History Class

The bus never showed. He'd gotten to his stop at the usual time, it was unlikely he'd missed it. It began to rain and he waited across the street under some thin trees. But the bus didn't come and he got soaked. He walked back home and told his father he needed a ride to school. He liked his outfit and didn't change, wet though he was.

The halls were empty. There was usually some stray kids, older kids, without first hour milling about by lockers, but not today. The televisions were all turned on, but not to the morning announcements. It was the news, something breaking, though he didn't stop to see what it was. He got a late pass and was uninformed, and he walked into a hushed history class.

The television was on. All eyes locked on it. Thick black smoke, thick grey smoke, broken metal, people frantic and frozen and scared and dumbfounded. Two airplanes and no mistake. The lesson plan was out on hold. What implications would this have on them, the rest of the world, the rest of time? Who would do such a thing? This was something that happened to other people in other parts of the world. It did not happen here.

The tone marked the end of class and slowly students left. Teachers would be lenient towards stragglers that day. They would all be teaching the same thing, make believing they had any answers at all. And soon it was just his teacher and him, standing and watching, only a brief moment before the next hour took their desks. And together they watched the tower fall. Neither of them knew what to say. They could only watch the wreckage.