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11

Sep

katrinaszish: The view out of our kitchen window — the source of the 9/11 memorial lights. Makes Fashion Week seem so frivolous. I still feel so emotional thinking about that unbelievably tragic day. Brant and I saw the towers collapse. Like Katrina, I also saw the towers collapse.  Actually, my story went a little more like this: I was in my sixth grade science class, more or less RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from the towers.  When the first plane hit, it sounded like thunder, but when my teacher lifted the blinds up, I saw a huge firey hole in the middle of the first tower.  We were soon after evacuated to a classroom further away from the towers, but some of my classmates straggled behind and watched the second plane circle around and hit the back of the building.  My dad and sister came to pick me up soon after, and when we got back to our loft, our neighbor was screaming that the tower had fallen.  I remember imaging that it fell straight down and that I would see the top antenna sticking out down my block.  It wasn’t long after that that the police rang out intercom and we had to evacuate.  As my dad, my sister and I walked away from our apartment, towards my aunt’s in Greenwich Village (my mom was stuck in Brooklyn, where she works), police rode by on flat beds, terror in their voices as they urged us to move faster.  Part way through SoHo, I heard someone scream and turned around.  I saw the second building collapse, a sight I’ll never forget.  Debris sputtered out of the top in a waterfall-like motion.  I suppose it was surreal at the time, because then I barely cried or felt upset.  Now, 9 years later, I’m all ready to go out to a college party, but I had to write my story. 

katrinaszish:

The view out of our kitchen window — the source of the 9/11 memorial lights. Makes Fashion Week seem so frivolous. I still feel so emotional thinking about that unbelievably tragic day. Brant and I saw the towers collapse.

Like Katrina, I also saw the towers collapse.  Actually, my story went a little more like this:

I was in my sixth grade science class, more or less RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from the towers.  When the first plane hit, it sounded like thunder, but when my teacher lifted the blinds up, I saw a huge firey hole in the middle of the first tower.  We were soon after evacuated to a classroom further away from the towers, but some of my classmates straggled behind and watched the second plane circle around and hit the back of the building.  My dad and sister came to pick me up soon after, and when we got back to our loft, our neighbor was screaming that the tower had fallen.  I remember imaging that it fell straight down and that I would see the top antenna sticking out down my block.  It wasn’t long after that that the police rang out intercom and we had to evacuate.  As my dad, my sister and I walked away from our apartment, towards my aunt’s in Greenwich Village (my mom was stuck in Brooklyn, where she works), police rode by on flat beds, terror in their voices as they urged us to move faster.  Part way through SoHo, I heard someone scream and turned around.  I saw the second building collapse, a sight I’ll never forget.  Debris sputtered out of the top in a waterfall-like motion.  I suppose it was surreal at the time, because then I barely cried or felt upset.  Now, 9 years later, I’m all ready to go out to a college party, but I had to write my story. 

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