We had looked forward to the vacation. I had something important and big to do: telling my family that we were going to get married.
And then, out of the blue, my wife’s brother called us. We were on the beach, enjoying ourselves. It was a fine day, too. And he said it: Planes flew into the World Trade Center.
We had no further information. All we could come up with where small planes, Cesna or something. And we didn’t really understand why he would call us with that.
And then, we came home to our apartment and saw the news.
I will always remember that room. That apartment. That acute sense of disbelief. Not at all grasping what happened–what lead to that event, or what it would mean to the world.
This must be what history feels like.