From Up Here

18

| | Ryan | |

Garrett and I met my sophomore year of college, right as classes began. I was taking an American History class and since this is New York, of course 9/11 was a topic on the semester's agenda. 

My assignment was to write a paper about the day : Where I was, what it means to me, how I feel about the tragedy to this day, etc. 

I've lived in New York my whole life, so I remember the day, even though I was young - seven to be exact. My birthday was two weeks earlier, I had a Rugrats themed party and all my friends were there. It was a happy day, a day full of laughter and joy. 

My birthday party was the last time I ever saw my uncle Ron, the last time I saw my best friend June's dad, and the last time I ever saw my neighbor John. The all died that day - some on duty and some as civilians that were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

A few days before my project was due, I went Ground Zero. I stood in front of the memorial and I looked up at all the flags above me, thinking over the questions the professor gave us. 

I was in school the day it happened. I remember my teacher reading us a story, everything normal, just another day at school. Then all of a sudden other faculty members were running through the halls, frantic and shouting for everyone to turn on the news. My teacher, Mrs. Willis, went out to the hallway to ask what was going on. When she came back, her face was white, drained of color. 

We asked her is she was okay. We asked what was happening. We were scared because the adults we scared. 

Mrs. Willis didn't answer our questions. It was like she didn't hear us. She turned on the television, flipped through the channels until she got to a news station and it was like the whole world suddenly went silent. 

If I close my eyes and think back, like I was that day at the memorial, I can still see it. I can see the television screen, full of smoke and people running and screaming. People were running away from the scene, but some were running toward it. 

There was smoke and fire. 

There was screaming, shouting, crying, and sirens. 

The teachers tried to get us away from the television, but no one wanted to miss a thing, so we saw it anyway. 

There were firefighters, cops, ambulances, and doctors. 

There were parents, children, grandparents, and siblings. 

Everyone was crying  - everyone everywhere was crying. 

I was seven years old and I saw people jumping from the top of a building just so they wouldn't burn to death. 

I was seven years old and I learned what a terrorist was. My grandma had to explain to me 2,977 people died and she did her best to explain why, but do any of us really know why? 

New York was silent for a long time after that. My grandma says it hasn't been quit the same ever since.

When I opened my eyes at the memorial, Garrett was standing next to me, watching me with a slight smile. 

His dad died that day. He was nine years old and his dad went to work, but he never came home. He died trying to save lives. His dad was one of the 412 emergency workers that didn't make it home that day. He was one of the people running into the fire, he was good - and he was taken because of an act of hate.

I learned a lot about Garrett the first time I ever saw him, and I spent three years learning more and more. I could never get enough, I would never get enough.

But just like his dad, Garrett died a hero. He was trying to save lives, he was running into the fire. He was good, and he was taken - not out of hate, but because someone was too stupid to make sure that their stove top was turned off after they made their dinner.