Never Forget

My friend Rachel drove me to school in High School during the time my parents grounded my from my car. She was the kind of girl who wore a promise ring, not to her boyfriend, but to Jesus Christ, her personal savior.

The morning of September eleventh started like every other morning; we're driving to school listening to the Christian radio station, when the radio host interrupts the Stephen Curtis Chapman song we're listening to and says, "Something terrible has happened. We're not going to discuss it on this radio station because we feel it's not positive, and we're a family radio station, so if you want to hear the news, switch to a different frequency. Let's pray."

I'm kind of freaking out at this point because I have no idea what's going on, so I suggest to Rachel that we switch to an A.M. News station to hear the news. She says "My dial stays on 89.3," so I sit in silence for the rest of the ride.

When we pull into school and get out, our friend Amber is crying.

"Two planes were hijacked and hit the World Trade Center. One building is on fire and one collapsed."

I'm freaking out because my aunt and uncle live in NYC, I wonder how they're taking it, when Rachel says, "What is that? Wait, the flea market?"