On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was on a commuter ferry to New York City when the first plane struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The sky was cloudless, giving us a clear view of Lower Manhattan even though we were still 40 minutes away.
We watched from the ferry as a second plane struck the South Tower. Soon it dawned on me that my brother Michael was in one of the two skyscrapers now engulfed in flames. He had started a job at an equities firm with his best friend a week earlier.
When our ferry docked at the pier in Lower Manhattan, I scanned the soot-covered faces of the people who had fled nearby office buildings, looking in vain for Mike and his friend, both of whom had been killed.
from the OnOurMinds@Scholastic blog