9/11 account via Reddit

Twenty-three years ago this morning I left home for my job across the street from the World Trade Center. When I got out of the train at Fulton Street, people were running in terror. And then I looked up and saw why.

I stood on the corner of Broadway and Fulton with others contemplating what happened. Was it a small plane? Someone said it was a helicopter. Then we heard a roar and a terrible crash as the fire burst from the other Tower. Then our worst fears were confirmed: we were under attack.

We stood there helpless. People jostling to use the pay phone, looking up in horror, frightened, bewildered faces. Time seemed to stand still with papers floating eerily above like some hellish confetti.

But then we saw people emerging from the windows. Waving. Pleading. Hoping to be saved.

And then they began to jump. I never will forget a man in a gray suit. I saw him struggling and then he just jumped.

I weeped. A woman with dreads next to me just grabbed me and cried. She comforted me and said we have to leave because this was only going to get worse.

The subway was halted so I had to begin walking home. As I started up Broadway, the firefighters, EMS and police were streaming down and parking in front of City Hall.

I walked through Chinatown and it was business as usual. I mad it nearly to the top of the Williamsburg Bridge staircase when I heard people cry out. When I emerged at the top, the first Tower had just collapsed. Terror.

There were two elementary school girls in their uniforms who looked so scared. I asked where they came from and they said their teacher just told them to go. I held their hands as we walked across the bridge with one Tower standing. Just go straight home, I said as we parted ways.

All morning, the only thing I needed to do was call my mom to let her know I was safe. I walked in the door and screamed to my roommates to wake up and we are under attack. We turned on the tv and were aghast. I tried several times to get through to my mom and finally did. The panic in her voice was evident and we sobbed. Thank God I was ok. And at that moment the second Tower fell.

All those people. All those poor people. That is where I was on 9/11. And I will never forget. It is burned in my memory.

The days and weeks that followed were too much to comprehend. The photos of the missing sprouted up on street corners and in Union Square. Peoples photos and lit candles adorned the stoops of buildings they had left that morning for the last time.

Our lives were forever changed. And this beautiful city and its people have kept me here. Twenty-three years. Twenty-three years.