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That Morning
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by Mario Lio
Monday, 6 am. The phone rings. My aunt comes out in her bathrobe and
picks it up. “We are okay,” she murmurs, still half asleep. It is my
uncle in Hong Kong; I can hear he is worried about something. I want to
hear what they are talking about, but I have not come to America to be
late to school.
Mr. Berry is not in class when I arrive. Katrina, a girl from the Philippines, says he is talking on the phone and looks awfully worried. When the classroom door finally opens, it reveals a defeated Mr. Berry. His eyes are downcast, as if to avoid looking at us. I can tell he has been crying. I am sure someone he loves has gotten hurt. What if something terrible happened to my mom? Would I ever be able to laugh again? Would I leave America and go back to Peru for her funeral? Katrina asks Mr. Berry if one of his relatives has gotten into an accident. He is silent for a second, then clears his throat with a weak cough and announces, “America has been attacked.”
That morning, the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers became ground zero. The only thing I knew about the Twin Towers was that they were the tallest buildings in the world and that they were in New York. I had never been to New York (I had only been in America for seven months), and I definitely had no loved ones in New York. Mr. Berry had no loved ones there either, but for all I knew, those buildings could have been inside his very body. He seemed to be bearing the pain of the attack: the clouds of smoke made him cough; the meltdown of steel created an overflow of liquefied metal that ran down his cheeks in a tear.
I realized how much Mr. Berry loved America. I, too, wanted to feel the same closeness to this nation. I wanted to have the Twin Towers inside of me, to feel the same pain Mr. Berry felt. I wanted to be part of the infinite family, the American family. I wanted to be American.
Mr. Berry is not in class when I arrive. Katrina, a girl from the Philippines, says he is talking on the phone and looks awfully worried. When the classroom door finally opens, it reveals a defeated Mr. Berry. His eyes are downcast, as if to avoid looking at us. I can tell he has been crying. I am sure someone he loves has gotten hurt. What if something terrible happened to my mom? Would I ever be able to laugh again? Would I leave America and go back to Peru for her funeral? Katrina asks Mr. Berry if one of his relatives has gotten into an accident. He is silent for a second, then clears his throat with a weak cough and announces, “America has been attacked.”
That morning, the World Trade Center’s Twin Towers became ground zero. The only thing I knew about the Twin Towers was that they were the tallest buildings in the world and that they were in New York. I had never been to New York (I had only been in America for seven months), and I definitely had no loved ones in New York. Mr. Berry had no loved ones there either, but for all I knew, those buildings could have been inside his very body. He seemed to be bearing the pain of the attack: the clouds of smoke made him cough; the meltdown of steel created an overflow of liquefied metal that ran down his cheeks in a tear.
I realized how much Mr. Berry loved America. I, too, wanted to feel the same closeness to this nation. I wanted to have the Twin Towers inside of me, to feel the same pain Mr. Berry felt. I wanted to be part of the infinite family, the American family. I wanted to be American.
