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The day started like many others. It was Tuesday, and my teaching team was meeting first thing that morning. It was my third year as a Humanities teacher at the International High School at Laguardia Community College in Queens.

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Beautiful Spring day, and I have to go down into the subway to find the back of the A Train.

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As usual, I switched for the E Train to queens. At first everything seemed normal, then after a long wait:

"Due to an earlier incident, the next train has been delayed."

"A police action at an earlier stop has caused delays."

Then, oddly, a train came quickly, but it was filled. I waited another fifteen minutes on a platform that was filling up, and finally another train whizzed by. I was able to push myself onto the third train, and I was off to Queens.

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When I came up from the subway, I looked up at the Citibank Building as usual. By now I was going to be late for my meeting with colleagues, so I started walking quickly.

I did notice that there were a lot of people on the street with me. Many were on cell phones, and most were looking up into the sky. But I didn't think much of it.

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On Thomson Avenue, on the way to school, I had to walk over a train yard that must have been a dozen tracks wide. The bridge that took pedestrians and cars over the tracks had window-like frames, though which Lower Manhattan could be viewed in the distance.

On this day, September 11, 2001, people were straining to look through each window. Straining to see the smoke billowing out of one of the World Trade Center buildings.

"What happened?" I asked.
"A plane hit the Trade Center."
"Was it an accident?"
"Don't know."
"Wow, that looks serious. How big was the plane?" I asked, assuming that only a small plane could be flying that low.
"Don't know."
Everyone was stunned, quiet. Already.

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By the time I arrived in B29 (B for basement) for our weekly meeting, I was almost 30 minutes late. I figured others had been delayed as well, however the science teacheer who lived on Eastside of Manhattan had come to school early.

When, Persheen, the math teacher finally arrived, 45 minutes late for the meeting, the science teacher, who had been working in B29 when the first plane hit the Trade Center, started with:

"Late again? I think we need to start this meeting by talking about basic respect for our meeting time...."

We tried to stop her, tried to say, "But something is going on today."

Soon the principal came by to say to the six teachers in B29: "I don't know how much you know, but it has been confirmed that the United States is under attack. There has been an explosion at the Pentagon, and a plane hit the World Trade Center. Nobody knows how many more planes have been hijacked or what else might happen.

He went on: "We've been asked to tell our students what we know, to answer their questions as well as we can. Staying is school is considered the safest thing to do right now, so we are going to have students meet in their regular classes."

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On my way to school, I walked out of the World Trade Center that morning, as I did every morning, at 10 minutes to 8.

I had a fine-honed method for leaving the WTC PATH station, which put me out on the sidewalk on the northernmost and easternmost corner--the closest for my walk crosstown to Murry Bergtraum.

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It was an unremarkable day, and I remember that I was right on time, right on schedule.

It was a beautiful day--I remember looking at those bright blue skies and white puffy clouds and smiling. It was warm, but not humid.

I remember distinctly what I was wearing--a black short-sleeve T-shirt, maroon cotton pants, and black loafers. I had a sweater with me, and my usual bag of teacher stuff.

Afterwards, I remember feeling thankful that I had worn comfortable shoes that day. In fact, it took me a long time to wear heels again. I felt sort of superstitious about it, thinking that I'd need flats on if I were to walk a long distance, or God forbid, to run.

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I was one of those people who strategized as I walked through Manhattan, constantly testing different routes to work, coming up with a good route that would be interesting, but also pleasing and not dangerous--no crazy intersections to cross.

This was my favorite route to take, though not the absolute shortest. I enjoyed walking through the park each day before walking into a practically windowless building each day.

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Walked through City Hall Park and cut through the Municipal Bldg at Chambers Street. It would be a long time before I would be able to walk through this way again, as it wasn't open to the public for many months after 9/11.

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Before 9/11, I used to walk through here every day on my way to Bergtraum. It used to be open to the public. I'd often eat lunch over here on one of the park benches.

After 9/11, this place became a fortress. Security booths were put up and the area was cordoned off. Santitation trucks were used to block cars and pedestrians from entering this area.

To date, I've never been through this park again.

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This was the back entrance, open before 8am, where teachers would enter before the school day began.

After 9/11, we couldn't enter through these doors for several months.

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We were evacuated pretty soon after the 2nd plane hit, about 10 minutes later. We all heard both planes hit the towers, though at first, none of us knew exactly what had happened. Many of our students saw one or both planes hit the buildings, and some of them were very upset, they were crying, they didn't know how to get home at all.

At the front door was a police officer screaming at us to get out of the building and to get away from the Towers. I stopped to comfort a student and was nearly shoved along.

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I will never forget the site I saw as I stood here, in the middle of the street. Both buildings were on fire, with gaping holes in them, thick black smoke emerging. The view was dead-on and I stopped for a few moments, just in shock at what I was seeing. A colleague of mine grabbed me, and said, "I cannot believe what I am seeing!"--which was exactly what I had been thinking.

Then, something in me clicked in and I KNEW that I had to get out of that area. I saw students I knew who asked me how they were going to get home. I walked a group of them up to the Manhattan Bridge on Canal Street.

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Many students were crying and others were comforting each other. One student told me that it was clearly terrorism, another girl told him to shut up, to focus on the people who were clearly dead in those towers.

I remember looking back at that thick smoke coming from the towers. It hadn't radiated far yet, but I recall thinking to myself that it might contain contaminants or poison gas--we were all thinking the most nefarious of thoughts--but clearly, this had not been an accident.

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I remember the discussions with students as we walked to the Manhattan Bridge. I helped some of them determine the best way to get home. Bergtraum was a magnet school, and we had kids from all 5 boroughs--but mostly from Brooklyn, Harlem, and the Bronx. Most of my students wound up walking all the way home. Some of them stayed with each other--went to each other's apartment.

A lot of the kids didn't know much about the city except what stop to get on and what stop to get off the train. Some were clearly disoriented, not knowing how to get north.

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I waved goodbye to some students as they headed over the bridge and onto Brooklyn.

I wasn't sure where I was going to go. By this time, it dawned on me that this was a terrorist attack. I thought that it wouldn't be smart to head uptown, near the Empire State Building, incase that too, was planned for attack.

Having attended NYU twice, I was very comfortable with that area and knew there were really no tall buildings around there. Worse came to worse, I could always sleep in Washington Square Park. I headed over towards NYU.

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Canal Street was a zoo. It looked like all those from lower Manhattan had gravitated a bit farther uptown. I overheard people saying that cell phones weren't working; I tried mine, and found that it too, was no good. Lines for pay phones were several people deep. I felt that I had to keep moving, and go to a location I knew well, where I felt comfortable.

"I'm a city girl," I thought to myself, "I know streets other than Canal Street!" I got off the main drag and headed up Mulberry Street through Little Italy, in search of a pay phone.

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Being of Italian descent, I knew Mulberry Street well. "If I'm going to die," I remember saying to myself, "at least I'll be around my own people." Ah, the crazy thoughts that went through my head!

It was in the middle of the San Gennaro Festival, and all the carts and games were covered up in the middle of Mulberry Street, lying in wait for the evening's festivities.

I found a pay phone. I called home collect and got my boyfriend (now husband) on the phone. He had been pretty worried and was glad to know that I was OK. He also filled in the missing blanks for me about what was going on. I told him that I was going to get home, somehow. I thought of the ferries, and told him that I was planning to get there and that I'd try to call him later, when I could.

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When I got off the phone with Brian, I literally turned around and saw two teachers from my school--one of whom I knew very well, Enrico, who was a fellow English teacher, and another teacher who was in the Social Studies department. Up to that point, I only knew her as Ms. Franco, I didn't even know her first name.

Enrico came running up to me, giving me a hug, asked me what I was doing there.

I told him that I was just walking down Mulberry Street as an Italian-American. Also being Italian, he found this funny. They were going to Serap's (her first name) home, which was right across the street. They encouraged me to come with them, and to find a safe place to chill for awhile. So, I did.

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I stayed at Serap's house for most of the morning into the afternoon. I remember leaving there at about 1pm.

We entered her apartment before the buildings collapsed. We started watching CNN as soon as we got inside. We were all just shocked, shell-shocked, I think. We heard about the Pentagon and I remember hearing reports that there were other planes unaccounted for in the sky. We kept thinking, "What is next?"

I was able to use Serap's phone and call my mother at work. She was glad to hear from me. I gave her Serap's phone number so she could call me later. I also called Brian again and told him that I was at her place. He was happy that I had found a haven.

We saw both buildings collapse on TV. I remember thinking how impossible it seemed to me that they would collapse like that, looking like they just evaporated, quickly turning into sand before our eyes.

Serap's place was downtown, and we went to the window. Before too long, dust and darkness filled the window. We always still saw daylight, but we definitely had debris flying in the air from the towers.

I stayed there until the early afternoon, when I heard on TV that the NJ ferries were running. I called my mother and told her that I was going to make my way over there. She said that she would also.

I also called home and told Brian that I was beginning, what would likely be, the longest journey ever to Hoboken.

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I most likely didn't walk straight down Houston or down 6th Avenue, knowing me. I honestly can't remember how I walked, but I do remember feeling particularly driven. I remember thinking to stay off main roads and to walk down side streets, but also to be direct, to get west as quickly as possible.

As such, I didn't see many people in my walk west. There were a lot of people on Houston Street, but then I ducked down side streets and barely saw a soul.

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I remember that I met another young woman along my route in the West Village. I don't remember much about her, but I do remember that we walked together. She was kind of lost and was also trying to get to the ferry terminal. I told her that I knew the city very well, and she could stick with me.

I don't remember much about her, unfortunately, certainly not her name. We lost track of each other once we got to the ferry terminal and I found my mother in the crowd (something which still surprises me).

I cut us through the Village to get to the West Side Highway where we saw a bus that seemed to be waiting for us.

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I was glad that I knew the west village so well, and kept off 14th Street. I remember distinctly walking down Jane Street, knowing that it was a direct walk west.

I remember trying to stay calm and strategize, running a route through my head, walking fast, despite the long road ahead of me.

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An empty city bus came barrelling up the West Side Highway. He slowed down when he saw us walking.

"Going to the ferry terminal?" he asked us. We said yes. "Get on," he said, and we did. We were the only two people on the bus, although he also stopped at 14th Street and 23rd and picked up more people.

The West Side Highway was closed to all other traffic except buses and emergency vehicles, so it was another otherworldly experience for me.

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It was a long wait at the ferry terminal. At first, it was chaotic, but people were relatively calm. The line zig-zagged back and forth, back and forth.

After being there for awhile, the crowd did start to become slightly belligerent. People started to cut in line, and people became cranky.

Already, a divide was occurring between those of us who had been in the area, and those who were uptown, away from danger. The downtowners told the others to shut up, to be happy that we were alive and would be getting out, however long it took.

Even within NY, there were those who were "there" and those who were not--and there were differences in reaction even at that level.

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We finally got on a boat after a chaotic scene where thousands had gathered as a method of escape from the city.

I felt very relieved as we got on the boat, got a seat, and was finally able to relax a bit.

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We landed here in Hoboken at about 5pm. The trip took much longer than usual--we were floating in the middle of the Hudson for awhile, not on full speed, just idling. I guess we had to wait for a dock to open up in Hoboken.

We were all relieved to be on that boat. My mother and I sat upstairs and it was eerie as we came closer to the WTC site. The whole boat was silent and reverent, almost. No one was gawking or pointing. I remember women putting their head down, purposely to turn away. Others like me, definitely were looking as we drew near, still in shock that the buildings were in fact gone.

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Upon exiting the ferry, we were shuffled out in a weird way--we walked through an area I never knew existed, a passageway alongside the train tracks. There was a triage center set up, with lots of people in surgical gowns. Some of them were working on people, but it was hard to see what was going on. I remember also not wanting to gawk.

There was also a place where they were detaining those who had WTC dust on themselves. They kept making announcements when we got off the ferry, that those who were in close proximity to the towers should stand aside and they'd be taken to a decontamination center. I was close by, but I had no dust on me, since I got out of the areas before the collapse.

I didn't want to let on that I had been nearby. De-contamination struck me funny and creeped me out--it also made me wonder if my earlier instinct had been correct--that there had been contaminated air or gas at the site. I kept my mouth shut, but sometimes wish that I had signed on, if only to report back on what had happened.

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On our way back to our place, we stopped for a pie to bring home. I hadn't eaten for hours, but hadn't felt hungry up to now.

Hoboken was clearly emptied out, and I guessed that others were still stuck in the city. I was lucky to have gotten home so quickly and easily, in retrospect.

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Where I lived at the time of 9/11 (and between 1995-2005): 734 Washington Street in Hoboken, NJ

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Where I lived at the time of 9/11 (and between 1995-2005): 734 Washington Street in Hoboken, NJ

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I actually was able to find my mother in line, despite my cell phone not working and the fact that there were literally thousands of people gathered there. Many of them were covered in dust from the WTC collapse.

We waited about 2 hours to get on a boat. Not too bad, all things considered. The trip took much longer than usual, and we had to travel south on the Hudson, close to the WTC site. The boat was somber as can be--no one was gawking as we passed the site--I remember people putting their heads down, almost in a reverential way.

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