The ringing of my alarm clock yelled for me to wake up. I shuffled myself out of bed and rubbed my eyes, welcoming myself into the world. The sun shined through my window, lighting up my room in Hoboken, New Jersey. My mom was pacing around the kitchen, getting herself and my breakfast ready. I threw my clothes on as fast as I could and rushed into the kitchen where eggs and bacon were waiting for me. My dad passed by me as he left for work. Both he and my mom worked in the Twin Towers for Bank of America, but he had a higher position than my mom, so he had to leave earlier.

        My mom and I left 20 minutes after my dad did so she could drive me to school. The weather was nice, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, so I knew I made the right choice by wearing my favorite cargo shorts and graphic t-shirt. Just ten minutes later I was sitting in my homeroom at Apple Montessori Middle School, waiting for the bell to ring. 

       “Jack Harris,” my teacher called.

       “Here,” I quickly responded, not wanting to be marked absent.

       When the clock struck 8:30, the bell rang, and everyone flooded the halls. People went every which way to get to first period. Just 30 minutes into first period people started talking about a plane crash and whispering about something that happened in New York City. Anything that happened in New York especially was a big deal because we lived so close. Teachers tried to keep it quiet and hushed the students talking about it, but it still spread like wildfire.

       “The Twin Towers,” said one student in my class. “Two planes hit them and they both crashed to the ground.”

       “No they didn't; it's just a rumor,” said another. 

       My heart stopped, and I went quiet. All the feelings I have felt before and some I haven’t came flooding to me. The terror and thought of my parents dawned on me and made me sick to my stomach. What happened to them? Were they okay? Did they get hurt? I stopped thinking; nothing inside of me was working. It was like it turned something inside of me off and it would never turn back on.

       By lunch everyone had heard what happened, and there was no denying it. The smoke rolled through the sky for miles growing closer and closer to the school. Teachers were scrambling, and students were talking. It was clear blue, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but now the sky was dark like one big smokey debris cloud concealed and painted the whole sky and didn’t want to let one ray of sunlight through.

       That day teachers didn’t really give work, and if they did no one did it. People were all too distracted by the Towers, and this included me. I couldn’t get the thought off my mind. Were my parents hurt, or did they die? I hoped and prayed they were both okay, but I knew that was unlikely. 

       I sat in my last class of the day staring at the clock. One minute passed, and then another, and soon the bell rang. I rushed out and onto my bus, knowing I couldn’t get home fast enough. 

       I bursted into my house and rushed to turn the news on. In seconds I knew it was true. All over the news they were talking about it.

       “At 8:45 a plane hit the North Tower in New York City near the 80th floor,” said one reporter. “Just 18 minutes later, at 9:03, a second plane hit the South Tower near the 60th floor.” 

       No one was home, and no one was going to come home. I sat there that night and didn't move. I just sat there and stared at the wall. The TV still played, but the thought of being alone and never seeing my parents again hurt me in ways I had never hurt before. I didn’t just stub my toe or trip and fall. My parents were dead, and I couldn’t do anything about it.

       The sky was still smokey and dark from the previous day, and the sun didn’t shine when my alarm clock woke me up. I had to get my own breakfast ready this morning and pack my own lunch. No one was leaving for work early in the morning, and no one ate breakfast with me. It was just me there by myself. I didn’t want to accept it, but I had to.

       I had to leave extra early for school because I had to walk. I inhaled the leftover smoke from the day before as I walked to school. I tread for miles just to get to school, and when I finally got there I was exhausted.

       No one was smiling and laughing like normal. Everyone was just sad, and upset, but I didn’t blame them. I didn’t laugh either, but I also didn’t cry or show it. I just showed up and was there. I didn’t do all my work like a perfect kid, but I didn’t do nothing. 

       My friend approached me in my last class of the day.   “Do you want to spend the night at my house?”

       My face lit up, and soon his did too.

-Cameron K.