Faces of Disbelief

“I can be your hero baby”

I had never been to a funeral before September 11, 2001. I imagined funeral services were similar to the candlelight vigils I attended on the evening of the most horrific terrorist attack in our nation’s history. The crowds gathered in the fellowship hall and grassy hills on the outskirts of campus told a story none of us would ever forget. The faces of disbelief, the somber tears and the mournful eyes of so many people were akin to a funeral service.

At eight o’clock in the morning on September 11, I strolled into my first class of the day at Fredonia State University. The first two weeks of freshman year had been fantastic.  One and a half hours later, I walked out of English Composition to a changed world. I left behind the innocence and safety of a pre-911 existence. Students on the sidewalk were sobbing into each other’s shoulders. Strangers were quieter than usual. I looked to my side, where my freshman friend, Megan, was just as puzzled as me. After passing several people on the way back to my dorm room in Nixon Hall, I began to have a sick feeling in my stomach. Something had happened, but I wasn’t sure what. An Asian student stopped me on the way into my dorm and told me what had happened in New York City and the Pentagon. I didn’t realize the immensity of the situation until I clicked on the tiny television in my room. My roommate was still sleeping, so I kept the volume low. It wasn’t long before my roommate was awake and the entire floor was tuning into the events as they unfolded.

I immediately emailed my mother at home to ask about my father. My father worked in Manhattan, blocks away from the twin towers. Thoughts shifted to his safety as I began to worry about more attacks. The college announced the cancellation of classes for the remainder of the day. Everyone was excited at first, but the mood on campus was soon altered. The impact was just being felt. September 11^th brought people together. I didn’t get along with my roommate, but on that day, I did. I attended two vigils and met up with my tennis teammates and coach to pray. My tennis family was the closest thing I had to a family in college. We all stuck together. My dad didn’t get home until late that Tuesday evening. He had to take a ferry during the mass exodus out of the city.  September 11^th was like a funeral service for me. The faces of disbelief and sadness are hard to forget. I will never forget English Composition or walking to my room that September morning. Even after ten years, the images are as recent as if they just happened.

“Hold me in your arms tonight”