E M I L Y
<3 you crumbnut
my anaconda don’t want none
unless you got puns hun
I never know what to say on this anniversary because nothing I write ever feels correct and I don’t want to add to the flood of noise, but not saying anything doesn’t feel right either. My experience is not so different from so many others. Worse than some, yes, but I was so much luckier than so many other people.
The reality is that I don’t actually remember a lot of the day. Large patches of it are just gone. I’ve reconstructed what bits and pieces I can from outside information but a lot of my actual memory is just impressions of emotions.
I was fourteen, and I had just started high school in Rochester, and at the end of first period English class the principal came on over the loudspeaker to tell us that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York City. It would have been before the second plane hit, I think, judging by what I remember of my high school’s daily schedule. The immediate student reaction was not knowing what to make of it, and people shuffled off to their next class. I remember the poorly disguised look of worry on my teacher’s face when I told her that my father lived in New York and could I please go to the office and call him.
I’m sure I had a cell phone - one of those big clunky indestructible Nokias with the antenna you had to pull up by hand - but I can’t remember why I didn’t use it.
Wrote this last year. It’s probably all I’ll ever write about it. Too much energy.
Spotify radio station based on “Pink Moon” + Xanax = correct answer to social media today (also everything else today).