I Salute You

Everyone has a story, a place, a moment, a memory they remember every 11th. Mine? had walked through the doorway of my eighth grade sewing class when I first knew something was wrong. 

My hand gripped my turquoise plastic backpack, wisps of my messy dirty-blonde hair falling upon my face, as I traipsed in to an empty chair next to my best friend. Her eyes were searching mine, her cheeks devoid of color. All I had to do is look up.

We watched. All we could do is watch as it happened on a tiny little screen that flickered with streams of static, which seemed to remind us of the distance between us and them, the distance which inhibited us from doing anything but watch as the streets diminished behind a cloud of dust and screams.  NYMag put a great article out, if you have a moment.

@ 2011 by Rachel Lowry. All Rights Reserved. Photographs via GMA's Instagram and Gothamist.com. 

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