That day

The leaden skies overhead this morning are in sharp contrast to the bright, clear skies of that morning. A friend of mine, who worked across the street from the World Trade Center, had the presence of mind to buy a disposable camera on his way out of the building that day. What I remember was there wasn’t a cloud in the sky that day, save the smoke billowing from the towers. I also remember another picture, of a woman and her little boy, joining the exodus walking north from downtown, and the terror etched across his face.
A year later, our company had a small observation of the anniversary in the office. We were supposed to gather in the conference room. I didn’t. Not because I harbored some deep-seated anti-American feeling, but because I would have cried my eyes out. So I went outside, and stood and watch the day continue on.
There are six hours of that day, six hours after the last tower fell, that I simply don’t remember. I was working too hard, I guess. Trying to forget what I saw on TV, 3,600 miles from home.


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