It was a Tuesday morning. The sky was clear and it promised to be a beautiful day. The summer was changing into fall. My wife, a middle school teacher, was already out of the house and at work when I got up. I was between jobs and had just sat down in front of the TV to eat my breakfast. I turned on the news. It seems a plane had hit one of the WTC towers in NYC. I saw smoke rising from a hole in the side of the building and listened to the commentators. Within seconds a plane came in from the right side of view and struck the other tower. A blast of fire and smoke erupted.

I watched as the towers burned. I saw people waving things out of windows above the smoke. I saw people jump to escape the flames. Their arms flailing as they fell, others looked like they were seated. I remember seeing a man and woman fall hand in hand.

I saw the towers fall. I knew we were at war. I didn’t know where they might strike next. I wanted to make sure my wife was all right. I put my pistol on, under my shirt and left.