I remember on the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in a journalism/writing class in a below-ground classroom in a beautiful and historical building on the main green of the Brown University campus in Providence, Rhode Island. It was my Sophomore year of college. When the class ended at 9am, I stepped outside the classroom and building onto the grass of the main green. I headed towards my next class when I heard a scream from across the field. I immediately looked and saw a young woman, a student, crouching on the ground screaming, crying, sobbing, and still on her phone. I was confused and saw other students with shocked faces walking and running to Fonce Arch, a community center at the top of the green. I ran there myself to join the crowds. We all naturally seemed to head downstairs where televisions were on and blasting the news.
I was lucky that day not having to worry about a parent, sibling, friend or family member working downtown in one of the Towers, or on one of the flights. I knew my family was far away – most in South Florida. But for the young woman I saw across the green get the terrible news and the thousands of others who lost someone that day, I remember.