| Wednesday, September 11, 2002 |
 | i was in bed asleep when the phone rang and the machine picked up. it was my sister rozy leaving a message, wanting to know if i was here in los angeles or away in new york. half awake, i could tell she was upset by the sound in her voice, it was that same sound in her voice that i remembered from when she called to tell me about the northridge earthquake in ‘94. my heart started to pound as i got out of bed to call rozy back, but before i could dial her number, the phone rang again. this time it was my friend molly in atlanta, calling to find out where i was. when she told me what had happened, my eyes began to well up with tears. was i still dreaming ? was this some kind of fucked up nightmare ? just then i heard someone banging on my front door. when i looked out the window and saw the look on pj’s face, i knew this was no dream. we turned on the television just moments after the other airplane hit the second tower. joelle arrived at my house minutes later, and we three new yorkers watched in horror as the real end of the twentieth century came to a crashing halt, live on GOOD MORNING AMERICA.
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