That Tuesday with Annabelle

 Think of the perfect September day. August’s sultry dog days are history. Puffball clouds drift across the azure sky. The colors of autumn are starting to wash over early-turning trees.

That Tuesday was the perfect September day. Morning news droned from the TV, as I hurried around to get ready to meet my friend Annabelle at Cracker Barrel for breakfast.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news.” The announcer’s voice carried a heavy weight of import. I froze in my steps and pivoted to face the TV. He explained the horror I saw on the screen. A plane had flown into one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center.

I immediately called Annabelle. “Is your TV on? If not, turn it on now!” I gripped the phone tightly while I awaited her return.

Her voice trembled. “Oh, no! Dear Lord, n…!”

“Nooooooooooooo!” I screamed as a second plane flew into the other twin.

Hearing the first report, I thought it surely was an accident. Had the pilot suffered a heart attack? Had some control gone awry? What happened? When the second plane hit, I, along with the rest of the world, knew it was no accident. The United States of America was under attack!

My friend and I were greatly shaken. For a few moments, we prayed and wept together.

“Do you still want to meet for breakfast?” I said.

“Yes. I need to.”

“So do I.”

I couldn’t believe Cracker Barrel. Everything was business as usual. What had I expected? A pall? A somberness? Something. Yes.

The hostess greeted us cheerfully and seated us immediately. We put in our coffee orders and opened the menus—which we ignored, as we looked around the restaurant. People were talking and laughing, sipping coffee, clattering silverware against earthenware plates.

“They don’t have a clue, Annabelle. They don’t know what has happened.” I had to restrain myself, because I wanted to stand up and let them know that this morning their world had changed forever. No. Let them laugh. Let them enjoy a few more minutes of peace. They’ll know soon enough.

My favorite server came to take our orders.

“Have you heard the news?” I said.

Her smile vanished. “Yes. We’re listening in the kitchen.”

Going our separate ways after breakfast was hard. We recognized that we had shared a significant historical tragedy, one that every American living at the time and old enough to understand would have a story to tell. I know I will never forget that Tuesday with Annabelle.