From 10 to 11

Hi! I’m Mia Atta and I homeschooled so I don’t get hurt. Mom teach me. I’m 12 and I have a terrorist image, my mom and dad are terrorist. I am not. Mom tells me dad and his mosque are going to tear down twin towers. I say it wrong and that them people live there. Mom says it for the best, she walk away to the kitchen. She make the yellow sun omelets she make on mondays. We get to our praying and books ‘bout our people. Mom want to go to market to get apple and milk, but dad not here. Instead, Mom watches the news while I play with my dolls. Few hours later dad come home with important work.

Hello, I’m Kyle Vale, I turned 12 just last month on the 23rd. My mom works at the north twin tower for Bank of America. My teachers and mom say I’m very smart, but just because I do my math when I walk to school doesn’t mean that I get straight A’s. 

I like to meet new people, especially after being cooped up in the same apartment building all summer. That night, Mom and Dad was there “ Goodnight.” I cooed as I drifted off to sleep.

When I wake to the silent sun, I look out the window. Not a cloud in the sky. I go down the hall to find Dad already at his mosque and Mom making breakfast. I walk into the kitchen when Mom stop me say, “ Don’t look out the window Mia.” I try to question her, but she wont let me. Then I realise Dad break the twin towers. I run down the hall to my room. I’m followed by crashing and screaming. ‘Corse I’m scared, but I still look out the window. The south tower is down. I rush out the door, screaming and scared as hell looking for my dad. “Mohamed! Mohamed! Where are you dad! Dad! Daddy!” I holler, rush toward the twins. My dad was only 33 and had no plane

license. I go into the north tower keeping my eyes on my surrounding. My nose fill with smoke as I enter. I hear my name being called by my mom. I answer right away and forget about daddy and sprint to the doors. My heart pounding and leg working, hard. The doors are just in my reach when….

I wake up to my alarm clock and blazing sun. It’s 8:30 and my first class is at 9:00. Gosh darn it! I hurry to the kitchen, make a quick sandwich and run. I only get a quick “ Bye.” from my dad ( Loser ) and get to school just on time with the ocean blue sky above. My first period stops in the middle of a math test for an assembly. Teachers and kids alike are rushing through the halls to get there for the news. It’s crowded and loud, sirens are going off outside along with children’s tears and breaking glass. The room gets silent as the principal announces, “ Attention 

everyone. The twin towers are being attacked.” My heart started to pound. “ If you have a parent or sibling/siblings that are there, it will be O.K. we are safe in here. Do not panic!” I couldn’t help it I cried and cried and cried. My dad picked me up an hour later. His warm hands calmed me. He took me home, and comforted me. It was hard to tell he was sad to, until he started crying too. We played my favorite games to get my mind off of mom.Guess he isn’t such a loser after all.

Epilogue

15 years later

The day my daughter died was as sad as when my husband died. 15 years ago, on this day, they both died. When people came to my door asking if they wanted the names of my lost ones on this man-made waterfall I immediately said yes. From then on, I do my Fajr (Dawn) and Maghrib (Sunset) praying here. Ate my meals and shared my stories here. Every year on September 11, I would camp here, in front of their names. And that will never change.