Sep. 11th, 2011

kit_maxel: (Default)
It was a week and a half before my 15th birthday. I was a freshman in high school. I was a year into my newborn theatre obsession, just a month after one of the best shows I've ever done (maybe in retrospect not the best show, but it was one of the defining moments of what a theatre experience should be for me).

At 7:30ish am, my mom was driving me to school, and we were listening to the radio. There were reports of a plane hitting the World Trade Center, which was something I was only vaguely aware of as being in New York. At school one of my friends (who would later turn insanely jingoistic and join the national guard) ran up to me, asked if I'd heard. I don't remember exactly what was said, but I remember the scene between the lockers and the stairs of B building at almost 8am vividly.

My first class (homeroom/Integrated Physics and Chemistry), we watched the news. We saw the second plane hit and the first tower collapse. Second period was Theatre, teacher said this was something we would all remember for the rest of our lives; we watched the news repeat clips. Lunch I don't really remember. Third period, English, my teacher said school must go on and we must carry on with our studies. One of my classmates was worried because her dad was in New York. I don't remember if I ever found out if he was ok. I don't remember anything else from the rest of the school day...

After school my mom and I had planned to go shopping because my birthday was coming up, but everything was closed. It was eerie how empty the town seemed.

Mostly I was overcome with teenage "what has this got to to with me?" People worried that we might be attacked because there was a lage army base in our town, but I always felt like that was more paranoia than anything.

It'd been easy to get on base before (My mom had clients on base), and now it was impossible. The border crossing got worse. Flags went up everywhere. Flying to visit my dad, which had always been pretty simple, was suddenly an insane rigmarole. In fact, most of the time I've spent flying has been post-9/11. People talk about how easy flying used to be, and I kind of vaguely remember it, but really, for me, flying has always been an ordeal.

My friend and the dumbass jock white boys in my geography class completely fed into the jingoism that was rampant in our town; I got pretty fed up with their racist jokes, which they thought were hilarious.

I wonder a lot about what life would be like if the attacks hadn't happened. How easy it would still be to fly.

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kit_maxel

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