Leif always preferred the front seat. Dad preferred him there too. Nightingale elementary was the last stop. It made sense. The hurried drive that followed our hurried breakfast was always accompanied by, despite my brother's and my own disagreement, NPR. Dad liked it.
On this morning, it seemed as if some sci-fi special was on. The narrator described the destruction of tall buildings in a slow, careful voice. One of desperation. One of helplessness. I shrugged it off as I stepped out of the car and quick-stepped to Spanish class, first period.
When I entered, Ms. Daughtery had the TV on. That's a first. On it, continuous replays of two skyscrappers dropping to the ground.
--
Two of my French friends, whom I only met less than a week before, and I decided to take the free Staten Island ferry to catch views of downtown. Talking to strangers comes easier to me during travels. This time, the man to my right.
We started off by talking about where I was from and how long he'd been living on Staten Island. "Well, it's boring there, but I like the quiet. I've had more than my good share of fun." He did time in the military and, in doing so, was able to see the world. "How long ago was that?" I asked. "Hm, about... 25 years." "And, how old are you now?" "51." "Ha, I'm 26..."
"I'm looking forward to the return trip back. The view of downtown must be gorgeous" I shared. "Well, it's alright. But it was much, much different then when we had the towers."
--
I'm sure many can remember the moment they first heard the news. Back then, I don't think I quite grasped how significant and how tragic it all was. On the ferry ride back from Staten Island to Manhattan, it's all I could think about.
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