Remembering September 11, 2001, 18 years later. I was sitting in 7th grade math class when my teacher, Mrs. Ferree, turned on the television so we could all watch the news reports. I remember it like I remember all the bad things that ever happened to me. What’s this called? It probably has a name, but I will refer to it as nostalgia’s ugly step sister.
I can still taste my breakfast. I can smell the class room. I can feel my heart beating out of my chest while I grip my desk. It was my first real feeling of overwhelming and gut wrenching anxiety. I wanted to cry. I wanted my mom. I wanted to believe it was all an accident and everything would be fine.