September 11th: Inside Out

Who ever thought a single plane ride could change my entire outlook on life? I never thought it could. I had planned a perfect year. I stayed up hours before the first day of school sketching out every day to keeping away from home. My family drove me crazy! I was all set to begin my busy social life- my personal time to me, thank you very much- over the fall, and preceding school year; when I walked in on my parents talking. Then it happened.
They told me they decided to go to California for 2 ½ months this fall as a family trip and return a week before Thanksgiving. How unfair right? That’s what I thought too. Sure, I would have loved to leave New York for a while. I was all about experiencing life, the whole “put myself out into the real world” thing. You know those surges of freedom and rebellion. Plus, I’d get out of school! However, my parents were just trying to ruin my life. This was my year. My experiences, my freedom, my friends. Me.
My world was at an end! The scene of my newly remodeled kitchen blurred before my eyes. My stomach began tossing, turning. Nooo! How could my family be so unfair? “Quality time”… blah, blah, blah.
So we boarded the plane, early morning in early- mid September.
The back of the plane became the host to my sister and I. She bugged me the entire time, trying to start conversations, you know, the works. Finally, I shouted at her. I needed my personal space. How could my sister actually think she owns me? Control my moods…, interrupt my life…, my sister is so egotistical. Older people think they own the world right? Wrong. They are just as clueless as the rest of us, only they have more experience. Looking back, I can’t believe I used to be this way, be this person. As you can see, I thought I was the only thing that mattered. That plane trip changed my life.
I tried opening my bag of peanuts. My sister leaned over and said, sickening sweet, “Can I help?” Of course she can’t help! Who does she think she is? Just because she’s older, she’s better right? Well, that’s not what I thought of her. “Of course not,” I snapped. “I don’t want any help from you! Ever.” What a stupid thing to say.
“Hey, I’ve had enough of your attitude.”
My attitude? MY attitude?!? Oh now she’s done it!
“I’ve had enough of your attitude, and enough of you. I catch you so much as looking at me, I’ll have you wishing you were never born!” Was I on a power trip that day or what!?! I’m just telling it like it is… or rather was…
I soon fell asleep in the uncomfortable seat. Before I knew it, I felt my sister’s hand on my face. “Can’t you just leave me alone?” I muttered. Bad idea.
“Shh. Don’t make a sound!” I knew something was wrong. I sensed the tension on the plane and quickly shut-up.
“Did you hear that?” a voice came from behind the curtain shielding the public from the pilot’s cockpit. It was one of those voices that immediately sends shrills up your spine. A low grumbled voice. With an accent.
“Two men have attacked our plane.” I read those words on a scrap piece of napkin my sister shoved at me. I was filled with excitement! In my own little world, I always told myself that I could never get hurt; so when I saw the two men wearing black suits and carrying guns come in between the aisles of the plane, I was thinking, “Maybe I could get an autograph or something.” The whole world revolved around me.
I watched as the men took turns pointing guns in people’s faces, threatening them with cruel laughs. I listened as the pilot frequently begged for his life. I sat, fixated on the dead body lying in the aisle, while grasping for my sister’s hand. Fear began to crawl into my skin, wrapping itself around my heart. I knew this was the end. Something major was about to happen and I was up here, in the airplane that threatened my life.
Everything seemed to happen in a blur. My parents were taken captive in to the cockpit. People frantically asked, in whispers, to use a cell phone to call loved ones. My sister wrapped herself in her American flag blanket, thought better of it, and hid underneath her seat. A young couple decided, “Why not?” and headed to the bathroom in the back of the plane, leaving their 18- month child kicking and screaming in the seat directly in front of mine.
At about this point, I realized that not everything was about me. We were all about to die a horrible death, and there was nothing any of us- or anyone else, for that matter- could do about it. The other passengers immediately became my family, as we suffered together with fear and confusion.
In no time at all, we had gotten “out of hand” and the two men tried to quiet us down, meanwhile shooting those who seemed to cause the frantic chaos. Apparently, our cries of anguish were heard because many more men came out of the cockpit to “settle us”. Two buff men came out last shielding whatever they were carrying behind their backs. When the other terrorists (for at this point in time, people, though frightened, had put together that this was a terrorist attack) saw these two men, they parted themselves like they would unto a royal, leaving the aisle way clear. Each man pulled out what they were holding, and held it above their masked faces. Most became silent; others wept. They were carrying human heads, held by the hair, forcing the victims to have troll doll characteristics. They waited a moment it let this sink in, and starting shouting victory.
“I recognize those troll dolls…” my mind began to say. Then it hit me. I slowly sunk to the floor, tears trembling down my cheeks. My parents had been attacked my terrorists. Sadness came and forced me to join my sister underneath the seats. I huddled against her as time went by. While thinking it over, pride tried to creep through with thoughts of how strong my parents died. Yet this seemed imaginary, so I let depression sink in.
I still do not recall how long I sat there, shielded by the seats. The world was passing through my mind and crowding my thoughts. As I cried, I knew that the world was not mine anymore. Yet I knew not what was really going on. I mean, how would you feel? After evil terrorists murder your parents, come talk to me and try to analyze what’s going on.
The only comfort I received on this plane trip was the continuous kicking and screaming of the child ahead of me. I seemed to relax a little knowing at least one soul was rebelling against the evilness on the plane, even if they had no idea what was happening. My tears dried up, and I decided to crawl out of my hole of self-misery and comfort the poor child. Bang! Except, a gunshot followed a particularly shrill wail from the child. I saw blood drip off the seat in front of mine. Then it was silent.
Fresh tears covered my splotchy face. It was silent for what seamed like hours on end. All of a sudden, screams filled the entire plane. Shouts of “We’ll crash!” and “We’re all going to die!” clouded my intuition. Bam! Extreme pressure pushed against me, squishing my older sister, as we hid beneath our seats. Looking through a crack, I saw the plane squish together in slow motion. The back caught on fire and explosions began to fill the air, so my sister and I covered ourselves and hid in our opening on the airplane floor. The windows burst, inside and out. Metal came crashing through the roof, and a falling sensation filled my stomach, as the plane tilted to the left. Blood and body essentials came shooting at us, as people said their final good-byes.
I didn’t understand what was happening. How could this happen to me? I never did anything harmful to another country… so why were these men attacking me? Does this sound conceited to you? Good, because I was. No one was attacking me. I had no significance whatsoever. I told you the plane trip changed my outlook on life.
Well, the floor seemed to sink and my sister and I found that we had a hole to shield us from further harm, and eventually breath. Real hours passed by, for now we sensibly checked our watches. Finally, I apologized to my sister, as I started to think this was how I was going to die. My sister, having already gone through stages of life when she realized how people think, sensed how I was feeling. She grabbed my hand and said gently “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this together.” Together. And together we did.
Days we spent in that hole. To keep things interesting we played hand games, like “slide,” or “zing-zing.” My sister and I began to talk about our lives to each other, and, even more surprising, we began to understand each other. Usually both of us kept our lives hidden, and did not want to involve the other in our social life. However, I am pretty sure both of us thought that we didn’t really have a life left. I sure did.
By the end of the second day, we ran out of peanuts from the airplane, and starvation started to kick in. By the morning of the third day, our water was gone, and we stopped talking to conserve energy. Our little games to pass the time had long since grew weary. Since we crashed, we had heard noises, loud shouts, and buildings falling down, echoing throughout our surroundings.
I started to think about what had really happened. From my point of view, terrorists had randomly attacked our airplane and crashed into a small building somewhere in the mid-Americas. I was way off.

I still think back every now and then to how surprised I was when that firefighter pulled my unconscious sister and I out of that hole, and I saw New York City screaming. Four days aftermath, the city was still in a frenzy, and American flags were everywhere. September 11th they called it, as if it was an important date. It took a great deal of explaining before it really hit me what had happened. People around would speak of it like they knew what had occurred perfectly; meanwhile, I stood in the middle of the conversations more confused than anyone, although the attack was personal to me. A terrorist attack you think to be horrible, and you see the assaulting country as evil. Most don’t notice that those who were right in the center, with the juicy details, didn’t understand the big picture.
My sister after that became my best friend because we had survived this together. We moved in with our grandmother the day after returning from the hospital, for you can’t go through a plane crash without injury. Neither of us could talk to anyone for days. A secret was burning inside of me. Something major had happened, yet I couldn’t explain it to the world like I did when I excitedly would tell my friends about each new boy I liked. This was a nationwide crisis, yet it was mine. Our country came together that day; the world left me out. That plane trip, that single what- seemed-to-be insignificant ride, changed how I saw the world. I saw September 11th in a whole new perspective, and the whole attack seemed inside out.