I was a sophomore in high school, in first-block driver's ed, sitting on top of a desk at the back of the classroom. We were done with instruction, just killing time chatting before the bell rang. The coaches that taught our class turned on the TV. We thought we were going to have to suffer through another lame driver's ed video, until we realized that we must be watching the news. We watched in shock & horror until the bell rang, then I ran to English, where my teacher had her tv on, too. I watched as a plane hit the second tower, and as both towers fell. She told us we could go outside if we wanted to pray.
We watched TV in every class that day. We wondered fearfully if Oak Ridge, only a few minutes down the road from us and home to the first atomic bombs used in war by our military, would be a target. We feared for our parents' safety. We wondered how family friends who were traveling that day were doing. When would they ever get home? And, in 15-year-old wisdom, some of my friends lamented that just as they were planning their first-ever trip to NYC, the twin towers wouldn't be there to see. Sometimes our reactions to grief can shock us.
After watching TV in all of my classes that day, two of my best friends rode the bus home with me. None of us wanted to go home to empty houses that afternoon.