I heard someone hijacked a plane and flew it into this building," said Mel.
"What does hijacked mean?"
"I dunno. Like they forced the plane to fly into the building."
"Oh. That's interesting. Wanna play hopscotch now?"
It's almost hard to believe that in that second, when I first heard the news, I barely even cared. Like airplanes crashed into buildings everyday. How could I have not realized that many, many people had died?
And after I learned what it all really meant.. I remember the times I refused to fly on an airplane. The days I was scared out of my mind that the next plane that came over the hill was going to fly into my house, or my school. The nights when every step I took out of my room was filled with the horror that there might be a bomb planted under my foot.
In memory of the day that changed our lives...