NEW YORK — It was my day off. I was sleeping in after a late night, curled up in my antique bed with the window blinds drawn tight. Even though I live just a few buildings from the World Trade Center (WTC) site, I’m not sure I heard the first plane crash. The second crash startled me awake, but it sounded like a giant thunderstorm echoing down the canyon of what were New York’s tallest buildings. I rolled over, pulled the covers up, and went back to sleep— until….
Until I heard the most horrific roar imaginable wash over me and yank me out of bed. I jerked open the window blinds and stared in confusion out my 11th story window at what should have been a view of the south Trade tower. But what I saw was nothing, a black nothingness that is burned into my memory and my nightmares. The blackness rushed toward me, shaking my building and my mind. The only light came from red embers shooting through this animated madness. My mind ran through hundreds of scenarios in a split second. What was this monster engulfing my building, my life? Its roar sounded as if it came from the bowels of the earth.
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