I’m sitting in class on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. It’s 9:45 in the morning. I’ve been up since eight o’clock, doing the reading for my class on Milton. I’ve not even seen a TV or heard any news.
Being neither an early riser nor a great lover of Milton’s early works, I was feeling rather disinterested in the day’s work ahead. I was thinking of a title for my paper, and absolutely dreading the test in my next class (Astronomy) and wondering how I was going to survive my long day for the week without going insane.
On this typical Tuesday morning my Milton class gathered (only four of six enrolled showed up), and I set about being grumpy, flippant and cracking the occasional cranky joke.
Suffice to say I was in a bad mood. Class had just gotten under way, when around ten o’clock another of our little class came in. She entered and sat down, apologizing for being late.
The student said to the teacher that she had been watching the drama about the World Trade Center. Not even bothering to look up, I said, “What did they try to blow it up again?”
Everyone sort of chuckled and the lady said, “No, somebody flew a plane into it.” I was dumbfounded. Surely this was a bad joke or at least a hideous error on someone’s part. What in the world was an airplane doing crashing into the World Trade Center? I felt terrible, having made light of tragedy as people so often do.
Class let out at 11:05, and I wasn’t really thinking about the plane crash. I had a test to take; I could see the drama unfold on the news tonight. Then I received a phone call from one of my friends saying that terrorists had crashed TWO planes into the World Trade Center. Tens of thousands presumed dead, planes falling, the sky falling, the end of the world, the worst parts of the Bible, and just five minutes ago I was worried about a test.
Numb from the eyebrows down, I tottered towards the Culp Center, not believing this, it must be a mistake, a hoax, (but always in the back of my mind I knew it was true). I came into the Cave; the place I normally rush through because of it’s past history with unpleasant smells.
Here in this place of notorious odor, were 20 people huddled around the big screen TV. I came in and saw what would become the oft-recycled footage of a smoking hole in a tall tower, and I came in just in time to see a replay of the second hit.
The scene is silent, and this small spot turns in on itself, and does the unfathomable. The giant aluminum firebomb slices through the second tower, showering the world in light, sound and shrapnel.
Tens of thousands presumed dead, planes falling, the sky falling, the end of the world, the worst parts of the Bible, and just one hour ago I was worried about a test.
I sat with others as we all tried to comprehend what we were seeing. Flashes of the Pentagon in flames, reports of martial law, rumors of a destroyed capital, a decimated Washington mall, and worst of all fear of a mile-high executioner, with no name or face, save a glimmer and a roar.
I sat there until a university official announced that campus was closing at noon, and that classes were canceled.
I darted back to my room, and like everyone else, sat in front of the TV. Brokaw, Jennings, Rather, the talking heads, shaken, the first intimations of outrage. Tens of thousands presumed dead, planes falling, the sky falling, the end of the world, the worst parts of the Bible, and just four hours ago I was worried about a test.
Fast Forward: Dinnertime, eating in Kingsport with friends, hiding, recovering. News comes down; explosions in Afghanistan. Now 6 p.m.: celebrations, suspicions, “make them hurt,” spectators to world crisis, the world is speeding up. Tens of thousands presumed dead, planes falling, the sky falling, the end of the world, the worst parts of the Bible, and just nine hours ago I was worried about a test.
Back home on campus: groups walking, Arabs in hiding, prayers, tears, silence, “ghost town”; every light on campus on, sounds of Brokaw, Jennings, Rather, talking heads, unguarded demands for retribution. More news, bodies, building fall, adrenaline running down, overloaded. Then – a picture; someone falling (jumping?) 80 stories, nausea, impact, fear.
Must get gas, don’t want to be alone, does anyone know what’s happening? Try to watch a movie, take my mind away, no more dead, tragic terror, heavy shadows; mark time 10 p.m. EST. Tens of thousands presumed dead, planes falling, the sky falling, the end of the world, the worst parts of the Bible, and just 13 hours ago I was worried about a test.
CUE SLEEP.
Next Day: Wake up. The world is making sense again. Sort of normal. Going back to class. Everyone trying to act “normal.”
No one is talking about “it”, but everyone walking by a TV just unconsciously asking for updates, and they linger as America seeks a resolution.
Scattered images from the clean up: crying firemen, empty airports, soldiers in the streets, rescue workers hanging a massive flag from a torn wall of the Pentagon.
So I’m recovering.
Tens of thousands may be dead, planes are grounded, the sky is smoking, the world’s not over, the Bible is turned to places of comfort, and tomorrow I have to take a test.

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