This idea was taken from the book of momlogues called With Their Eyes. It is a collection of stories told by students and staff at Stuyvesant High School from September 11th 2001. I was not there, and I did not see if fall, although it did make a huge impact on me, and my heart goes out to anyone who dealt with a loss. This is my idea of what a student might have seen with borrowed ideas from some of the momlogues.
It certainly seemed like a normal day at Stuyvesant High School. The day started too early for me, but I never complained. I met up with my friends like I always did, then went to class. It was during first period, English, that I looked out the window and saw something hit the side of the Twin Towers. I didn't believe what I saw until there was smoke, but most people just shrugged it off. Like it didn't happen or something.
Second period went on without a hitch until a second plane struck the buildings. Then they saw the fire. And that's when they started screaming. Crying and huddling together, scared for their lives. I couldn't stop staring at it, the World Trade Center collapsing in on itself as people fled from the front doors.
Outside, cars stopped, the street was a huge traffic jam, but no one really seemed to care. I mean, there were two planes in the side of these huge towers. Suddenly, Chemistry didn't seem too interesting. We were all gathered inside the theatre and everyone was crying and scrunched together. One of the staff told us to hold the hand of the person next to us – that it didn't matter who they were, and whether or not we knew them.
So I grabbed the hand of the boy next to me and held on tight, because now that I had someone to anchor me down, it felt like I was gonna fall apart. He just squeezed my hand lightly and gave me a watery smile. I tried to smile back, but I couldn't do it. I had watched the planes crash, seen the people hopelessly jumping from their windows, heard the wail of the ambulances and all those sirens.
It was then that I thought of the stairwell at home. I would always go there because it was so quiet, but I could be as loud as I wanted. I sang in there, cried in there, but it seemed so pointless now, because before now, I realized I didn't have much to cry over before. Up to this point, everything was just so controversial.
So I held tighter to the boys' hand and sank down to the floor. He held me there, and it made me the slightest bit glad, because it kept me rooted to the spot, and for a little while, everything would be alright. I remembered that my mother must have been blessed by the angels, because that morning was her day off. Otherwise, she would've been up there, screaming on the 76 floor of the World Trade Center.
When the FBI and the firefighters came, I just wanted to go home and hug my mother, but I knew I had to do something to help. We were told to stay with someone no matter where we went, to take them home with us. So the boy and I headed out to give blood and hand out food to the soldiers.
It was then I saw the flag in front of out school. The red and white stripes standing out against the black-smoke filled sky. The blue and white stars waving proudly as a sign of hope. And I knew it would be alright eventually, and I could finally smile.