It's 9/11. I started this journal entry at about 8:11 am. I can tell you without a doubt that six years ago at this moment, I was standing in my dad's office and we were online trying to find out what happened.

I think as long as I will live, I will remember that morning -- that day, even! -- with startling clarity. It started out normal enough; I had just gotten off the interstate about five miles from the office. I was turning onto our street when Robert J. Wright came on the radio (he and Erin were on 94.5 back then) and said "We don't know exactly what happened, but there are reports that one of the World Trade Center buildings has been hit by a plane." I had just pulled into the parking lot. Turning the car off, I ran into the office.

"Dad, they said on the radio that the World Trade Center has been hit by a plane!"

In the back of my head, at this moment, I'm not thinking about the lives that were lost. It was right before eight here, it hadn't even occurred to me that it was almost nine am in New York. And I certainly wasn't thinking about a jumbo jet; for some reason, I was thinking it was a little prop plane with a guy who drank too much that morning. It was such a surreal moment, I couldn't wrap my head around anything bad.

Dad got on Yahoo! News, and it was still so fresh, all they could say was "It has been confirmed that the World Trade Center has been hit."

It started sinking in a little bit then.

My uncle called the office a little bit later; he lives in Kentucky and had just gotten off work. He was on speaker phone, watching CNN, and repeating back to us what they were saying. It was so much worse than I'd imagined. I was dazed. I can't remember if I was crying or not; I may have been too shocked to cry.

"Oh my god, another plane just hit the second tower!"

That was my uncle, who'd seen it happen live on CNN. One plane had hit, and now a second, and the entire world turned upside down. We couldn't wrap our minds around it, how someone could fly a plane full of people into a building full of people.

Dad was going to Texarkana that day, and he left shortly thereafter. I couldn't work, I stayed online most of the day, emailing and messaging my friends all over the place to make sure they were all okay. I didn't have friends in New York, so I didn't lose any, but I had one friend in particular who lost a several people that day. She and I don't talk anymore, but I still think of her today, knowing how hard it was for her. I didn't have a TV at work, so there were no images other than what was filtering through online, and I tried to stay away from those. I just listened to Public Radio all day, since they had nothing but news on.

Bush was in Florida with some teacher's conference. I was scared for him, wondering if whoever did these attacks would try to come after him. I remember thinking "I hope they don't find out where you are, I hope you stay safe." Dad had left for Texarkana, but went by his house in Bossier before leaving. He called me, the line filled with that shocky kind of laugh. It was that laugh that signals you really have no idea what's going on or how to deal with any of it.

"So Bush just flew over the house."

Dad had seen Air Force One fly over the house. Bush was going to Barksdale. Suddenly, my abstract "I hope Bush doesn't get attacked," became "Oh god, please don't let them come here and attack us." I was terrified until he left Bossier. The national news agencies didn't know where he was, but I did, and I was shaking with terror because he was in my backyard.

I went to Sonic for lunch that day, and my car overheated and died. I was scared and angry and upset about the attacks, and my car died. It didn't bode well for my emotional state.

I didn't see any of the actual footage until I'd gotten home at 5:30 that evening. I had listened to all of the carnage all day, and saw the occasional picture online, but I didn't have access to anything else. I called my friend Wendy to make sure she was okay as I was turning on the television. I broke down at that point. It had been real all day, in that vague sort of way, like a piece of cotton covering the sharp edge of a corner. You can feel it, but it doesn't really hurt because of the cushion. When I saw the actual footage, the cushion was gone and the sharp edges cut.

It's been six years. The world is a different place now than it was before. When my friends fly to see me, I can't wait at the gate for them; instead I have to hang around baggage claim until they show up. I still get a little apprehensive flying somewhere. I watch people more, hoping that I don't see anything suspicious. My brother (the Marine) is in Iraq for his third tour.

September 11, 2001 was on a Tuesday. The world was muffled after that; my daze extended to the point that I barely heard anything around me. I was numb, struggling to understand how it all happened. The world was silent. I think I lived in a vacuum for several days after that. I don't think I even realized it until Saturday, when I heard a horn honk and sound rushed back in, like water filling a crevice. I looked around Airline Drive, saw all the vibrant colors, heard all the people and cars and life, and sent a quick prayer of thanks that I was still here to experience it.