On 9/11/01 I was relatively safe. I was 75 miles away from the attacks, in a locked down high school, watching from TV. Urban legend is we could see smoke from the football field, but I don’t remember if that’s true or not.

What was scary is that the night before my mother and stepfather went to Manhattan for a Michael Jackson concert/birthday party. My mother was a huge MJ fan. She said she had meet and greet tickets and claims she hung backstage with Justin Timberlake and Beyonce. Urban legend, maybe?

My mother and stepfather slept in a hotel in Manhattan that night into morning. When I left for school, it made sense that they weren’t home. It was expected.

I was on my way from second period algebra to third period study hall when our school went into lockdown. We didn’t know why until the study hall teacher put on TV. All I could think was that my mother and stepfather were part of it. I panicked all day. This is a few years before *everyone* had a cell phone. I couldn’t just call my mother to see if she was okay.

For the next five hours, all I could think was “I NEED TO GO HOME AND MAKE SURE MY FAMILY IS OKAY.”

Hours later, as the school bell rang, I ran home has fast as my 16 year old legs could take me. My mother was on the computer playing Snake Solitaire. I ran in and hugged her. I remember Aerosmith’s Dream On was on repeat. We both sang along to it. It was one of the best moments of relief I ever felt, born out of the biggest tragedy I’ve ever secondhand witnessed.