This day, for some, is burned into memory. Other have forgotten it and hopefully, it never repeats itself. History has a knack for repeating, and while sometimes that can be good, more often it’s not.
As an ex- New Yorker, this is a day I’ll always remember. It was confusing, terrifying, and surreal for thirteen year old me. But before I get to that moment, I need to give some context.
It was a clear, blue-skied Tuesday in September. I woke up at 6 a.m., ate my Honey Nut Cheerios, and watched my morning cartoons Beast Wars and Ace Ventura: The Animated Series. I always liked to eat breakfast quickly so I could squeeze in a game before walking to school. At the time, I was hooked on WWF Smackdown! 2 for my Playstation, playing through the career mode as my favorite Wrestler, Triple H.
Around 7:30 a.m, I stopped playing and began my short walk to school. It only took about ten minutes my school, I.S.73 in Maspeth, Queens, was right around the block.
I still remember the layout of that classroom. It was a small but somehow fit twenty-two rowdy kids. The teacher didn’t like the generic row of desks; instead, she arranged them so that eleven faced the center of each side. That way, we’d be facing one another and her during lessons.
My seat, by coincidence or fate, was positioned perfectly for what was about to happen. It had a view of the Manhattan skyline two tall metal sticks standing high about everything else. The smell of the classroom was faintly raspberry, thanks to one of my classmates’ perfume.
On the blackboard, tonight’s homework for history class was written out, along with today’s lesson topic: The American Civil War. My teacher, a diehard New York Islanders fan, had team merchandise all over the walls and windows. On the classroom door hung a 1980 Championship banner. She loved teasing Rangers fans like me who, that day happened to be donning a Mike Richter Jersey.
Normally, I loved history class. But that morning, I was lost in a daydream one of those deep, unshakeable trances where you could probably site through a metal concert and never break focus. My eyes were fixed on the skyline through the grated steel covering the window like a blanket. Then, at 8:46 a.m., I saw it a tiny black dot moving closer and closer toward one of the metal sticks. In my head, it looked almost like something out of a video gamer. And then… a fireball.
“Joe, are you with us?” My teacher asked.
I turned to her, dazed, and blurted out, “I think something happened out there.”
I didn’t describe what I saw just said something happened. She went to turn on the TV, and that’s when the horror unfolded on repeat.
Chaos ran through the city’s veins that day.
Time stood still in that classroom.
And it will forever be burned into my memory.