She was five years old at the time, sitting in the passenger seat of her dads old car, riding from Jersey towards Manhattan to go see her mom. Her dad and her mom didn't get along anymore, and she was made constantly aware of that, especially when the two were within speaking distance. She was unconcerned with the drive, she'd been on it many times before. The radio played the news in the background, men and women speaking in serious tones about things far away and close to home. Her father listened intently as he drove, seeming concerned about something. She mostly ignored him, concentrating on a book she had in her lap, something about squirrels and trees. She had trouble remembering the book later in her life, but could say that it was one she carried with her many places. It's odd to forget things that were once so closely well known to oneself.
Her dad slowed the car down, looking off to the left, towards the city they were driving towards, Manhattan. Something was happening. He reached to the radio and changed to a couple other stations quickly, then came back to the first one. It was silence for a moment, and then a voice came on. It was a male voice, and he sounded surprised and unhappy. She realized they were talking about the city her mom lived in. Her dad slowed the car further and pulled over onto the left shoulder of the highway. She looked at him. His long face was tense, his mouth set very firmly below his angular nose, lips held tightly together.
“What's wrong dad,” she asked him.
“I don't know honey,” he answered.
He stopped the car, and turned off the engine, but left the radio on.
“I'm getting out of the car for a minute, ok?”
“Ok,” she said. Her father got out of the car, and she could see that there were many other cars stopped on the highway. Very few cars were still on the road, but the ones that were sped past very quickly. She didn't want to look at her book anymore. She wanted to know what her dad was doing. The newsman on the radio was very upset and anxious. He didn't sound like they usually do, quiet and reserved. He was talking about fire and planes and Manhattan. She crawled over the seat to the drivers side where her dad had left the car door open and stepped outside, joining him.
Outside, she looked around. There were many people standing; a few were sitting. Some were yelling; a few were crying. Everybody seemed upset and they were all looking off to the east. She looked up at her father. She was short for her age, and her father always seemed so large to her, even though he was not a very tall man. His face was still firm, but his eyes were watering. There was a tear on his cheek. She looked away from him, and out to see what everyone was looking at.
Later in her life, when she was 8 years old and in school, a teacher discovered that she wasn't able to see what was being written on the board, even when she was made to sit in the front of the class. That teacher talked to her dad and he had her go to see an optometrist. She was found to be near-sighted and was fitted with a pair of pink glasses with little strawberries on the sides. As she got older she tried to think back on her childhood, and the things she saw. It seemed that her childhood must have been a mostly blurry place to her, but she couldn't remember it that way. Her most distinct visual memories were all of near things though. She remembered standing on the road that day, and what she saw when she looked to the east, towards Manhattan island.
The sky was blue above her, but there was dark smoke above the city. She could see the tall peaks of buildings, but they were not distinct to her. Below the buildings and climbing up towards the tops, there was bright orange light that jumped and flickered. It seemed to be all over the city and it looked hot and angry.
“Oh god, your mother...” her father said softly, and looked down at her, his face collapsing into a grimace. It was noon.
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