It's not what I expected. For a memorial commemorating one of the greatest tragedies in the past century that rocked our country, I'm slightly underwhelmed when I arrive at the site where two gigantic pools. Idly, I wonder if the water that flows into these mini-Niagra-falls ever freezes over the winter and what the water bill upkeep is like for a place like this.
As I approach the counters, I realize that the black marble wrapped around the two pools are etched with names, separated by which building or plane they were in during 9/11, which department they were in that went into the buildings in an attempt to pull people out. It's daunting to round the pools, my hands skimming over names that don't seem to end and, while I know that it happened, it's still crazy in a way to actually be there where it all happened.
I was in eighth grade, in the back row of the first column of Mrs.Browman's homeroom period when our principal told us to turn on the news when the first tower hit and together, we watched as the second plane collided into the other tower. It was terrifying and confusing (I didn't even know where the World Trade Center was) and I remember crying into my Earth, Space, and Science class thirty minutes later.
The terror has seceded somewhat over the years, but as the names go on and on and on along the black counter, I find myself still asking why it had to happen.
