I entered the science building on the first day of class. I was not in a hurry since my previous class had ended early. While walking slowly and looking at the room numbers painted on top of the doorways in search of the chemistry lab, I heard the voice of a friend call out to me as he exited the building by the side door. “Did you hear about the airplane? It crashed into the World Trade Center.” Tom was facing in my direction, but taking baby steps backwards, pushing the door open with his book bag. He never stopped moving, neither did I, but I did answer briefly not quite understanding his words, “no, I haven’t.” As I took the last few steps to reach the chemistry lab, I tried to make sense of Tom’s report. I remembered reading about an airplane crashing into the Empire State Building after World War II. It had been a foggy day and the pilot lost his bearings. “If it happened then, perhaps it happened again,” I thought. “It’s just an accident.”
After taking a seat in one of the uncomfortable desks of Plyler Hall, I realized everyone was speaking about the airplane in New York. The professor arrived ten minutes late and the students hushed immediately. “Both towers have been attacked,” she said. “One airplane crashed into each tower.” After chemistry class followed my first lesson in Latin. Before teaching us about the nominative case, my professor shared with great sadness that two of his friends worked at the World Trade Center and he had not heard from them yet.
A television on top of a rolling cart was placed in the middle of the university’s dining hall. Everyone ate hushed, listening and watching in disbelief. I stared over and over again at the footage of airplanes crashing into a building I had visited eight years before. Footage of the Pentagon and Pennsylvania soon followed. It was September 11th, 2001, my first day of sophomore year in college.
On that day I felt insecure and vulnerable. In 1991 my family left Peru escaping terrorist attacks, but now a major terrorist attack had happened in the country that was to be a refuge from terrorist attacks for me and my family. Though bombings had happened at the World Trade Center in 1993 and Oklahoma City in 1995, the attacks of 9/11 opened my eyes to realize that not one place on earth can provide guaranteed protection. My bubble was burst and it was frightening. Thankfully our country responded bravely and courageously to the attacks, all rallying together. I will never forget the full church the following Sunday and the tears that streamed down every parishioner’s eyes at the singing of God Bless America. It was a day that marked the beginning of an era.
Picture is not mine, but is free to share.
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