The first thing anyone will tell you about that day is how beautiful it was. The kind of Tuesday you can go a whole late summer and early fall without getting one of. The kind that by rights should have been a Saturday. Pure blue with little white cotton balls, warmth without humidity, the mildest breeze. In the 25 years since, I can remember maybe two or three that were that beautiful. Honest to God maybe none.
It was so nice that my first-period physics class went outside to run some impromptu experiment or other on the football field, so we missed the first announcement over the loudspeaker. When we came back inside, there was a kid in the hall who mumbled the news. He didn’t seem too worked up. We figured a Cessna, something like that, just like everybody else did.
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