September 11, 2001.
That was the date I put in my planner that morning. I had gone to school a block from the World Trade Center. My dad was at  work. He worked in a building four blocks away from the World Trade Center, five from where I went to school, three from where my mom used to work before she died. I was in fifth grade. Eleven years old.
We were learning how to divide fractions that morning. Flip the second fractions bottom number to the top and multiply it by the reciprocal. That was as simple as a New York morning could get. The sky was a clear blue. I was in a fairly good mood.
“That's it! You’ve got it! Now just flip that bottom number to the top and-”
Bam!
Noise exploded everywhere.
Instinctively I ducked down and covered my ears.
A few moments after the explosion, I stood up very slowly and carefully and looked out the window to see what had caused the noise, but all I saw was a thick coating of dust and sludge. I could hear kids crying.

“Ok everyone, stay calm! No need to worry! It’s ok!” Our teacher was desperately trying to calm everybody down. I was still looking out the window. I knew that I shouldn’t leave, but I really wanted to find out what had happened. I was young, curious. While the teacher was assisting some scared kids I snuck out of the room. I walked down the hallway towards the back door. Everyone was too busy freaking out to notice me. Right as I got to the end of the hallway I heard the principles voice over the loudspeaker:

“Attention everyone! The building is now under evacuation! Stay calm and orderly and get out of the building as fast as possible!” I speedily jogged out of the building, careful not to be seen, and waited for my class to come out of the door. As soon as a few of the students in my homeroom came out of the door, I stepped in line with them. We walk at a fast pace away from the direction of the World Trade Center. I didn’t know if it was just me, but it looked like it was on fire, and slowly, very, very slowly, falling down. We continue walking for about ten minutes when it was clarified that I was right. Another loud boom sounded as the ground vibrates and shakes under our feet. I look back and I see the one of the Twin Towers collapsed onto the ground.

“Come one keep it moving people! We have to get you to safety!” The police officers were already arriving and directing traffic. We walk like zombies, not looking back. Always looking straight ahead and letting our minds wander. Putting our bodies on auto-pilot. We do this until we hear kids coughing from behind us and are snapped out of our daze. I rapidly turn around and see a huge tsunami of dust and debris coming towards us at a slow but constant rate. Kids are collapsing, not able to breath. The stench is a choking, stiff odor, like ash and stinky mud. It waters our eyes like a garden hose waters flowers. Teachers are rushing back to help the fallen kids.

“Everyone cover your mouth and nose! Go as fast as you can! The rest of the city is being evacuated right now! We have to catch up to them, come on now!” All of the teachers were at the back helping the younger kids keep up. We hear screams. Small screams from a twisted ankle, or a scraped shin; and we hear loud, long blood-curdling screams of death. They make my bones shake and my skin have goose bumps. I start to jog a little bit despite the smoke and rubble getting in my eyes and the difficulty to breathe. I take a quick look behind us and I see collapsed buildings and panicked people. I keep going.

We keep walking for about 45 minutes. We finally run into a huge group of people who are being directed by policemen. There wasn’t a lot though because they were probably at the World Trade Center. I ran into the group of people looking for my dad. I didn’t see him anywhere, so I kept walking.

We arrive at a big building I have never seen before. It looks and feels like a prison, by the way we are all being filled in. Everything is drab and unfamiliar to me because we have walked all the way out of the city, the only place I've ever known. We were evacuated. We all file in through the door of the big, unfamiliar building and are assigned rooms. I can’t find my parents, so they assign me a room with other adults and other children I don’t know. I lay on one of the cots they have laid out in the cramped room, and listen to the conversation of the adults. I try to listen, but it's hard to focus because they keep mentioning words I don’t understand, such as “terrorist” and “Al Qaeda”. I decide to sleep. I start to drift off as the conversation of my inmates gets louder and sobs come from the people around me. I wonder if my dad is gone. He couldn't be though, not after all we’d been through together… He couldn’t be gone.

I wake up reluctantly when my inmate gently shake me and tell me it is time to go. I am about to refuse, when through groggy, sleep filled eyes, I see their tear-stained faces and remember my dad. So I got up, and we got moving.

There were buses to pick us up now, so we didn’t have to walk all that way back. The streets are bumpy with chunks of broken concrete and a thick layer of dust covers everything. There are people with cameras, and people with bright, neon orange vests and hel5r5fr5fmets on the streets. There are big machines moving parts collapsed buildings, and dogs sniffing in between the cracks of fallen structures. I am let off at one of the many buildings they are dropping people off, in order by their last name. They said they did it this way so it will be easier to find my family if we got split up. When I enter the building, I look around for familiar faces and see my neighbor. I walk over to her, say a quick and shy hello, and sat down next to her. And I waited. And waited, and waited…

After quite some time an officer came up to me and told me that my dad was in intensive care, he had had an asthma attack because of all the dust and it had clogged his lungs. He told me that my dad would be there a while, but there was someone at my house that could take care of me until he gets better. The officer offered to drive me home and I politely accepted the offer. I trudge into my house and there is a pretty blonde lady called  Caroline sitting at my kitchen table. She says hello, and that she brought me a letter from my dad. “Thanks,” I say a little shyly but mostly grateful. I open the letter and start to read:

Hi sweety!
     I'm in the hospital right now and I miss you so much! Don’t worry, i'm not seriously hurt. Just an asthma attack. I don’t want you to worry about what happened and I want you to know that its not your fault if anyone is hurt. I want you to know that i’m going to be ok. I miss you so very much and i’m praying for you every day. Caroline will take care of you. Shes an old friend of mine. I love you so much and I will be home before you know it!
        Lots of Love!             Dad.