I Remember

I remember when they started a war. The first war I had ever known in my lifetime, outside of history. Because isn’t that what they teach in history, war? The Korean War, the Hundred Year War that wasn’t even a hundred wars, (I mean, really!) World Wars, the French Revolution, the American Revolution, the Civil War, Greek wars, Egyptian wars, random hundreds of Chinese wars. For as long as history and people can remember, there was war, but this was the first act I had seen and the first that made me remember. Remember when people asked to strike back, like it was the Pearl Harbor second coming. Remember when they started re-flying the red, white and blue. Remember when others called for peace. Remember when people couldn’t make up their minds. Remember that they still can’t.

 I remember… my principal coming over the intercom, around nine o’clock, announcing that the World Trade Center has been attacked. I remember the teachers shaking, huddled together in the hallways, and whispering, sharing some secret. No lessons for about two hours, as if the whole school was holding its breath in wait. Images on school TVs that hang in corners of classrooms being the only life. I remember being too young to understand, except that something bad had happened, even when I saw it with my own eyes. As if not understanding would make it not true. I remember wanting them to explain, waiting with my right leg bouncing. I remember that they clicked the TVs off at the two hour marker, watching no longer bearable. I remember the feeling of waiting the whole day, just to go home.

I remember that I watched the box and antennae TV with my dad on the couch. I remember seeing planes crash into skyscrapers, once, twice. Smoke, fire. A third plane and a fourth, as if once wasn’t enough. I remember learning that the fourth was meant for the White House or Capitol. I remember the horror that the President could have been killed, the White House destroyed. I remember fear. I remember wondering if they would attack other places. I remember wondering if they would attack near home, Anniston, because that’s where the nearest military base was located. What if we are next? I remember morbid thoughts that nine year olds shouldn’t have to think, but I did.

I don’t remember which grade I was in but that it was 3^rd or 4^th. I still have to count backwards to figure it out, but I was pretty sure it was 3^rd. I don’t remember which teacher I had, either Ms. DeLee or Mrs. Remson. I remember she was blonde, but both of them were blonde so I guess it doesn’t really matter. I don’t remember the ride home, except that it was in Daddy’s silver Toyota. I don’t remember my mother or my brother. I remember the vague feeling when they come home, but I don’t remember when they came or what they were doing.

I don’t remember what color the couch was, it could have been green or crème or brown. Most likely, it was green, since that was Mama’s favorite color, but I can’t remember if she bought that sofa or if the Schueslers, our neighbors, had left it in the house as some reminder of an old relative. I remember it was exactly two years after my Pepaw died, the day before my Mamaw’s birthday, the day they buried him. One of the most horrible presents ever, but it helped me remember her birthday.

I don’t remember what we did that day or what my Dad said to me. Maybe, he explained what the Twin Towers were. I remember not knowing what it meant. I remember thinking of all the Americans who died and of who would be told that they weren’t coming home. I remember watching stories of firefighters and bystanders. Smoke and debris so thick that they had to run and almost suffocated. I remember learning later that it wasn’t just Americans, but some Chinese and people from other countries too. That there was more to the story than I thought.

But mostly, I remember that couch. I remember sitting on that couch with my knees to my chest. I remember that my dad held me there with one arm wrapped around me and fingers gripping tight. I remember all we did was watch faraway images behind the glass. I remember not wanting to remember anything else.