I was a senior in high school. I was in the library–dreary and brown, its earth tones even more subdued when our teacher switched on the news.
Perception is a strange and eloquent thing. The message was delivered through a small black box mounted high on a wall–but it echoed through every hallway and mind.
I was 17, indifferent to most things. It was tragic and unnerving, but I’m not certain I really got it. I’m not certain it meant anything to me. I’m still not sure it means as much as it should to me.
It still feels distant and surreal. Chicago is a long way from New York. Every anniversary brought me worry that Chicago was next–it seemed likely. That worry has carried with me, heavier than the weight of that initial attack.
My thoughts and hopes are with all those affected.