I'm sure many people remember exactly where they were that day --- especially my fellow late 20-somethings. Most of us were in college at the time . . . about to finish and be on our way. I was a junior at ASU. I was outside walking to my film history class when a classmate ran past me. I turned and said, "What's wrong?" He kept running, but turned and shouted, "The World Trade Center has been hit." I stopped and looked around. That's when I noticed ASU's campus was completely silent. No one was around. Quiet.

I then bolted to my class, where other students from other classes had come to watch the news. We were packed tight in the room, watching the horror on a flat screen. When the second tower was going down, it seemed like everything was in slow motion . . . even our gasps. Silence. Seconds and seconds and seconds ticked by, and then my professor, who covered his face with his hand, said, "Go home. Go home to your families." I believe he's a native of New York . . . or maybe he lived there for several years. I'm not sure. But I remember the pain. And I remember us slowly filing out of the room.

I called my mom after I left. She was in Atlanta for work, and I could hear the panic in her voice as she reminded me that her best friend, Jane, worked at the Pentagon. Jane was OK. I sat on the floor of my Bellevue Ave. apartment watching Peter Jennings for the rest of the day. I couldn't pull my eyes away. Later that day, I found out my older brother was at Ft. Gordon at the time of the attacks and had to stay in a secured room for hours. He had no idea what had happened --- he was just told he had to wait in a room until further notice.

I can't imagine what the people whose relatives and/or friends died that day felt/feel.

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