I stayed up late back then. The house phone rang early in the morning -- too early. 

The person on the other end could barely get the words out, "We're under attack. Turn on the news right now!" 

In a sleep-deprived blur, I clicked the remote to the TV and found the news. 

Numb, too much to process. Shock. I remember not breathing when the first tower fell. I remember my hot tears, the screams I heard, not just from my apartment, but from those in the complex around me. 

We watched the live coverage for hours, made calls to our families.

I still had to go to work?

I was a telemarketer then. 

It was all so absurd. People at work acting like we just have to keep on because that's what we're being paid to do. I had to pick up the phone, call people, and pretend like they'd inquired about getting new windows for their home. 

All their reactions were justified. 

"Why do we have to pretend nothing is wrong?" 

Of course, I couldn't. 

I still feel the knots in my stomach, remember the blurred traffic as I drove home, not really remembering when I'd last eaten. 

I was 25, and I new nothing would ever again be the same. 

I was terrified.