Chapter Text
“They say you can measure the impact of an event on humanity by the amount of remembrance. There are small occasions that may change one person’s life. Those occasions might be remembered thoroughly by one, maybe few people, but what is one person in the boundless ocean of people who wander our world for only one lifetime, while the life on earth itself does not know expiration? No, I am talking about events that will eternally be remembered by humankind. Events where each person, until their death, remembers what they did that moment. No matter how insignificant their doing might have been. When daily routine suddenly becomes memorable, simply due to the coincidence that something else, somewhere else, happened in the same moment, then you know the impact on humanity. When two numbers, a month and a day, make all the people in the room talk about the same event, then you know the impact on humanity. When children, born after the event, still know about it, like they were there, then you know the impact on humanity. When a single event separates the calculation of time in before and after, then you know the impact on humanity.
On September 11th, 2001 I was ten years old. And just like anyone else who is old enough to remember, I remember exactly what I did that day:
It was a Tuesday and I was in school. I liked Tuesday mornings, because it was a double period PE. I was a pretty athletic kid, after all sport was a way to put distance between me and home.
We were inside the gym, playing basketball and that day I was annoyed as hell, because I was put in a team with only one kid that was actually invested in the game, so we basically had to play on our own. Our teacher Coach Pristan, who we lovingly called Coach P, always had a radio playing in the background when we were playing games or working out. It was a habit of his and I had tuned it out after the first week of school. I was just so focused on the games we played - this one in particular, due to the fact that we were about to lose which I could not let happen.
When I had the ball I was surrounded by our opponents and Lewis didn’t look any better. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Tyler, a non-athletic kid, that was quite new to the school and whom I had never actually heard talk before. I didn’t want to, the chances of him making the hoop were microscopic but for the sake of fairness and teamplay I threw the ball as I yelled his name. The kid didn’t flinch, didn’t move and the orange ball smashed straight into his face. If it had surprised me, I probably would have been a lot more mad at him but I had already thrown the game when I yelled Tyler’s name. So while everyone else groaned at him in annoyance for not participating I was about to apologize for hitting him. I felt honestly bad. Tyler didn’t deserve the hostility from the other boys, but right when I opened my mouth, Tyler burst out “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
We all froze, including me. I realized quickly the outbreak wasn’t directed at me when through the sudden silence of the gym, the radio was all that we could hear: “... as an aircraft just hit the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City at 8:46 today. We have no further details yet on how it came to this tragedy. NY Fire Department is already on scene, evacuating the building complex. It is not impossible that this indeed was a terrorist attack although we do not exclude a technological failure either. We will keep you updated on the situation.”
The song that had been playing prior to the interruption continued from the beginning again. It was Fallin’ by Alicia Keys. A number one hit at the time and ever since then, this song brings me back to that day.
Lewis was the first one who dared to speak again. “So… what does that mean now?” We all stayed silent. None of us knew. I had to think about Tyler’s outburst. Now in hindsight he must have sensed the importance of this moment right then and there, while we others remained oblivious.
I came to learn that it varied greatly. Many people felt the weight of the situation instantly without knowing any details. Some labeled it as just another tragedy, blind to the momentousness of consequences, but we were ten year old boys - innocent and impatient to hit puberty. We weren’t ready to face a cruel reality outside our country hometown, so we mostly counted to the blind ones.
Coach P finally took control. “Tragedies happen all the time. I’m sure NYFD will handle the situation.” He was one of the blind ones as well.
The man picked up the abandoned basketball and looked at the clock. I did too. I remember it said 8:59.
“Meanwhile we gotta game to finish’ up. Tyler go get some ice from my office. Ya face is swellin’ up.” The Coach said with his deep southern accent. He was from Louisiana and a retired Marine. One of the many reasons, a lot of us boys looked up to him.
Tyler did as told and shuffled off to the office as I realized I still hadn’t apologized. Lewis pulled me out of my thoughts when he complained to Coach P that we were now one guy short and that the game was lost anyways. Giving up was something the Coach hated. I would have made Lewis shut up if I had been closer to him and I already expected some push-ups but what threw me off completely was that they never came. Instead the Coach said: “Lewis is right. It’s important to know when a fight is lost or else you’ll lose a lot more than just one fight.” Later on I noticed this exact situation should have made me understand that he wasn’t a blind one. He had known at the same moment as Tyler, but he kept cool because he wanted to protect his boys from the violence he knew just too well from his experience of fighting wars for a living.
Winner played winner in the following round. It had taken a while to figure out which team was supposed to play. Some had the same amount of wins but we had lost anyway, so we were benched for now. I grabbed my water bottle and was about to take a seat on the bleachers when I heard the Coach. “Evan! Go after Tyler. See what takes him so long. Y’all go to the nurse if he needs to.”
I quickly obeyed with a “Yes sir!” and jogged off, my water bottle still in hand. This gave me the chance to not having to listen to Lewis complain about the lost game.
I found Tyler in Coach P’s office. His face was actually swollen up but I was sure that if I hadn’t thrown so soft it would have been a lot worse.
I entered the small, with junk and paper overloaded room. “Hey, Coach P sent me to look if you were okay. I’m sorry for hitting your face. I should have made sure you saw the ball coming, before throwing.”
Tyler didn’t look at me. So I tried it again. “I can…” but I didn’t get further because Tyler just put a finger on his lips. I took the hint and shut up. Now I could hear the small transistor radio that the Coach kept on his file cabinet, quietly playing. Like I said: a habit.
I stepped closer until I was right next to him, our shoulders touching, in order for me to hear what Tyler was listening to. “...just got word from our New York City studio that a second airplane has hit the South Tower of the World Trade Center. At this point there is no room for speculation anymore. This is a terroristic attack on the United States of America…”
I was frozen in place and suddenly the office seemed even smaller and colder than it was. The clock behind the radio showed 9:07. I don’t know why I remember that so clearly. Maybe because even though I was only ten years old it was that moment when I understood that something truly massive had happened.
“...NYFD is fighting to rescue as many people from the towers as possible. It is an extremely dangerous situation…” I could feel Tyler tightening up too next to me at the words of the anchor. We looked at each other. His eyes were filled with fear as he whispered “My dad is a firefighter there.”
If I had fully understood the situation in New York, if I had understood how bad it actually was for the first responders I would have thrown up right there. But all I had was a lame attempt of consolation. “Tyler, I’m sure he’s really good at what he does and he will be fine.”
Tyler nodded somberly. “He is the best. I’m living with my mom right now but I still worry about him.”
I put my hand on the younger boy's shoulder. “Of course you do. He’s your dad, Tyler.” He looked up to me. “Please don’t call me that. I hate that name. Please call me TK. I’m TK Strand.”