9/11

... i zigzagged my way through the lobby that morning, through the large halls of teenage gossip, walking by those glass walls of athletic trophies, nodding to my friends in a puffy wakeup face, hearing that obnoxious bell ring on my way to class. i was fifteen years old that day, a scrawny kid with a changing voice, a heavy backpack, and big dreams, worrying about my next exam, thinking about friday night lights, fretting about the girl i was going to ask to homecoming that year—living safe and sound inside the american empire. rome had ruled for a thousand years, and now america, my home country, having emerged victoriously from the cold war a decade earlier, had laid claim to the earthly throne, benevolently, i thought, with its brands, its embassies, and its military bases around the world, but, if circumstances required, always with a big stick—as i would later read between the lines of history class. the economy was strong, the year before we had survived the frantically-feared arrival of y2k, and on that tuesday morning in america, all seemed well—all seemed peaceful and quiet as my teacher called my name for attendance. “here!” i yelled back, joining millions of other millennials in classrooms across the country, waking up in blissful ignorance to the lingering consequences of u.s. policy that would soon come barreling in from the past, to the shocking news that would pour through that boxed intercom, to those ninety minutes in 2001 that would change the course of history—beginning at 8:46 a.m., eastern standard time, on 9/11 ...